Featured Image Richard Horne Upsplash.com
Little David, it seems very strange to be writing to you, who is really me, and you are all of fourteen years old today, and the year is 1957! As for me, I am 72 years old today, and the year is 2014.
I have been waiting to write this letter to you for many years because you needed to be a little older before you would understand what I am saying in these few lines.
I’ll begin by explaining how it can be that two people, who are really one, can write and receive a letter – after 57 years passed!
Some years ago, I began to think of you and how life was back in 1949 when you were only seven years old. You were a bright little berry, the eldest of four sons. Fair-haired with blue eyes, you were a fine-looking lad. You were a little skinny, but then you were a wartime baby, and your diet was not what it could have been.
Daddy was back from the war, only a few years after he had been flying those great big airplanes called flying boats. Yes, I remember you named the aircraft he commanded – ‘Lucky Star’ because, as a three-year-old, you could not say ’Loadstar,’ which was the original name.
But back to how I was able to write to you. It started like this: I felt a great urge to go back into my past because I had recalled the unfortunate and sometimes frightening things that happened to me back then. More than anything, I wanted to forget those things, but I did not know how to forget my past.
Like remembering how Mommy would drink that horrible stuff in the brown bottle that made her go all funny, and then she would gag it up in the bathroom outside. I see you there now, sitting outside the bathroom, crying, and begging her to come out and give you supper. It’s true that you are hungry and want your supper, but even more than that, you are afraid that something terrible would happen to her in that little outside room; then what would you do without your Mommy?
I remember ‘Momma,’ your grandmother, arriving to look after all of you and help your Mommy to get better and stop drinking that horrible stuff in the brown bottle. Momma, who loved us all so much, came to look after Mommy and you four boys. I’m sure she came because you asked God for help, do you remember? Momma always cooked such tasty food, tucked us in bed, and kissed us good night after we said our prayers, “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild, please help this little child.” I bet you are enjoying her scones, with butter and Jam, dunked in steaming condensed milk coffee, Sipping it out of Daddy’s big air force mug. You loved your Daddy, didn’t you, even though he was always so fierce and fought with Mommy every night when he came home?
Oh, I’ve wandered off again; let’s get back to how I got to write this letter. I found the house that you used to live in, because, strangely enough, I remembered the address – 21 years later! Stranger still, that the house was still standing, unchanged from when you lived there. I would love to have gone inside, but quite honestly, I didn’t dare to go and knock on the front door; after all, what would I say when they opened the door, “Please, may I look inside your house; I used to stay here once…”
So, I just sat outside in my car and cried –big tears I could not control as they gushed out of my eyes. There was a considerable pain inside me as I called for you, wishing I could run through the gate, lift you from outside the bathroom and take you into my arms. Tell you that it will all turn out alright, and it won’t be long before your Mommy will be well again.
Then, to my surprise, there was a tapping on my car window – it was Momma! How could this be? I knew she had passed ten years back, and although she appeared as old, she somehow looked younger than I remembered her. I wound the window down, “David,” she said, in her soft, almost musical voice, “why are you crying?” “I..I… I’m so sad,” I choked through my tears. “It’s little David; he’s crying for Mommy outside the bathroom. I want to lift him into my arms, but I can’t reach him, Momma”. “I know.” She replied softly, “But you could write him a letter.” “A letter!” I exclaimed, quite shocked. “Where will I send it; to what address?” I cried desperately. It was as if she was pondering on my question, smiling as she did so, and then…she vanished!
I jumped out of the car, crying out her name while running around the vehicle. I leaned against the door, shaking and mopping my now sweating brow.
I turned to see if anyone was looking, but thankfully there was no one, so I drove off.
I thought about what had happened but never told anyone about that day. I also forgot about what Momma had suggested. That is, until today, fifty-seven years later.
As I sit here, writing to you, I feel like a mystic, a fortune teller, knowing your past and future; that’s entirely something new for me to experience!
I know you remember the day that Daddy left home as usual and never returned that night. Momma told us that he had gone to another country to be a miner and was not returning. You thought he ran away because he was angry with you or because Mommy always drank that horrible stuff in the brown bottle.
You cried into your pillow that night and asked ‘Gentle Jesus’ to bring your Daddy back.
You had to wait a long time for the answer, but one December, it arrived wonderfully, and Daddy explained how.
Part Two of this story will be a blog post in three weeks. If you complete your details here: Contact – Let-Me-Write-4You; a link will be sent to you when it is published.
Leave a Reply