Dear John…
Yet on the other hand these just might be the coldest unattached two words in the world, well unless your name was really John then they just might be the happiest most meaningful words a man can read. To a man whose name is not John just these two words alone say “Hey you. You the guy I once said I would love forever are now the guy who I could not even name.”
Abigail continued to stare, tracing each letter with her eyes. Did she really feel that way? Had she become so detached from the Love she had felt so strongly the last time she saw him? No of course not, but then why did she linger on these two words? Why did she type them first, why not just use his name? Maybe these two words might portray another thought. Maybe these two words once read would tell the reader that she used them to distance herself from the pain of writing the letter. By not using his name maybe he would understand that in order to write such a letter she had to keep the image of him hurt and heartbroken out of her mind or else not have the courage to finish it. Would he understand that just from two words?
“Rubbish” she said ripping the paper from the type writer. She doubted any man would take the time to analyze two words over as she had just spent what seemed like a millennia doing. Besides if she did not want him to view her as completely cold hearted she would have to offer an explanation which in turn, in her opinion, defeated the purpose of Dear John.
She placed a new sheet of paper in the type writer and prepared to start over.
Dear
She stopped. This is why she had typed Dear John in the first place; she did not want the mental image of him reading this letter. It made it real for her to think about that, and if it became real she would not be able to say the things she wanted to. She was not writing this because she did not love him, it was the completely opposite. She had to write this letter because she loved him very deeply.
Leave it blank. That idea appealed to her greatly. That way she could get on with the letter and say what she needed to say without focusing on the pain it will cause. Leave it blank and fill in his name after just like the prewritten letters that she got from businesses she owed money too. Those companies’ letter writers excel at detaching themselves from the recipients. However, she was not one of the letter writers at those companies she was, just Abigail, the girl who was trying to break up with her sweetheart. She put her fingers on the keys took a deep breath and listened to the sound of the typewriter as it came to life.
Dear ,
I received two of your letters last Thursday, one was dated the 9th and the other was dated the 20th. Receiving several of your letters at once has become more common as your position changes. I do not know if this is because you are unable to send them at the time you write them or whether the postal system is at fault. I expect since this is happening it may be happening on your end as well, which means I have no idea when this letter will reach you or in what order you will read the letters you receive. I hope you will read this one last. I have half a notion to right on the envelope to read this one last, but if you do receive my letters in order then it would just be silly, plus your likely to read it first because I told you not to. No matter which letter you read first or last I want you to know that I love you very much.
With that said, I want to tell you the real purpose of this letter is to tell you I can no longer be committed to you or you to I. I know this will be a shock to you especially after my last letter, which I hope you read before this one. This is a very difficult letter to write but please bear with me as I try my best to explain.
It has been very difficult since you left for war. I have tried to be optimistic and keep hope in my heart that you will be safe and come back to me unchanged, but I know that is unrealistic. Nobody comes home from war unchanged. Nevertheless I have been plagued with the worst kind of worry. I have lost many nights sleep thinking about the places you might be and the things you have had to do to keep safe.
I have been hearing things about the men that have come back on leave from the local women. Things that cause men to be shadows of their former selves. I have also heard stories about the people that soldiers like you come into contact with and the things that soldiers do when isolated on the other side of the world away from their women. It is mostly this last part that is the main force behind this letter. I realized after my last letter of what I have so confidently called ‘our plans’ for when you come home might be requiring more then you can think about at this point. You are over there fighting for your life and I am over here a million miles away thinking of a big wedding, kids, and a home to call our own. I have concluded that you do not need that right now.
I also do not want you to fight within yourself because of your commitment to me, if those things that soldiers do for company arise. I also do not want to sit here every night wondering about not only are you safe but if you are being faithful to me. I see what that kind of fretting has done to some women and it is very unpleasant. It is worse when their men come back because that is all they seem to focus on, did they or did they not. Relentless fighting has taken place over that simple question. I do not want that for us. Therefore, I am relinquishing you of our commitment and your loyalty to me. I feel this is the best thing for both our sanity.
I beg you, though you will be upset at first, please understand the situation and solution and please do not hate me. I do love you and I will keep a spot for you in my heart.
With love and regret,
Again another blank where a name should go. Abigail pulled the sheet out of the typewriter and read over it. Tears she was trying to hold back ran slowly from her face to the paper. If she had to put names she was not going to type them in, she would put them in her own handwriting so that he would know for sure that it was from her.
While typing the letter Abigail felt the ache in her heart spread inch by inch with every word typed. Now as she picked up a pen to write his name and hers she felt as if her heart could rupture at any time. As expected as she wrote his name in the blank the reality of the letter hit her hard and as she finished the L of her first name the dam of emotions that threatened to consume her broke and she sat in front of her typewriter and wept.
Afterwards as she was preparing the letter to mail, Abigail’s mind kept referring back to a saying her grandmother used on occasion when Abigail was small and was upset when certain expectations she had were disappointed. She would sit Abigail on her lap and say, “it is what it is until it isn’t.” She never knew what it meant until now. It meant that nothing no person, place, or thing is immune to change. One moment you can be planning your life with another, the next moment you are writing a Dear John letter.
As she was contemplating this and sealing the envelope there was a knock at the door. Who in the world can that be, she wondered as she got up from her desk leaving the letter leaning against the typewriter. She quickly glanced in the mirror and saw her red puffy eyes staring back at her.
“I’m a mess,” she said as she tried to wipe away the signs of her misery. Downstairs there was another knock.
“I’m coming!” she yelled though she was doubtful whoever was on the other side of the door could hear her. Another glance at the mirror, another sniffle, and she was out down the hall towards the stairs. Another knock.
“Sheesh, whoever it is isn’t very patient.” She mumbled running down the stairs.
At the door her hand paused on the knob. Better see who it is first, she thought, cannot be too careful these days. Leaning to look through the window beside the door she saw a military issued vehicle in the driveway. Did her heart just stop? Moving to get a better view she saw a man in a military uniform standing with his back to the door looking out into the yard. Her mind went immediately to the envelope on her desk and that dam of emotions was back.
Her thoughts danced. Is that him? Was he on leave? He did not say he had leave coming up; maybe he wanted it to be a surprise? Then another thought came screaming to the front, OPEN THE DOOR IDIOT! This thought dominated the others causing Abigail to throw open the door.
Her heart started beating normally again, it was not him. She let out a sigh. A sigh of relief or disappointment she did not know. The soldier had turned around and had his hand raised as if he was going to knock again. She was thankful he did not follow through otherwise he would be knocking on her face.
“Can I help you?” She asked studying him. He was not a soldier she knew.
“Yes ma’am. I didn’ mean ta interrupt,” he replied straightening into what she referred to as the stick position, every soldiers go to stance. “I have letters for ya.”
You could not get more southern she laughed internally. “Letters for me?”
“Yes ma’am. That is if yor name is a Miss. Abigail Linket. That is you ma’am, correct?
“Yes,” she replied. “Though I doubt if Miss and ma’am belong in the same sentence.”
The blank and silent expression she received told her the joke had gone the way of the dodo.
“Sorry, said
This letter will be short. I hope that you have received my last couple of letters. I have not received any from you in awhile but I assume that it is because the armies postal system is less than desirable, but what do you expect when there is a war going on and you are not sure were anybody is. We have received orders, orders which details I will not bother you with. Lord knows how you worry; I do not need to had fuel to the fire. I just wanted to tell you that I love you. It is thoughts of you that keep the darkness of this war from consuming me. I hope your letters will be waiting for me when we get back from our mission.
Until I can write again and with love,
Andrew
Abigail’s heart stopped beating and dropped miserably into her stomach. She did not think she could take much more of this emotional rollercoaster. What orders? Where is he? What would add fuel to the fire? How long ago was this? The last question was the only one she could answer. She looked up into the corner.
January 25.
Only five days after the last one she received. What was is now February tenth or eleventh she could not quiet remember. Was he ok? Was his mission over? Was he even now reading her letters or writing one of his own?
She had forgotten about the man standing on her porch. She turned her attention to the next letter, the fresh one with a nice official seal. Breaking the seal she slipped the thin crisp paper from the envelope. Opening it she saw an official United States of America heading. She already did not like this letter; it felt weird in her fingers after just reading the letter from Andrew with its stains of life and war.
To the Family of ANDREW GLOWSKY,
We regrettably inform you that ANDREW GLOWSKY was killed in the line of duty.
Both letters fell from Abigail’s hands and as if on cue the soldier standing on her porch reached out to catch her as she fell to the ground. There was no true consciousness for her Abigail at that time, just over whelming grief. She did not think, she did not speak, she did not even scream.
When looking upon this moment years later after time had worked miracle healing on her heart, she cannot remember even crying. She looks back at that time, at that day, at the process beginning with Dear John and ending with To the Family of. Not to make since of it but use it as she sits with her weeping granddaughter on her lap, tears flowing freely from disappointment and whispers a phrase she learned long ago.
“It is what it is until it isn’t”