The Month of May
I want to give you my most memorable things before I die. This might be silly, but you will understand how things are more than things when you are my age (God willing). The lamp goes to you, William; you light up every room. . Sarah, my mother's Longfellow book, holds poems she read to me and became like dreams tucked under my pillow. Elizabeth, that small vase, don’t think it means anything less than the others. The vase is more from your father than it is from me. He knew me for two weeks and came to the store. Your father gave me this vase with a white peony. It was May. For forty years, it has always been the month of May
