* * *
June
23, 1943
My Dearest Ed,
I
received your letter of June 17th. Golly, your letters are a bright
spot in my life. Every time I read them I think, “I couldn’t possibly love him
more.” They are like sunshine and rain to a flower garden.
Did
I tell you Mother and Dad hung wallpaper in the kitchen? It really looks
elegant.
Peter
is home on his last furlough before he’s shipped out, so he and Lydia came to
the farm for supper tonight. Mother, Daddy, Dottie, and I said our goodbyes,
hugged him and prayed, “God, please protect Peter.” It was so hard. He has been wonderful to Lydia. They were
very happy together. Lydia’s taking him to the train herself, honey. She and
Peter have had a few years together, anyway.
Keep
your chin up and don’t forget to pray.
I
love you with all my heart and thank God our love is founded on the solid rock
of faith, trust, and hope, thus making it unshakable. Married people have gone
haywire, but we will weather the storm, I feel certain.
If
it is your lot to be sent overseas, I believe you will return unharmed. No
matter what may happen, you will know I will always love you with all my heart.
Always
remember, sweetheart, you can do anything you think you can. My heart is with
you, my faith, my love.
Honey,
I baked cookies for you this afternoon. I hope they come through OK.
Sweetheart, my faith says you will come out in fine shape, even though the Army
is a hard grind.
You
are never out of my thoughts; you’re even in my dreams at night.
Yours forever,
Ibby
* * *
March 5, 2005
In
the midst of teaching twenty-seven third graders, helping my daughter find a
wedding dress, bridal showers, and all things wedding, the situation with Mom
and Dad is worsening. Mom has become repetitive, calling me by phone to ask for
information about doctor’s appointments and an upcoming trip to my sister’s
home in Florida. Then she calls again, asking the same question within minutes,
forgetting she’s already talked with me. She tries to write information down to
help her remember, then loses the notes in a massive clutter of paperwork on
her kitchen counter, none of which she’ll let me help her sort and organize. On
many of these return calls, she dials the wrong number by mistake and becomes
frustrated when someone else answers. I make repeated trips to my Mom and Dad’s
house in the evenings and on the weekends to clarify. I buy a large desktop
calendar to keep by the phone to help her function...
