I had forgotten all about them. The little gold box of letters we found when we cleaned out my mom’s house after her death. Letters written by my father to my mother after he moved to Florida, while we stayed behind in New York preparing for the move. Letters written from March 1967 through April 1967; 10 letters in all. Letters also written by my father to my mother when he went back to Florida in 1980 to work and my mother stayed on in Colorado, spanning time from January 1980 through June 1980; 15 letters in all.

I came across the little gold Godiva chocolate box bound by a rubber band tucked away inside a box of miscellaneous old photos and memorabilia. I held it in my hands for a few minutes, debating. Do I read them? Yes? No? It would be like reading their personal diary, or at least my father’s side of things. A one-way window into the world of the adults that were my parents together, as a couple, and not just the"mommy and daddy” I was familiar with. Do I really want to know? Especially the 1980 period which might contain things I don’t want to hear about. That was in the middle of what I call my father’s “dark period.” I finally decided that I needed to read what my father had written all those years ago that made my mother keep them. After all, both my parents are gone now so I can no longer judge them for whatever might be written on all those folded pages neatly tucked inside their envelopes.

And so, the decision was made. I brought the little box of letters upstairs and sat down to read.

A method of communication I for one sorely miss.

Yes, Maggie, it’s sad isn’t it?

Wow is the word that comes to mind…

Debra, yes indeed ... wow ...
hah my verification word is years ...