I wish I could remember the specifics of my dad’s conversations; like now reading slowly, like a turtle, and carefully, like a spider weaving its web, his 100 plus weekly letters handwritten to me in the late 1960s while I was in nursing school and early 1970s when married.
The one outstanding sentence I clearly hear from him in my memory: “I won’t give you advice unless you ask me for it.” How wise! Still his wisdom shines brightly as a full moon, while reading his letters, like June 8th, 1967: “that a mans (or womans) home is his castle.” Or more so during mom and dad’s separation: “In spite of the fact, that she can’t legally sell our belongings without my consent and that any monetary proceeds from such a sale belong to us jointly, I am sick to death of arguing and will not stand in her way. I am not looking for any reaction or comment on this from you – only to inform you as to what goes on.” Besides being caring and open – the tip to me is that I’m not being asked to take sides, to be put in the middle of their divorce.
However, “When mom asked yesterday if Eric (my brother) was going to stay with the Krauses, I told her, that I would try to find a Christian home for Eric through Rev. Olford and she insisted, that you had decided to do that? That it had been your idea from the beginning? It really does not matter whose idea it was, as long as he finds a good home.” Wise enough?
“Right now is perhaps the most beautiful time of the entire year here. The various shades of green here are so full and pure and lovely and there is a profusion of beautiful flowers…Went for a walk the other day and on a rocky bank beside a path, there was an area, no more than 4 square feet, with three different types of moss, some lichen, several beautiful small ferns and three different types of blossoms of plants I did not know – and within a few feet, there were several Jack-in the -Pulpits. How much are we inclined to look at the overall “big picture” and miss the very beauty of the little details. Yet, weather we look at the immenseness of the Universe, or through the microscope, we see His beauty everywhere. How wonderful it is.”
We were both religious at this time, I no longer am, yet I am spiritual.
He concludes this letter, as he does many, “Please take care of yourself. I am looking with eager anticipation to the arrival of your letter you mentioned in your card. Be happy.” I am still learning to ‘take care of myself.’ I am happier each day I cry.
Although sad, my tears fill the cracks of my heart that misses him. (He died of a sudden heart attack in 1977 when I was 31 years old.) And the stars never stop reminding me of how his love flourishes (tears) within me – and when the full moon shines over me, I hear and see dad’s story – that we are together when looking at the moon.