Dear Aunt Mabel,
It’s been awhile since I’ve posted, so today, I resolved to write this letter before writing in my novel. Yet, how does one write when one feels no inspiration? With much difficulty, that’s how. I’ve heard it said that what a person needs to do in order to write is to just sit down and write. Easier said than done.
So I looked in your second unpublished manuscript of poetry in my possession, hoping to find some inspiration, and yes, I found what I was looking for. You wrote a poem called “Spring Fever,” about that first gloriously beautiful day after winter when cabin fever succumbs to a long awaited spring day. You dedicated it to a doctor you may have either worked for, or perhaps were one of his patients. In either case, Dr. Frank, as he was affectionately known, became the first of three generations of pediatricians, beloved by his patients. His son and grandson followed in his footsteps, so I guess you could collectively call them the First Family of Doctors in Jackson, Michigan.
You also wrote a second poem after the passing of Dr. Frank’s mother. I know losing the ones we love always feels sad, but I hope your friend found comfort in knowing she was able to meet her grandson.
Some people like to think that our loved ones who have passed away can see us from Heaven. I don’t know if that’s true or not, but if it is, then you probably already know about his legacy. But if you don’t, I just wanted to say how much I treasure your own legacy of love in these poems. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Mary