Mr. Postman, is there a letter for me?

I’ve had occasion to see several movies or television shows lately that took place before the advent of email or social media. In each, someone (usually a female character) has saved letters received from a cherished loved one; husband, wife, fiancée, child, parent or friend. The content of the letters may be a beautiful expression of feelings or remorse over a transgression or a confession of an ancient wrong-doing.

     Some of the letters were tied with exquisite ribbons, others secured with twine while others were simply jammed into an old shoebox. Each bundle was important to the owner. Each held personal significance, a road map to a particular time in the life of the keeper. Keepsakes. Treasures. Reminders. Messages about separation, condolence, family news, joyous missives and renewed connection. A glimpse of a shared history.

     I learned to write cursive in either second or third grade, I don’t remember which. I couldn’t wait to learn how to write long hand. The swirls and curlicues, the forward slanting letters connecting to each other to form words. My mother had beautiful handwriting. I loved getting cards and letters from her.  To me, learning cursive felt like a kind of passage toward growing up.

     I learned cursive as everyone in those days did using tablets with lined paper. There were two solid lines, top and bottom, and a middle line that – – – -, well you get the picture. I learned capital letters and letters with a tall “tail” (b d f h t…) reached the top line while all lower case letters touched the middle line and the lower case with “tails” fell below the bottom line. We practiced A B C d e f until we developed different muscle memory in our fingers and hands. Then we got to try writing our own names. What a feeling! Seeing my name the first time in cursive is a memory I’ll never forget. My handwriting style has certainly  changed over the years. I still value my ability to write in long hand. I’m saddened teaching penmanship isn’t as important as it once was. We’ve lost something special.

     Over the years I’ve given my husband cards but we have never exchanged love letters or notes. I’m sorry for that because having a bundle of letters to reread in my senior years would be nice. Although I’ve saved every card he’s given me, it isn’t the same as a letter. I think we sometimes feel freer to express in writing what we are reticent to express in person. So, the rest of this blog piece is a love letter to one of the few people who reads my blog every time a new one is published. And while he doesn’t always agree with what I write, he is ever supportive. So…

My dearest love,

     I never thought I’d find someone like you. I never thought I’d be lucky enough to actually have someone like you in my life. Yet here I am. Living with my best friend, getting to spend every day with you. Sharing the up times and supporting each other through the difficult ones. You have always been there for me. When I’m my best self and, more importantly, when I’m not. You remember my family; their stories, their trials and tribulations and genuinely care about them. You remember the names of friends and stories from my past that even I have trouble recalling.

     You go to every doctor’s appointment and eye appointment, hearing what I might not hear or remember. You went to each haircut/pedicure appointment (when I used to go) and sat reading a book patiently while you waited for me. You remember what flavor ice cream is my favorite even though you are lactose intolerant. You watch reruns of Perry Mason because you know it’s my most favorite television show of all time. You never mind going to get lunch or dinner or a treat when I am hurting too much to go along.

     You loved my dog, Gracie, as much as I did when we met. You took good care of her as she aged and could no longer get around without help. You cried as much as I when she just couldn’t be asked to go on any longer. And our golden, Libby, who you carried down the steps to go potty when she had to stay off her knee after her surgery for a torn ACL was so amazing. You kept her off that leg for six weeks until she was healed enough to be on her own. She had a wonderful life because we loved her so and it’s your comforting that got me through when she too had to go. Now we have our Trudie and if she doesn’t feel how loved she is, especially by her very smitten Dad, then she just doesn’t get it.

     I know every day how fortunate I am. I love you more each and every day. You are my rock. You are my compassionate friend. Thank you for all you do, for me, for Trudie, for your children and grandchildren. For our friends, family and neighbors. Thanks for your humanity toward those we encounter in our day to day life; waitpersons, clerks, and service people. You treat everyone with respect and dignity. I’m always so proud to be your wife and I will be for the rest of my life.

     I love you, so very, very much. You are my life, my light and my happiness. Thank you for just being you. 🤟🏼