Loved Mrs Borgstrom. She gave out pieces of really good toffee once in a while to the class as it related to a book we were reading. Such a nice lady.

May God bless you and your family in this time of sorrow.

Dear aunt Pat,
may you rest in peace and may you be with my uncle Kurt forever. We will all miss your friendship and hospitality. You were an angel here on the planet earth. We think of you often even though we are far away. Love from your swedish niece Benita Hagnestam and family.

"Grandma,
I will miss your loving smile and the twinkle in your eyes. Your generosity,  and kindness was touched by many people. You will be missed."

Going through mom's papers, I found the following  poem she wrote for her University writing class, when she was just a young lady.It sum's her up pretty well.

I am intrigued by my mind.
It is so unfathomable and unpredictable.
Sometimes it is very precise,
Presenting thoughts clearly.
I do not like it so well then,
It is too business-like.
I like it best when it floats,
As aimless as a bubble,
In a mad whirl of ideas,
That lift and toss it to and fro.
I am a little afraid of my mind...
In it's depths are such wild,
Strange dreams that I am terrified
When I find myself there.
There is a business-like, sheiny
Outside to my mind.
People see only that and I
Am no different than others to them.
They do not guess the turmoil underneath.
They cannot know the distances
My mind reaches
They could never imagine
The fantasies that are born of it.
I sometimes wonder who is the master,
My mind or I?
I often wonder and ask myself,
But I have never dared to answer

Patricia Houlahan (Borgstrom)
submitted by her daughter, Nora

Close friend and benefactress, a student of inquiry, a teacher par excellance, Pat was a credit to the human race. More importantly to me, she is terribly missed.

Last Letter to Borgstrom
 
Dear Pat:  They’ve taken Sunny to Elspeth’s house and Blue has gone home to live with Sue Moon. I got the call only hours after Nora found you.
You slipped away in your sleep.  It was the way to go.  None of us wanted a replay of Kurt’s departure from 

planet Earth. Still, I thought you would last forever. You were the high school teacher who affirmed my flirtations with the pen, my guru and friend.  You were the older sister the universe knew I was going to need, the spell check my poems needed before 

Microsoft finally gave me a break.  
I remember those prize winning cows your two raised in Buckley, and that fine professorial house you owned in the U district.  Later, the palatial 
place surrounded by gardens and orchards above Puget Sound grew in 

spurts a few rooms at a time.  I still have the coffee pot I bought in Kurt’s first Scandia Import Shop.  After the Air Force you pushed me to enter university life. It was good advice. I never really left it.  I think that’s why I taught for so many years.  It 

was the only way I could figure out how to stay in college as long as I could.  Every road I took in led to your house.  You and Kurt and later, Nora, became my other family on the coast.  I think I actually spent more time at your house than any where else 

on my many visit.  Now I’m in a wheelchair most of the time and on oxygen twenty-four seven; and you, old and fragile as a petal on a Irish rose, have slipped off into the nether lands.  The last bell has rung, the halls are empty - class is dismissed.

OBITUARY

Patricia Clare Borgstrom

May 26, 1920 – December 7, 2010

Acacia Memorial Park & Funeral Home

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