Postcards: Stupid Shoe Locker...

We're in New Jersey this weekend visiting friends, missing deadlines, watching hockey, bar crawling, and not returning home in time. Here's the week ahead.

Dear Fellow Expat:

My grandfather was in the Army and served in World War II. I didn’t really know him that well. My parents would ask him to watch me while they went to dinner. He’d say “hello” and then fall asleep on the couch for the duration of my visit. He passed away when I was seven.

He served in Burma and then later went to Korea.

When my grandmother died, we visited the funeral home. At her feet was a duffel bag.

I didn’t know it until later, but it was every letter they’d sent to one another during those wars. She asked that they cremate the letters with her. And with that… no one else read the letters. It was her wish. But on Memorial Day weekend, I can’t help but wonder what was in those letters.

Love, the horrors of war, the story of my mother growing up during those wars without him at home, tales of Baltimore. What they hoped for in the future.

All of it is gone. Secrets only between those two.

You know… How it should be.

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