Love Letters from WWII

June 4th, 1944

Dearest Margorie,

They say we will be headed to shore soon. I can't tell you how happy I will be to have my feet touch land. The anxiety and anticipation of what is to come has us all in knots. We don't know what to expect - and I don't think even the captains know. No one is saying much, just cloaked in various shades of pale or gray - waiting. It almost feels similar to how it felt waiting for those church doors to open and for you to come down the aisle. I kept whispering to Jerry, "I don't think she's going to come". He kept reassuring me you'd be there, but I was shaking and sweating bullets. I don't think I ever told you that, or how relieved and happy I was when those doors did open. You looked just like an angel in that white dress and your hair all done up. I keep holding on to that moment as we sit here now, waiting. Jerry keeps reassuring me that it will all be all right, but I can feel myself shaking, and the wavering of his voice tells me he is too. I can only pray that when it's time for the doors to open here they either lead me back to you, or swiftly into the arms of an angel that I will be directing to watch over you. Pray for us darling.

With All My Love,

George

June 7th, 1944

Dearest Margorie,

Yesterday there were no angels to greet us and no amount of comforting thoughts could break through the hell fire and chaos of the day. It was as if the world had split open and hell itself crawled up from the depths to swallow anyone participating in this god forsaken war. Bullets flew, Planes dropped bombs, cannons blasted the beach - it was as if God himself picked the world up like a Cluedo board, shook it, and flipped the table over. I always wanted to see France - but this is not France. This is Hades. There will be so many ghosts here. So many young men with unfinished dreams and plans who will never make it home. Jerry is among them. I did everything I could, but there were no medics where we were, hunkered down behind a sand dune, praying - to who? God doesn't seem to be listening to anyone on either side in this fight. I told Jerry, as he was laying there shaking, "we will meet again one day" - trying to be reassuring, as he has been to me all those years. He's a lot better at that sort of thing than I am. I don't know how I survived today. You must have an angel watching over me. Margorie, if it comes to pass that I do leave this world from this hell hole, rest assured I will wait for you outside those pearly gates, standing watch, until it is your time to come home to me there. But I pray that I make it home to you. I pray that there is something left of me if I do. It's the thought of seeing your warm smile again that gives me hope in this bitter darkness.

With all my love,

George

June 26th, 1944

Dearest Margorie,

I'm sorry that I haven't been able to write for awhile. The dead of night is the only quiet moment I get now. The days are filled with the hum of electronic radios, the crackling call of urgent voices, the creaks, groans, and roars of engines. Even the rushing sounds of planes overhead, which sounds something like a fire cracker but deeper, louder, as if it was propelled by a tornado, they crack the daylight with the whip of their noise. Gunfire is kin to white noise that the boys nap to, if they get a chance to nap. But then, these terrible noise ridden days turn to night, and all becomes still for a few measly hours that I find myself greedy for. In this small iota of peace, the lamp light turned small and soft, the terror of this war ridden land melts away into the deep inky blue sky that shows there is still something beautiful in this world.

Those twinkling stars, sparkle with innocent youth, like I imagine your eyes still do, like they did that day sitting down by the pier - your hand in mine as we struggled to find the words to say "goodbye". They're blue like your eyes too - like crystals made of the prettiest ocean water you ever saw. I allow myself to get lost in staring at them. It almost makes it feel as if you are here - as if I could reach out and touch those stars and caress your sweet face.

They say we might be moving on soon. I'll write more when I can. Know when you read this how much I love you, and how much that love keeps me going.

With all my love,

George

August 25th, 1944

Dearest Margorie,

They say the war is going to be over soon. There have been parades in Paris and reports of surrenders in Marseille! God willing there will be mercy in this land and good will triumph over this evil. I cannot imagine the hatred it must take to spurn an entire country into a bloody hate-filled mess where books and people are burnt for just being different. I don't want to imagine that kind of soul.

I worry what I have seen here will paint me in shades of darkness. Sometimes at night when I close my eyes I can see things from the days before. It's only when I think of you that those horrors fade, but the memories don't seem to be quite enough anymore, so I've been imagining our future.

I see you, sitting in a rocking chair on the porch with a glass of iced tea chatting with Patricia and Linda about what color you're going to paint the baby's room. I see you holding her, all soft and pink and warm, and she smells gentle and sweet like the comforting way the earth smells after it rains. She smells like your perfume too, since you've been holding her. I see you smiling at her as she learns to sit, and walk. I see you dancing in the kitchen with her, just the cutest tornado of giggles and curls. I see you tucking her in, reading her a story, and kissing her forehead. I see you laying down next to me, your hands on my chest, and I wish I could just breathe every bit of you in to me and keep it inside so that the darkness of this place could never touch me.

I pray this is over soon so we can take these dreams of mine and build a life the darkness can never touch.

With all my love,

George

Dearest Margorie,

If you're reading this know that you can count me among those beautiful stars that remind me so much of your eyes. Know that I am watching over you from a better, peaceful place and wishing that I was home in your arms. Know that my last thoughts were warm and loving thoughts of you and the life we shared together and the dreams that I was dreaming for us. I want you to know how very happy you made me and how honored I was to get to call myself yours. I want you to promise me, and promise yourself, that you will live out the rest of your days filling your heart with dreams that you will chase, plans that you will make, and live Margorie. I will always be with you. When the robins come in spring and sing their song, when a ladybug lands on your window sill, and when a soft breezes blows your hair away from your cheek, know that it was me who sent them. You have my heart, my soul, and my life for always. Keep me well in memory, and love me by your living the rest of your days in happiness.

With all my love, forever,

George