The Letter

A few weeks ago, my cousin, Buddy's wife, Phena asked for

my mailing address:

"... I was going through Mrs. Anita's scrapbooks

 (my daddy's sister, my godmother, her Mother in law)

and found a letter your Dad wrote to the family"

I sent her my address and expected a small postcard saying hi.

Yesterday, in my mailbox was a wet envelope from Phena.

(time to get a new mailbox but that is another story entirely)

What I received, what I will share with my siblings is a jewel

of a letter written in my Daddy's handwriting that immediately recognize.

Always, when signing his name he added that line underneath Freddie

with a dash going through the horizontal line.

  There is no doubt that he put the ink to this paper.

As I read the letter, my eyes fill with tears.

Mixed emotions as I read my Daddy's words to his parents.

1944, I was far from being thought of, born in 1963.

In his words I read through the lines so much.

His way of letting his parents know the inevitable, 

trying to sound brave but his fear comes through.

He trying to calm the fears of his family while I can only

imagine just how scared he was.

Bravery as he speaks of going to avenge the one he loves

as he had lost his baby brother months before at the age of 18

 in the very same war he was about to fight, WWII.

That he spent his morning in church touched me as I can 

count on one hand how many times Dad went to church 

with us yet he was steadfast in making sure us kids went every week.

At the age of 26, having my two oldest siblings being born

and raised by my Momma in the bar room he had opened, 

one my Mom ran and kept open until he returned home.

When you loose your Daddy at the age of 20, you know it was too young.

Yet, I was also glad he lived to see me grow to an adult and witness

me receive my nursing license, a dream he knew I had wanted since

the age of 5.

The letter had me realize though that I was too young to have lost my Dad.

All the questions and conversations we had not had because

I was just too young to know how much he had sacrificed

to raise us all, what questions I would have asked had I been older.

Here I share a rare jewel, a gift from a cousin, found in my Nannie's scrapbooks.

( here it is again in two parts for easier reading)

Daddy rarely spoke of the war. Most from that war did not.

Each story he did share with me is locked in my memories.

One of the rare things he did speak of was one I have always

kept close to my heart and shared with many as it 

says so much of what a terrible thing war is, even if

it is a necessity sometimes.

"The day I was shot was the happiest day of my life because

I knew I was either dying or going home."

The front line fighting was over for him.

I can't thank Buddy and Phena enough for returning this

to my siblings and I. The original will be framed and hung in

the cottage as each of my siblings will get a copy of this gift.

In closing, I would like to believe one of the things I 

was given from my Daddy was not wealth, not riches

but the wonderful gift of writing.