Going through some boxes of stuff in the closet of my home office, a.k.a. the Loft, I came a cross a poem that I had written when my Aunt Ruthie died. I believe that she passed away in June 2001, possibly on the 29th. Aunt Ruthie was my Father's sister. I only saw her once every few years as a kid and even less as an adult. Yet, I remember her as having a good sense of humor, quick wit and always smoking cigarettes. In fact, the smoking killed her, maybe it was emphysema. Her daughter, Breen died either just before or just after Aunt Ruthie. while I don't know the circumstances of Breen's death it was perceived by the family as tragic. Aunt Ruthie, had been sick for some time and was possibly in her 70s.

Upon moving back to NJ in June 2000, I learned that Aunt Ruthie was sick and living alone at an apartment in Lakewood, NJ. This was not far from Beachwood and Manasquan where we were living at the time. We had made plans to visit Aunt Ruthie a couple of times but never got to it for one lame reason or another. We were wrapped up in our immediate life w/ the kids and all.


I had spoken with both in the previous year as dad had just had his stroke. Dad had been managing some money for Breen and Aunt Ruthie (Ruth Moore) when he had his stroke. As I had taken control of his accounts, I helped them pull out their money. Tragically, dad had invested their money in high tech stocks which were taking a beating at the time during the dotcom bubble burst.

Aunt Ruthie's husband, Uncle Joe, died while I was a kid but I have fond memories of him. he was always giving hugs and would talk to us kids as if he saw us every day. Uncle Joe and Aunt Ruthie were both like that. Very accepting and loving.

One simple memory is sitting on the screen porch at the back of my Dad's house when I was 13 or so. He was hosting a family party w/ my Aunts and their kids and my sisters. the party was winding down and were sitting on the porch w/ Aunt Ruthie and maybe Jody or Breen (or both) and Aunt Ruthie was cracking us up w/ her jokes.

Say hi to Uncle Joe for us.

6/29/01

The hazy heat was oppressive that day.
Thick and stagnant, the breeze barely moved the leaves,
the day that I was told you had gone away.

Why is it that the sweetest must always go first?

The sadness was heavy and impenetrable as the evening descended.

Hugs that are warm, kisses sincere.

Do you remember the jokes that made us laugh,
on the back porch so many years past?

A flicker of light caught sight of my eye.
A glow had begun to arise into the night.
A million twinkling fireflies floated up through the sky.
I couldn't help it, my smile told me that you would always be there.