LITTLE BLACK BOOKS

LITTLE BLACK BOOKS

By Veronica Breen Hogle

Of all the things you gave me, and you gave me quite a lot
Like the little silver apostle teaspoons
The green biscuit barrel and cake stand made from rippled glass
And the old yellow and black tea set with a matching fat teapot

In your will you left me the books you treasured most
And the old-fashioned pictures hanging on the walls in your old house
With a heavy heart I packed them and brought them back with me
Now they are displayed in my home far across the sea

But of all the things you gave me, I treasure most of all
Your three dog-eared little black books
With the names, addresses, phone numbers and birthdays
Of your friends around the world, and
Records of dates they wed and photo memory cards of those who died

Sprinkled in between the pages are little notes you wrote
There’s a yellowed newspaper clipping folded into a small square
When my fingers gently opened it, I saw myself in my lace wedding dress
Tucked in between the pages you kept a dried oak leaf
And greeting cards from Donegal showing the ocean rushing in at eventide
There’s a picture of a little white washed church with a thatched roof
And letters from the family you adopted in Zimbabwe
A small brown envelope holds a lock of your father's white hair
Inside the back cover of one of your little books is a photograph of you
Wearing a wide-brimmed hat and white buckskin shoes

My mind goes back and I see you browsing
through your little books
You kneel beside your bed and your fingers dial the numbers
I hear you going over all the news with voices in far off lands
You often dialed my 011 number and I loved your cheery voice
While we nattered for an hour or maybe two during high rate phone time
Now when I thumb through the curled up pages
Of the little black books you left for me
You knew when I read them
I'd remember people, times and places you held dear
I also remember how fortunate I was to have you, my mother, for over sixty years

I found your prayer book
And the three little black books
On the table beside your bed
A favorite book titled “Poem For The Day” was there as well
And a red ribbon opened it to the fifth day of May
A little bird seemed to have come
And told you
Before telling us
That was the day you'd fall asleep
And quietly take your leave into your final rest

I’m joyful to have the books
And pictures that surrounded you for years
But of all the things you gave me
Your little black books
Are what I value most
As I brouse through them
I notice my hands look just like yours
When I read your little notes
On the edges of the pages
I chuckle or laugh out loud

I did that this very morning
And everything seemed fine
Then suddenly out of nowhere
A sadness washed all over me
No more does the postman put
weekly letters with my name
hand-written in your bold hand
in my wood mail box
Rarely are there any phone calls
from Ireland
telling me the latest news
All around is a deep loneliness
Because Mom, I really do miss you.

Story ID:	2702
Written by:	Veronica Breen Hogle (bio, contact, other stories)
Organization:	Irish Cultural Events
Story type:	Poem
Writers Conference:	$500 2007 Family Memories Writing Project
Location:	Bagenalstown Co. Carlow Ireland
Year:	2007
Person:	Eileen Breen