Ma Chère,
The letter begins like many others with a tender greeting. Though the force of the words that followed were like none she had ever read…was this her beloved, suffering beyond her reach? Closely she held his words though they stabbed with jagged edges. Par quel miracle, he was alive in body this she knew to be true, but at what price did his spirit pay?
At the brocante fair I found these French postcards written in pencil by Eugene. My daughter, Chelsea read them and gasped, "Mommy did you read these! They are from a man who was in the First World War….words to his wife."
I raced back to the place where I had purchased the three cartes postales. I wanted to buy the box of things I had left behind…I couldn’t bear thinking how I had separated them after all these years. Somethings are meant to stay together don’t you agree?
Where hope is gathered courage grows.
I wonder if he returned? I wonder if his words ever caressed her face like his kisses had? I believe they did… the box I was able to buy is full of tenderness.
Does keeping the past alive bring healing?
photos: A collection of hope from the box I bought. Postcards sharing feelings, a ribbon untied, and lace from one of her dresses.
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