Sam

Thirteen years ago today, late in the night before dawn, my husband Sam Thomas died from prostate cancer. We are still feeling his loss.

My relationship with his mother, whom we called Mow, was an uneasy one. However, recently I was in a writing workshop where the teacher prompted us to write a letter to someone we had been avoiding. This is the result:

Dear Mow,

He came out huge--10 lbs.--screaming and bloody in the middle of the bed at home. The doctor wrapped him in a tattered cup towel. Being the last of three children and a "mistake" at that, the occasion of his birth was not an auspicious one. The family didn't gather to ooh and ahh. Only you and your mother saw him at first.

But he grew up to be your favorite, and the one who took you in when no one else would have you because of your prickly personality.

Mow, this a thank you letter for Sam whom we both loved and cherished and lost too soon.

Thank you for scratching and clawing out a life for Sam and his siblings when your husband sank into years of alcoholic stupor. Thank you for teaching him funny songs and games to pass the days of his deprived and desperate childhood. He later sang the songs to Brandon under very different circumstances. Thank you for knowing when to leave him with his Aunt Ruby and Uncle Ralph where he learned the hard lessons parents would normally teach---the work ethic, honesty and integrity. Samuel Alexander Thomas became a fine Christian man respected and loved by all who knew him--he was indeed a legend among his peers. Thank you for my Sam.