We Had the Love, But I Long for the Letters

But what I don't have is a letter from her in her handwriting--on her stationery-- from her heart to mine. I regret she never had one from me and I wonder if she ever wanted one, or ever missed having a little bit of the real me to hold on to. A letter can be that.

There is not much that is more personal than a letter, particularly a love letter. No card, no poem, no gift is as intimate as a letter. I'm sorry now that I never wrote to her, even if it would have been in my nearly indecipherable handwriting. I probably shouldn't feel this way--there never really was a need, and who thinks ahead to what might happen? I know that what I'm sorry about is that I don't have a letter from her, in her bold, beautiful script, to read and reread.

What I'm trying to say is that our lives have changed. That special something in a personal letter has disappeared with the advent of telephones, airplanes and now e-mail--which is impersonal and limited by the lack of what I shall call "personal ambience."

I've come across a few books in the last few years that have included the letters of many American presidents and statesmen--and in some cases even photographs of their handwriting. What a wonderful way to bring these men to life and humanize our country's history a bit.

That thought brings me back to my original realization: that no matter how close my wife and I were, no matter how much we loved each other, and no matter how many heartwarming memories I have of our togetherness, I don't have any tangible record of her heart speaking to mine. And how I wish I did.

Shaw lives near Pittsburgh.

© 2006