I have hand written, in cursive, a few letters over the past couple of months. As I wrote, I had memories of days as a youth reading letters from grandmothers. They were so enjoyable to read, filled with simple news and lots of misspelled words. I could hold them, reread them again and again.
Wives, mothers and lovers depended on letters to keep connected to those serving during wartime, making sure anyone on foreign soil knew they were loved. Some still have those cherished letters.
There’s a common belief that peace is the absence of struggle. But peace demands its own sacrifices. Are we who work for it willing to engage with as much fervor as those who fight wars do?
Anyway, this Memorial day I have reflected on the importance of those letters, those who served and those who kept in touch.