What I Learned In A Letter From France

Roger’s grandfather Irving wrote home to his wife from the trenches in France during WWI. A congratulations card from a friend informed him of his daughter’s birth before the letter came from his wife. He lost most of her letters when his company moved out after a German retreat and the soldiers left most things behind.

She saved his letters. In one of them he sent a beautiful silk and lace handkerchief with the flag of France and the flag of the USA embroidered on it. Under the flags it says, “A souvenir of France.” He says over and over how much he loves her. Sometimes they wrote twice a day.  

Roger remembers him as a man who couldn’t breathe well. His lungs were affected by a gas attack in the trenches. He died when Roger was seven. But he was a real man, who loved his wife and his kids and his country.

My grandmother was a huge formidable woman who hardly smiled. But I’ve seen a picture of her as a tiny thing with huge dark eyes, curling dark hair, and a dimpled smile. As a girl she rode her pony to the edge of her father’s field and then cried when, not matter what she did, the pony turned around and went home.   

In my favorite picture of my father he stands in front on the sidewalk in Clarion, Pa. He wears knee pants like boys wore in the Depression. One of his stocking is up around his calf disappearing into his pants the way it should. The other one drapes around his ankle. He’s holding a little terrier and laughing for all he’s worth.  

These men and women, the trunks and branches of our family tree, were just like us.  They got cold, or scared, or hungry, or happy just like us. They wanted, planned, worked hard, fell in love and got married.

My long line of farmer’s and Roger’s inventors and soldiers and farmers gave my kids the base where they can build who they are and will become. And for me, I feel grateful to take a peek at Roger’s grandpa Irv, who sent his wife a lace hanky, and talked so good naturedly about boiling the lice out of his solider clothes.