Cleaning my mother’s home and getting it ready for its sale, my brothers and I had to go over every item in the house! Wow! Why do we humans gather the “junk” and for some, like our mom, “save everything”?
In the midst of the drudgery of cleaning out 92 years of accumulation come the memories and their associated emotions – for us, mostly good memories of fun times as children. But, for me, a deeper connection with the love shared between my parents that seems to have had a life even longer than their earthly one.
In a large trunk were hundreds of letters written daily, between this man and women, of love, longing and future dreams at a very dark time in our nation’s history – World War II. I read just a few yesterday and somehow longed for a time when hand written letters were the primary mode of communication – not the internet!
Something happens as you write by hand that spell check or backspace can’t take away – it is the feelings, emotions of the mind and the connection to the pen. I think this type of writing has a beauty and pulse all on its own.
The letter I read last night from mom to dad (he was in the Navy in the South Pacific) starts off with “I don’t have much to say, it has been a boring day but I did have fun with the baby” (me). But, as she writes she remembers a car he could buy when he returns, and something she was going to do the coming weekend with friends and this letter that started with “I don’t have much to say” then is filled with details of moments, ideas, future plans and longing love. This short letter ended up being 4 pages.
She started with a blank page and, I would assume, the unexpressed fears of the dark unknowns of war time and ended up easing her own anxiety. It is easy for me to see that, as she wrote, she changed her mood and was uplifted by their love. Her written words were her therapy.
I am fortunate to know this of my parents’ relationship and somehow wish for those simpler times when communication was not in “real” time!