Letters

Letters, pt. 1

The war had just started. Already, so many had died. Several of my friends had lost husbands, brothers, uncles, nephews, fathers. I grieved for them, but I didn’t know what it felt like to lose someone you loved so much. Not yet.

He sent me letters every week; I sent letters back. Sometimes I even sent two or three a week, just because I worried about him and I wanted him to know what was going on at home. After a while, his letters became less and less frequent. Instead of once every week, it was once every two weeks. Then once every three weeks. But no matter how inconsistent they were, I didn’t stop writing him letters. I eventually started writing two or three a day, just so he knew I still loved him and thought about him. I wrote down every little detail about my day in each letter, and ended them with “I love you and I can’t wait until you come home. Your loving wife.” Sometimes I’d even throw in a quote from my favorite book or play. But no matter what, my letters would still go out everyday. I had no way of knowing if he was still alive, but for my own sake, I had to believe he was. So I kept sending letters. Even after two months of silence from him, I kept sending letters.

Every spouse of a member of the armed forces knows what it means when your husband’s or wife’s commanding officer and a reverend arrives unexpectedly during a war. They all come to fear that. I’d seen and heard of those visits occurring, but I never thought I would experience one personally. I thought, very naively, that he was invincible, and that I wouldn’t have to experience that intensely agonizing moment and the even more painful moments afterwards.

And then they came.

That morning was just like any other morning prior. I woke up around the same time as usual. I searched for the familiar weight on the mattress next to me. When I remembered he had left four and a half months earlier, I gave up and got out of bed to make myself my first cup of coffee. I continued with my usual routine, and was about to sit down with a new book I had just bought when I heard a car pull into the driveway. At first, I was a bit confused. Only my sister and my mother ever visited, and I had just seen them three days before. Then I looked out the front window.

The commanding officer and a reverend were just walking toward the door.


Letters, pt. 2

The funny thing was they never found his body. They only told me that he had never returned from an assignment he had been given two months ago. There had been an explosion not far from where he was last seen, so they believed him to be dead.

After referring to various schedules, calendars, and date books, the funeral was planned. I was to receive his Medal of Honor, the one he would have been presented with if and when he had come home.

For some reason, though, I felt compelled to continue writing him letters. Everyone told me he was dead, that I should stop writing, and that even if he was alive, he wouldn’t receive my letters. But I kept writing. I told him about the funeral arrangements and how everyone and their mother thought he was dead. I told him about how I cried myself to sleep every night. That no matter what, I would never stop writing letters to him.

The morning of the funeral, I woke up early and set out my outfit for the service. I quickly pulled on a pair of sweats, got in my car, and made my way to the funeral home, completely skipping my usual cup of coffee and breakfast. I made sure everything was in order at the funeral home, went to the nearby florist, and purchased three bouquets of flowers, with a dozen buds in each. Each bunch was filled with an assortment of his favorite flowers: white daises, pink pansies, and white and red roses. After I dropped the flowers off at the funeral home, I drove back to the house to make myself a few cups of coffee to wake me up.

I had recently gotten dressed, and was almost finished fixing my hair when I heard a knock at the door. No one I knew would come over before the funeral, so I hadn’t the faintest idea who it could be.

Pushing all curious thoughts from my mind, I opened the door, only to see him standing right in front of me.


Letters, pt. 3

I told you I would never stop writing you letters. It’s been exactly five years today since you came home, and I’ve written you ever day since then. You’re lying right next to my, but I don’t think I’ll ever stop writing you letters.

During the time you were gone, I always thought of you. Little things constantly triggered memories. The little charm bracelet you gave me on our one year anniversary. The tiny carving you made on the front door of the house when we moved in. The almost infinitesimal scratch on the patio door you made from your glasses when you walked head-on into it while sleepwalking one night. The bookshelf you built for the living room. It was as if you were haunting me.

Now that I think back, all I can remember doing each and every day is sitting on the sofa for hours, waiting for you to walk through the door. I found myself doing just that right before I remembered I had to do something with my mess of hair before the funeral.

I still can’t believe you kept all my letters. How did you receive them all? I remember you sitting at the kitchen table, dumping out each and every one of the one-hundred and thirty seven letters I had sent you from a medium-sized suitcase. Then you opened a bag about the same sized, and out spilled ever not and letter you had written that hadn’t been sent to me. All one-hundred and nineteen of them.

We both attended your “almost funeral”. Once everyone realized you weren’t a ghost or an imposter, we celebrated. You received the Medal of Honor. But I still couldn’t believe that you were back home with me.

It seems like the years have flown by since then. We’ve had two beautiful children, and now one more is on the way. I love you even more than I did the day I married you, when I thought I couldn’t love you any more. I know I’m the most blessed woman alive to be given the opportunity to spend the rest of my life with you.

I love you and I’m so glad you’re home,
Your loving wife