This weekend I found a letter from my aunt that she wrote me in 2003. I have no memory of it so it was like reading it for the first time. At the time she was in Hot Springs, Arkansas with her husband, my mom and dad, and my other aunt on vacation. The three women are (were) sisters. In it she described a little about the hotel, their stay and various activities. She described an incident in a hot tub where my mom became nauseous. It was surreal, reading this as if it just happened, with my mom being dead for almost two years.
My aunt also spoke about when I was a newborn and related a story about my mom bringing me home from the hospital. It’s been very rare for me to hear stories from when I was a baby and young child for reasons I won’t go into here.
Toward the end of the letter, my aunt shared a paranormal experience she had involving my Granny (her mother) who died in 1984. Then she shared the following poem she wrote in 1998 about that experience.

Dirt Mamma

The wind stirs,
In my mind’s eye.
And then I feel
The movement of air.
Random grains on the fly
Assimilate before my eyes.
Dirt Mamma blows by.

My vision blurs,
Followed by the emergence of a primal cry.
Rolling, rolling like a wheel,
Falling, falling to black despair.
If only I could catch her hand and fly,
To baby Jesus in the sky,
When Dirt Mamma blows by.

Now this letter resides in a special box where I keep special things: my last letter from my Granny, a letter from my MaMaw when I lost a baby, 2 or 3 letters from another (deceased) beloved aunt, and other written momentos sacred to me.

It’s sad that people don’t hand write letters anymore.