Many of you know that my mother became ill in July and died five weeks later. My sister and I have begun the task of cleaning out her apartment. The work is not physically hard, but every item we touch has an emotional impact. While looking through a box labeled "papers" I found this note I wrote when I was eight years old. It made me laugh in ways that I so needed.
I remember the event that prompted the note. I had misbehaved and had been sent to bed without dinner. I can remember being hungry and angry. Can't you just see the fingers gripping the pencil to write the note?
My starvation became part of family lore, but I had no idea that the actual note existed. What a treasure!
