February 8 was my father's birthday. The date has passed by, many years before, but none have marked my thoughts like this one. Maybe it's because he would have been 100 years old today, maybe because I recently brought myself to read the old letters, or maybe because we will embark on a European trip, this spring.
Turning 100 surely would have been something. A century passing precludes an immeasurable amount of change. In the 77 years that my father did live, he saw too much come to pass. Young men and women went to war & did not return home, automobiles came into regular use, televisions entered the average home, modern farm machinery became common place, telephones emerged & progressed to cellular phones...the list could get very long... And should he still be with us, much more would have changed...
The 'old letters,' which I can come to give no more exceptional name than that, have long sat, untouched, in my drawer. I cannot completely describe why I have not bothered to, or have been unable to, bring myself to read them...or why I chose this year to do so. Be that as it may, I have read them. They are letters from the time in which my father trained for WWII. Most of them are letters that he wrote home to his sister. There is not anything too outstanding documented there, at all. Thoughts of a very young man mostly, missing his family & trying to tell participles of the life he was living and describe a foreign land, to the folks at home. Much was in the form of questions that he hoped would be answered, in the return mail, he so longed for. Most noteworthy to me was his mention of being unable to tolerate alcohol and the lack of any awareness of what he was getting into. All of the letters had a cheery lilt to them. In fact, his last letter home was in March of 1944. His first day of action was D Day in June of 1944. Sadly, nothing would indicate, in his writing, the fear and dread that should have existed, for what lie ahead, in the very near future.
But--two of the letters (found long after both of my parents had passed away) are from an English family that he spent time with, on leave, during his training & service in Europe. One is from a girl & the other from her mother. The girl, it seems was going to come to Canada, after the war and may have even been engaged to marry my father. The letter from the girl's mother sounds a lot less hopeful of this ever happening...
I guess the concept of reading these letters always held the anticipation that knowing of this 'other' woman would somehow diminish the love & loyalty that existed between my father & mother. My lack of interest in reading the letters dwelt in the fear that I would uncover a sordid love triangle. Nothing was further from the truth. All that I had feared was, actually, fully vanquished by the very effort that had, for so long, held me captive. There are no copies of the letters that my father may have written back to this woman saying it was over & likewise none that she may have done the same. All that remains is the fact that he & my mother met after this time & that no such communication continued during their marriage. Confirming what I so firmly believe, if only you get a situation up above the surface & have a look at it, it is often much less of a matter than what you had suspected in its submersion.
Now, when we take our European trip, I will celebrate that my father did have happy, fun-filled, loving times, in the midst of bleakness, hardship & misery. Although it will be very difficult, I long to visit the places where he spent his time during the war. I have always waited for this opportunity knowing it would somehow happen. I will pay tribute, in my heart, & through our pilgrimage, to all he sacrificed. To all the losses...innocence, youth, love, life - to all the strife...fear, desperation, hatred, violence, torture, pain... Knowing full well I am living testament that life has order & ALL things rest, in the end, as they should & ever shall be...
