Dear Leanne, Emma, and Hannah,

In 1964, my family and I moved to West Boxford next door to Tom's family. Though we lived there a very short few years, they were very powerful years for me. Partially it was my age - early to mid teen years. More importantly, it was my friendship with Tom (then 'Birdie') Bolton. We
became fast friends and did practically verything together. He introduced me to music, we explored the woods for miles around, we had a private club
just for the two of us called the Batchelor's Quarters, we sat on the fence in front of our houses and waited for a car to go by, we rode his tractor and played in his barn; it seemed like endless time and we were each others
salvation.

Time does pass however and Tom and I went in different directions. There's so much I don't know about him now, though I knew everything bout him then.

The last time I saw him, he visited me in Watertown, MA. It would've taken more than one visit to bridge the intervening years and we didn't have, but one visit. Still ... he lives in me. I am, in part, who I am because for
that briefest of periods, he and I were as one, looking forward into the rest of lives we couldn't anticipate and, perhaps, feared not a little.

One winter night, his mother called over to our house and asked me if I'd seen Tom. I hadn't. She said they had argued and she feared he had left home. I told her I would find him. It was snowing, pretty hard, and there were a few inches of snow down already. In some ways, it made my job easier for I was able to follow his tracks for the few miles he walked. On the other hand, I think I would've found him even without the snow.

You know what it's like to be close to Tom. It's as if he puts out a homing signal to the ones he loves. I bet you hear it still, only now it's a song, a bit like the song of a whale, a little eerie, but beautiful and fantastic. We'd have a hard time tracking him now, but he's easy to find inside the heart that's inside the heart that's inside the heart of you and you and you.

May he be a guiding energy to you all.
George Fowler

Dear LeAnne, Hannah, and Emma,

The last time I saw your husband and father, he came to visit me in Watertown, MA. That would've been around 1978. Before that, I hadn't seen him since high school. I have to go back to 1964-6, however, to explain why I would write all these years later, with so little contact in between, upon hearing belatedly of his death.

I didn't call him Birdie the last time I saw him and I didn't call him anything else before that. He was my next door neighbor ... or perhaps I should say I was his next door neighbor since he lived there forever and I moved in for such a brief period. More importantly, he was my best friend during those few years and, I think, we gave each other a good dose of sanity with our insanities.

I could recount many stories ... and I'd be happy to do just that in another message ... but I'm writing now simply to say I am very, very, very sorry for your loss.

May his influence continue to surprise, shape, and bless yours.

George Fowler

My deepest sympathy for your loss. It is at times like these that reminds us how important the family unit is.

From my family to you and your's. Our thoughts and prayers will be with you.

William H. Caperton, III
and Family