[Finding Emma 01.5] Dear Jack (3 page)

Dear Jack,

When you first mentioned joining to fight in the war, we were both a bit naive in thinking you would be home within six months. It’s been a year and no end in sight. I’ve been trying to think about the women who saw their husbands leave to join World War I and World War II. I wonder if they counted the days till their husbands came home, or if they tried not to think about it.

Do you know that Mary x’s out every day? Even though there’s no end date, she keeps counting down. She also now has three shoeboxes full of drawings and special items she’s collected for you. One box is almost completely full of pretty rocks and shells. There’s an empty bird’s egg and one of your dried roses in there too.

Your rose bushes are budding, I thought you might like to know. Doug had to uproot one of your bushes, there were black spots all over it and no green limbs. But he’s going to replace it. Mary will even help him pick out a new bush for you. Taking care of the flowers will be her job this spring. That little girl of ours wants to so much to show you that she’s growing up. Part of me wonders if you’ll ever be able to see it, how much she’s grown, or if the last memory you’ll have of her is of a young girl with pig tails in her hair?

It’s been so long since we last heard from you Jack. Are you getting any of the letters and drawings we’ve sent you? I try not to worry but I can’t help it. Doug reassures me that you are probably deep in the trenches and that they’re holding everything for you. I hope so.

I lay in bed at night and try to pretend you’re beside me. I place my hand out, palm up, on your side of the bed and imagine that you are holding it while I fall asleep. Some nights I end up cuddling with your pillow and I’ve started to wear one of your nightshirts to bed. I feel closer to you then. I know you’re probably shaking your head at me for being so fanciful.

I don’t want to complain because I know that whatever I’ve experienced has been nothing compared to what you must be going through. It’s the not knowing that is the hardest part. The “what ifs” that run through my head day after day.

Doug says I’ve lost weight. That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Don’t worry, I still have my love handles, but my dresses are a little looser on me. You’ll be happy to know that he is constantly after me to make sure I take care of myself — for both you and Mary. He pulls out that piece of paper where you wrote down the things you want to say to me. I close my eyes and pretend it’s you telling me to take time for myself, to not work so hard and to remember that you love me.

Come home soon, my love. I miss hearing your voice call me Dottie-mine. I miss hearing your voice whisper I love you.

Most importantly, I miss your touch. Your laughter and the twinkle in your eyes when you’re teasing Mary. I miss watching you tend to your roses, the way you unbutton your shirt when you come to bed, the sound of your soft snores while you hold me close.

I miss you. You.

Your Dottie-mine forever.

Jack,

It’s been two months since the letter came telling me you are missing. Two long months of knowing my worst nightmare has come true. Two months of pretending everything is okay to Mary.

Jack, so help me, you need to come home. I can’t do this much longer. I’ve tried to be strong. I’ve tried to be a rock for Mary. But there’s only so much I can do when my own rock is gone. You, Jack, you are my rock. You are the one who holds me up when all I want to do is let go. You. No one else.

I need you. I’ve tried for two long months to resist saying those words. I’m sorry there have been no letters…there hasn’t been too much to tell.

Let’s see…Mary’s collection for you has grown. We are now into box number four. I bought her a notebook where she can write her own letters to you. Doug has been helping her with that, so rest assured you’ll be able to read them.

Your garden is, how shall I put this — stagnant. I try, I really do. But I have a green thumb for vegetables, not for roses. I swear these bushes of yours are emotional, they must know the difference between your gentle touch and my uncaring one. I’m sorry, that was harsh, I know you love these rose bushes, even though I might not understand your fascination with them. So many things about you continue to surprise me — these roses being one of them.

Jack, what is it like where you are? Is it hot and humid? Cold and bitter? Are you well or barely surviving? What are you doing? Where are you? I know you’re not dead. I’d be dead as well if you were. Plus, I know you wouldn’t do that to Mary. It would mean breaking your promise, and we all know that Jack Henry is a man of his word.

Please Jack…I promise to write more if you promise to just come home.

I won’t break my promise.

Dottie.

Jack Douglas Henry,

How dare you! What were you thinking? What possible thought would have gone through that thick skull of yours to make you think that it would be even remotely okay?

You are my husband. Till death do us part. I don’t remember finding out you were dead and I’m sure not. So why would you think I’d forsake my vows just because you were afraid?

That’s what all this boils down to. You being afraid.

Well, let me tell you something mister. I’m more than capable of taking care of myself and our daughter. I am more than capable of taking care of this house and providing for us. I’m doing it now and you can rest assured I’ll continue to do so until you come home.

Just so you know, I tore a strip off of Doug as well. I do not care that you made him promise to
take care of your family
if three months passed after you’d been declared MIA. Missing in action is not dead. And I know you’re not dead.

I hope, when you finally read this, that you will realize your error and apologize. To me, to your daughter and to the best friend willing to throw his life away for you.

I am so mad at you right now Jack. It’s a good thing I had a lot of flour and sugar in the house. I’ll be heading in to town tomorrow to drop off all the baking I’ve done today.

Don’t you ever do that again. Is that understood? Never.

Dorothy Julianne Henry – the wife you’ll some day be thanking for never giving up.

Dear Jack,

It’s been six months since that letter arrived that changed my life. There are no more tears to cry. No more hopes to dash. They’re all gone.

One of your squad mates stopped by for a visit the other day. Jonathan Notley. A nice young man. He carried a bundle in his surviving hand. If it weren’t for Mary being there with me in the garden when he stepped out of the truck, I would have fallen apart.

He brought us back all the letters we sent you. Tied in a red ribbon, the one I stuffed in your pocket right before you left. He found them beneath your pillow and apologized for not bringing them to us sooner. That’s when I cried. He’d been in the hospital for the past few months due to losing his hand. The poor boy. He said you were a father figure to him, saved him multiple times and taught him more than his own father had. You were his hero.

You are my hero.

We invited him to stay but his father was waiting in the vehicle for him and they needed to head home. I wasn’t able to say much, I just held on to the letters, gripping them tight to my chest as he told us about his time with you. Mary hung on to Doug’s hand and wouldn’t let go.

I stood there, with a smile on my face until he drove away. Doug picked up Mary and followed me into the house. The look on his face…that sweet boy who only meant good…confirmed what I didn’t want to accept.

You’re really gone. Aren’t you?

How? How could you be dead? Why doesn’t it feel like you’re gone?

In my heart, you’re still alive. In my heart, you’ve never left.

Jack.

How am I going to tell Mary?

~~~

You would have been so proud of our daughter, Jack.

I went up to our room after Jonathan left and hid there for a while. I didn’t want to face Doug knowing he’d been right, and I wasn’t ready to answer Mary’s questions. I know it wasn’t right of me to leave that up to him, that it wasn’t fair to ask him to carry that burden. Yes, I was being a coward. And I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.

But when I came back downstairs, Doug left to chop some wood for us and I had Mary help me get dinner started. She was the one to start the conversation. Do you want to know what her first words were?

“At least we know Daddy got our letters and pictures. He knew we loved him, right?”

You knew, right? How much we loved you and missed you? How much we wanted you to come home? How proud of you we were?

It’s hard for me to write in the past tense. Loved. Missed. I still love you Jack. I still miss you. I still want you to come home and I’m still proud of you. So very proud of the man you are. That will never change. That will never go away.

I’m not sure how I can go on, now knowing you won’t ever come home. How am I supposed to sleep tonight, knowing your hands will never hold mine again, that your body will never snuggle up to me and keep me warm in the middle of the night?

I hope you don’t expect me to turn out like the women in town, needy and looking for support any way they can? You were my family, there’s no one else to run to. No one who can help me out. No one but myself to ensure I remain strong. No one else to hold me up when all I want to do is fall apart. No one else to make sure Mary grows up to be a strong woman.

I love you Jack, but I’ll be honest, there’s a part of me that hates you too. I’m mad. Angry. Angry that you would leave us to fight a war that didn’t affect us. Furious that you would put your own pride above the needs of your family — above me and Mary. Couldn’t you see that we needed you more than they did? Let someone else fight in your place. That’s what I should have said to you before you left. I should have fought harder to keep you home.

You broke your promise to me. And I want to hate you for that.

Except, I can’t.

It’s not your fault that you had to break your promise. I can’t blame you for another man’s actions. Jonathan didn’t know how you died, just that you didn’t return with your squadron after a routine walkabout. Whatever that means. How can a walkabout in enemy territory be routine?

I’m not ready to accept that you’re never coming home to me. I’m not sure that I’ll ever be ready to accept that.

I’m not willing to let go. Not yet.

I love you Jack Henry.

Dear Jack.

Happy birthday!

I know it doesn’t matter any more, but Mary and I have been planning what we would do to celebrate your birthday since last year and it was too hard to just sit at home and pretend this day never existed.

First thing first. We made you your favorite cake and pie. Actually, if truth be told, Mary made the cake and I made the pie. German chocolate cake, along with a side of dutch apple pie with a bit of caramel. We left the cake and pie to cool on the counter and took off.

One of Mary’s best memories of you is how you would take us on adventures every Sunday. It’s not something I’ve kept up but I’ll try to. Maybe not every weekend, but at least once a month. I let Mary choose all the turns and we ended up down a little side road west of Kinrich. We followed the trail as far as we could go and then climbed down. We found a quaint little private beach with no houses in sight.

It’s really a beautiful place, Jack. You would have liked it. Even Mary said so. We haven’t said goodbye to you officially yet, and I’m not sure if we will. I’m not sure I ever can. I still stare down the road, waiting for the gust of dirt to billow behind a vehicle that I’m sure is bringing you home to me. Even though it’s never you, I keep praying that one day it will be.

Mary and I dug our feet into the sand and relaxed. It was nice. She chattered away, telling me stories, asking me questions…I kept picturing you there with us, the smile on your face as you listened to her talk. We stayed there for about an hour. At one point, Mary fell asleep on the beach so I went and stood in the water, the stones beneath my feet, and I thought about you.

That was one of Mary’s questions — if you were at the other end of the water. I told her you were, somewhere. She wanted to put a message in a bottle for you, something Doug had told her about, but I told her it wasn’t that kind of water. We needed to go to the ocean to do that, but that you would never find the bottle since you had died over there. She said that was okay, that maybe someone who knew you would find the bottle and put it on your grave.

Jack, that girl of ours surprises me all the time. I can’t wait to see what kind of woman she grows up to be. I imagine she’ll be very compassionate but strong in character. I can see how her teenage years might be a bit trying, but hopefully she’ll be more like me and less like you in that regard.

I wish you were here to watch her grow. She needs you. I’m thankful for Doug and for the stability he brings to Mary. But he’s not you. He’ll never be you.

Your cake was delicious by-the-way. So was the pie. Best one I’ve made yet.

Happy birthday husband.

Dear Jack.

I remember once saying I was never going to say goodbye to you.

I was wrong. A wise man told me that.

You.

Doug pulled up today in his truck and hauled out a maple tree. The roots in it were good, strong. It’ll be a sturdy tree, able to withstand anything nature throws at it.

I didn’t understand why he brought the tree until he handed me your letter.

Jack…I can’t tell you how much it meant to me to know you wrote me a letter telling me how to say goodbye to you. The fact that you knew I would need this letter tells me that you knew you might have to break your promise to me. I slapped Doug when he first handed me the letter. It’s a natural reaction. It’s been almost eight months since I was first told you were missing, five months since he told me of the promise he made to you.

I was angry with him for keeping this letter from me, but after reading it, I understood.

You both know me better than I know myself.

I love you Jack Douglas Henry. I have always loved you. Even when you made me mad. I will always love you. Even when the thought of saying goodbye to you means losing a part of myself, forever.

I know you’ve asked me to stop waiting. To stop placing my life on hold. I know you want me to think about Mary and what is best for her. I know you don’t want me to think that I have to do it all myself.

I know what you want. And I know you
think
you know what’s best for me. But Jack, I’ve changed. These two years have altered who I am at the core, more than I think we thought possible. I can almost hear you telling me how proud of me you are. I’m proud of myself too.

One of the things you wished for in your letter was to know that Mary and I had a strong relationship. We do. You can rest easy on that if it’s still bothering you. She is a beautiful little girl and I love her. She’ll always be daddy’s little girl, but I can’t wait for her to be an adult and for us to be close. You hear about those mothers who say their daughter is their best friend — that’s what I want with Mary.

We’ll plant your tree. And we’ll plant it exactly where you wanted it to grow. And yes, I’ll give myself permission to say goodbye. Because you asked. Because you know me better than I know myself and you knew I would need your permission, your approval to say goodbye.

I love you Jack. I always will.