FEBRUARY - 1963

February -, 1963

My dearest Meg,

I know you’re wondering why I didn’t date this letter. There’s a good reason for that I’m hoping you’ll be reading this by Valentine’s Day but knowing how slow the mail moves around here, there’s no way to be sure. I wish I was there to take you to a fancy restaurant, buy you a box of chocolates, and a very large bouquet of red roses. My, wonderful, darling, Meg, I miss you so much.

It’s hard not to talk about the war but we both know you’re not the naïve kind of person who has no idea what’s going on, so I won’t insult your intelligence. It’s pure hell here, although right at this moment, it seems we have a slight reprieve. Everything is silent, too silent but then, perhaps the VC are writing home for Valentine’s Day, just as I’m doing.

We took another hill yesterday. It was rough going, but we made it. You might remember that I mentioned a guy named Cal. He’s from Arkansas and was drafted the same time as I was. We went through boot camp together. They shipped him out yesterday afternoon. They said he’ll recover but I’m not sure he’ll be back. The hole in his left leg was, well, let’s just say it wasn’t small. I’m sure he’ll need quite a bit of time to heal. We’re all hoping they send him back to his family but with the way the war is going, they might patch him up and send him back here.

Meg, in the last letter I received from you, you said that your dad was injured doing work around the house, but you never said how bad he was or how it happened. I’m hoping by the time you get this letter, he’s up and walking around again. Please tell him that whatever he needs done, he can call my brother, Tim. He’ll be more than glad to help.

You know, Meg, it’s ironic, isn’t it? I always hated the fact that my brother had his horrible medical condition. I felt bad that colitis hit him the way it did. But now? Since I’m in this rat hole, I thank God every day that Tim’s condition kept him out of the service. While I hold in the highest regard every man, crap, young man, that is serving our country, I can’t begin to explain how badly I wish all of this would end so we could all go back to our homes. I know some day we will but even when we do, it’ll be years before we can forget everything we’ve seen here.

OMG! Meg, when I think of the nightmares I have and will have for years to come, there are times I want to write to you and tell you to take off the ring I gave you and forget about me. But the selfishness inside me longs to see your beautiful face and hold you in my arms again. I know your love will help me heal but at the same time, I’m asking that when I do finally come home, to please be patient with me.

There are many emotions I’ll probably feel: anger at being here, sadness at the loss of life, fear that the next loss might be me, terror at the fighting we’ve all been through, guilt at each time I pulled the trigger of my gun unsure if I wanted the bullet to hit or miss.

Meg, I want so much to survive and yet, in order to do that, that damn trigger on my rifle will be used on a daily basis and that frightens me more than there are words to describe that feeling. I don’t want to shoot anyone and yet, here in this bleak, damp jungle, it’s kill or be killed.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sorry about that big pencil mark. I just scratched out all the expletives I wrote. I’m also sorry for burdening you with all of this but, Meg, being here gives me no one to talk to. We’re all going through the same things. There’s no comfort. Our only peace comes when we think of our loved ones and pray how they’ll understand what we say and do.

Oh, my darling, Meg, you are my world. My rock! The woman with whom I want to spend the rest of my life. I’m hoping you still feel the same about me.

I hope you don’t mind but I showed some of the guys your picture and naturally, quite a few of them want to know what you see in this ugly face of mine and are more than willing to encourage you to dump me and give them a chance. Although I laughed at their antics, part of me couldn’t help but wonder if things were different, would you be better off than being stuck with me. And you know what’s a bit more amusing? Even my brother said the same thing. “Dan, I’ll be glad to take Meg off your hands. I’m sure I can keep her really good company.” If that kid was just a bit older, I think I would have punched him – brother or not!

The truth, Meg, is that I do often wonder what a gorgeous girl like you is doing with a lug like me. And I’m hoping with all my being that once I come home, I’ll be able to live up to your expectations of me – that is, if you’ll still have me once this damn war is over.

Damn, Meg, gotta go. The action is picking up again. I’ll end this and get it right in the mail bag, which should be picked up in the next two or three days.

Oh, Meg, I don’t want to end this letter. It’s giving me so much comfort just writing it to you but, crap! Just heard a bomb in the distance. I really need to go.

I love you with all my heart.

Forever yours,

Dan