He began each letter 鈥淒earest Darling.鈥 We discovered 79 of them stashed in a cabinet after my mom passed in January. The author was my future father, who wrote them to his sweetheart (my mom-to-be) in 1953.
What a gift! I felt like Marty McFly in 鈥淏ack to the Future.鈥 Here was a unique time capsule that would give me a glimpse into my parents鈥 lives when they were young and in love.
When my dad, Frank, was 23, he found work in Buffalo at the Chevrolet Aviation Plant. His girl, Rose, was back home in Scranton, Pa.
Long before email, when phoning long-distance was expensive, they relied on the U.S. Postal Service to keep in touch. (A first-class stamp cost 3 cents.)
He wrote the letters over 10 months as the couple planned their wedding long distance.
Finding the letters was just the first of many surprises. The dad I knew was rarely sentimental and did not express his feelings much. He was ever-practical and down-to-earth.
But these letters reveal a whole other side of him. They are heartfelt, romantic even.
鈥淚 never in my life dreamt that God would send such a good and wonderful love like ours to me,鈥 he writes. 鈥淢aybe they鈥檙e only dreams, but for your sake and our future, I hope I can unscramble them someday and make them come true.鈥
Aside from personal feelings and routine details, the letters present a slice of life from 1953.
Frank writes about how much he enjoys Western New York: 鈥淚f you were only up here with me, we could really have it nice. Everybody lives nice up here … there鈥檚 so many places to go.鈥
I first read his words shortly after my mom died while grief was strong and fresh. As Frank expressed his love and longing to be near Rose, I could relate. The letters made me cry, but in the end, they helped me through.
And like my dad, the letters have a lighter side.
鈥淚nstead of bringing my dungarees up with me, I brought my sister鈥檚,鈥 he recalls upon returning from a trip to Scranton. 鈥淗ow dumb could one guy be? Well at least there was some loose change in hers.鈥
And he shares his challenges living on his own for the first time: 鈥淚 washed my socks and handkerchiefs in the big cooking pot that your mother gave us. I鈥檓 awful, ain鈥檛 I? I couldn鈥檛 help it. I don鈥檛 have a water pail.鈥
The letters hold many mysteries that I wish I could ask my parents about but now never can.
What was that 鈥渢houghtful鈥 gift Frank bought for Rose鈥檚 21st birthday?
Who was Frank鈥檚 godchild in Eden, N.Y., whom he described 鈥渁s fat as a little barrel and just as comical鈥?
In many ways, the letters tell an ordinary love story. But to me, it鈥檚 extraordinary.
I will always be grateful to my father for putting pen (or pencil) to paper and to my mom for saving these tattered mementos for more than seven decades.
If your parents are still around, ask them questions and write down their answers.
Then write them a letter. It doesn鈥檛 have to be poetic or literary. Tell them how you feel. Thank them for what they鈥檝e added to your life. Tell a funny story.
Maybe they鈥檒l save it for the rest of their lives because they cherish your words.