The Love Letters Begin…

Mom and Dad met in Albany, New York while working for the state government. But when Mom had to return to New York City to take care of her father, their separation was the start of their three-year correspondence.

Excerpt From Part II – Love and War, Page 49

[Albany, New York]
Tuesday, 5:30 [1942]
Dear Dot,
I wonder whether you look forward to my letters as I do yours.
I’m always distinctly disappointed whenever I come home and don’t
find one waiting for me. But considering the fact that you have subway
and bus rides I suppose I do have much more time to devote to
the literary arts.
Not that I think my letters are masterpieces, but it could be
worse, no? You can even tell the moods I happen to be in. Of course,
they’re always lousy, now that you’re gone. But even then there are
degrees. From low to lower to lowest. Right now I happen to be on
the upgrade and I’ll soon reach lower. It’s slightly confused, but so
am I. At least you shouldn’t be anymore. Things have cleaned up for
you after a fashion. From now on they should be clear and shining
and as you want them.
Darling—am I writing too often? At times I think I am, so I
never write the second letter I want to send. Or the third. On the
same day I mean. I get an itch to write, but control it until I get
home. Then after supper, perhaps while I’m reading I want to write
again—but how will you ever get away from me if I’m always confronting
you and making you read my thoughts.
So, just for that, this is all tonight. And they’ll get shorter unless
you protest and tell me that you’d like a book a day. I close my eyes
now, dearest, and kiss you, and again. Until I can make it a reality,
keep my love warm in your lovely, tender hands.
Love, Bill

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