When my parents died, some old paperwork was handed down to me. Among the papers was a love letter that had been written to my maternal grandmother Vera on October 12, 1913, when she was 25. That’s the year my grandparents were married.
But the letter was from a gentleman named Frank who was not my grandfather.
By the time we found the letter, there wasn’t anyone left around who could shed any light on the relationship between Vera and Frank. There was no return address on the envelope, so I don’t even know Frank’s last name.
It seems that Grandmother had gently broken it off with Frank. The letter, handwritten in pencil in beautiful cursive, was a declaration of his love for her. And between the lines, you will find his forgiveness for her in not choosing him.
Here it is.
My beloved Darling, In compliance with your kind request during our recent conversation, I devote myself to the task of shaping my thoughts into a farewell communication to you. But remember, dear heart, that I allude not to writing to you as a task on account of the penmanship involved, but because of the many tender memories which writing awakens – memories of you and days gone by which I shall cherish as long as life shall last.
True it is that our tryst of last Tuesday night has materially aided in reviving my optimistic attitude toward life, but not to the extent that the joyous anticipation of someday calling you all my own used to revive it.
Ah, Vera! I must tell you that my entire being seems to revolt against the paths which you have deemed it best for us to follow—paths that lie so far apart that it sometimes seems hard to realize that the same sun, moon, and stars illuminate both.
Perhaps after all, darling, you too are wishing that we were together again. Probably deep in the secret chambers of your heart, there lingers a fervid hope that God, in His own good time, will break down the barriers which hold us asunder, and that we may yet realize mutual dreams of happiness by linking our lives together as one. What, if we both sincerely love each other, as we have so often avowed, could be a more natural culmination to our little romance?
Of course, it may amount, in the end, to no more than a dream—this desire of our hearts for union in wedlock. But if it is a dream, my love, then I am content to dream on until Eternity dawns upon the barren desert of my life and draws the curtain of Death between a body that has felt the thrills of true love’s dreams and a soul with no higher ambition in life than to render your happiness secure. Farewell, my dearest loved one, Farewell. Yours forever, Frank to Vera
Well, they don’t write them like that anymore, do they?
Frank, I don’t know who you were, but thank you for loving my grandmother. You were a gentleman with an expansive soul. I hope you went on to find someone else who swept you off your feet and that you had an amazing family and life.
We don’t need to wait for Valentine’s Day to remember that it’s important to tell the people in our lives that we love them. Say it like you mean it, not as an afterthought. Every day.
To my readers: Do you know a grandparent’s love story that you will share?
What a beautiful letter! How wonderful to be loved so much!
After my mother passed away I found a love letter written to her by “Wallace” (not our father). It seems to have been written in high school.
It was eloquently written, much like the one to your grandmother.
We don’t know Wallace. I have looked for Wallace in her yearbook but he, too, is a mystery.
I wonder if my girls will find the love letters written (not by their father) to me…!
Well, I don’t know. Do you have a secret stash of letters tucked away?! Thanks for sharing the story on Wallace.
They sure don’t make many men in this day and age the same as they did Frank! Although I wouldn’t be afraid to bet there weren’t that many Franks back then either!
There’s a story I can tell about my maternal great grandparents, Minnie and Robert. Minnie became pregnant, but Robert left the area unfortunately upon learning the news. Can you imagine what an uproar that made back then?! It was kept as much a secret as was possible, considering the mindset concerning such incidents in the late 1800s. However, after a year, he returned with a change in his heart and married Minnie. He was a wonderful man who provided great love and support to the whole family, even financial for all as through the depression he never lost his job on the railroad, and was a well-respected man in the community. Their marriage lasted until they died in their 80s! But it was not until my grandmother and mother were getting their house ready to sell after my grandmother’s death that they discovered the marriage license and my grandmother’s birth certificate and their dates and then learned the history from an elderly neighbor who was willing to disclose it. Until then my grandmother was completely unaware of her own history. If Robert had not had his change of heart, I would not exist. Thank you, Great Grandpap!
What a lovely story! Oh, and Robert, I thank you also for coming back to love because otherwise, the world would be a lesser place without my friend.
Can’t recall if I told you this recently… hubby and I are in the mindset of decluttering and paring down for our move in a couple of months. Out comes our box of love letters, from dating to pre-wedding day to the first few years of our marriage. The first two of those three categories took place in a six-month period! Our goal in the “disposal of love letters” project was to do a quick read, over an hour, have a few laughs, and into the shredder they go.
It took us at least a week, off and on, and I’m not sure we completed the project. We laughed a lot, shared twinkling eyes, and reconnected mentally and emotionally through that stroll down memory lane. At day #2 we told our two daughters about our project, and plans to dispatch them after our read. They both said, “No, please don’t do that; we want to read them.”
The reason we have so many letters going back and forth is that our job locations were over 300 miles apart. Though we actually got to know each other when he was dating one of my roommates. Four of us gals shared an apartment in Chicago. He would drive from Connecticut about every three weeks to see her. They would go out for the evening, come home late, and when I awoke the following morning, there he was sitting in a chair reading the newspaper. The sheets, pillow and blanket were neatly folded and stacked at one end of the sofa (his bed). I did an about-face, went back to my bedroom to go from jammies into clothes, came back and asked him if he’d like some coffee. While we talked we drank several pots of coffee, I made breakfast, more coffee and it’s lunch time. His date arose around 2 in the afternoon. This scenario repeated itself every time he made that trip from CT. So he and I got to know each other very well, without the pretense often encountered in an actually date.
After college graduation he took a job in CA. He called one evening (pre-arranged call) to talk to his date, but she was out with friends. I mentioned that I was moving to CA also with a new job. He made me PROMISE that I would call him when I got there. I said something like “Yea, Yea” planning to do no such thing. He said several times, “No, you have to PROMISE.” So I told him that I promise. He had discovered during our coffee encounters that I am a woman of my word.
I moved, stayed in a hotel a couple of days while I searched for a nice apartment. Decided I had the perfect solution to this “promise” problem: I would call him, tell him I had planned to come visit his area this weekend, but can’t because I was moving into my new apartment, confident that would be the end of the issue. I was totally unprepared for his response: “Good! I’ll come up and help you move in!” We lived over 300 miles apart.
He rang my doorbell, I opened the door. Took one look at his face and said to myself, “Oh, &@$!€¥, I’m getting married!” Unbelievable! My company had just moved me over 2,000 miles, I had signed a year’s lease on my apartment, and after several weeks on the job, I had yet to actually meet my new boss (he had been on travel).
This romance is lovingly known by my family as “The Coffee Story.” It’s been told many times, to family and friends, but it never gets old. The most recent telling was at a dinner party we had a few months ago, with each couple charged with sharing how they met and fell in love. After everyone headed to their homes, my husband told me he loves it when I tell the “Coffee Story”. It’s still music to my ears after almost 49 years of marriage.
Uh, didn’t you forget the punch line of the story? As I recall, the guy actually doesn’t like coffee!Thanks for sharing your love story.