From the First Love Letter

Edith Babcock Kokernot

Tara sat in front of the bottom dresser drawer, notes, papers, letters, old envelopes scattered about her. She picked up an old telegram and read it with a smile. The date was August 26, 1953. It read: “My darling, the date represents our 7th anniversary and has special significance for many reasons. The fact we aren’t together for the occasion makes apparent the essential role you occupy. Fortunately, in five days you and the children will be here to fill this void. I love you darling.”

It seemed like only a short time ago when she received this. She had been visiting her mother while Jim found an apartment in the city for them to move into. Up to that time, they had hardly ever been separated. She remembered how they had hated it, being away from each other on their wedding anniversary.

She pulled an envelope out of a neat ribbon-tied bundle and opened it. The date, September 25, 1943. They had met only a month earlier. “My darling sweetheart. Having your nice letter waiting for me when I arrived was perfect. It was so very sweet that nothing would do but that I call you. As I told you on the phone and will repeat here, those few days with you were wonderful. First, being with you just set the whole thing off right. It was the little glow that set the fire to blaze. Do you know what it all meant to me? (And to you I hope!)”

“First let me say this, darling. You’ve known me really only a short time, but in the true sense it seems longer when one considers the confidence, we have placed n each other. When I try to look at myself in order to find reasons for the way I reacted, I am not disillusioning myself. In other words, I mean that if I seem to be more emotional in my letters and speak with too much frankness, as if I were presuming something that hasn’t come about yet, please don’t overlook it. It has all come about through many years of observing and experiencing many difficulties. All these things have given me a deeper insight and stronger desire to secure the things I want in life. Things that make toward happiness, perfect love and contentment. You see, darling, I am the type that, when he loves, loves deeply for fear those things which I am going to have will be taken away. In order to make sure it isn’t just infatuation, I want to be able to find companionship, to be able to find consolation in writing and talking to you, because if we can find this, then there is nothing more left for proving. If we seek each other merely for the sake of being with each other, that’s not enough, but I have confidence and truly believe that isn’t our case. I love you darling. I grant you, it’s small now, but if you’ve a vision, try to look out there to see just how far the thing can go.”

“Now if this is to be the case, let us not be desperately selfish with ourselves and forget everyone else. It is in contacts with others that we can expect to better our own selves. So, as you mentioned, let’s not neglect the opportunity to mix around. But in it all darling, please remember that if we find the true feeling of companionship and deepest love in each other, let’s not waste it all in some insignificant person we might meet. There are so many things I would like to express or tell you. I know you will be very busy in your college work, too, but here at the start let’s not neglect each other. Oh, I love you. Very impromptu, but I mean it!”

“Do all the things we talked about make it easier for you to know me? Honey, I intend for only one person to really know me. If you are the one, then prepare, for you’ve got a lot in store. Trust me to make it more on the good side than bad.”
“Goodnight sweetheart and promise to think of me each night just as you are drifting off to sleep, and I’ll do likewise. All my love darling, Jim.”

This was only one of many she received from Jim in the next three years. All saved in neat ribbon-tied bundles. While she finished college, he was sent overseas. But they saw each other enough to become engaged before he left. She at the ripe age of eighteen. He was twenty-two. She never had eyes for another after meeting Jim. How she loved him then, hardly old enough to know the meaning of love, but she did. After the War, he returned to finish college himself and their courtship continued until their marriage just twenty-five years ago. When she found a picture from their wedding day, Tara smiled as she remembered that day. They had both done a lot of growing up, and luckily had had six months to get reacquainted. She was sure he was shaking as she stood beside him at the church alter. He was so handsome and so happy. He loved her dearly and she certainly had no doubts that he was the one and only for her. The reception in her home afterwards was lovely and after a short interval of cutting the cake and the usual amenities, she escaped to change into her going away outfit. They left in her parent’s car because Jim hadn’t been able to afford to buy a car and rental cars were still hard to come by in those days. They were very excited as they waved goodbye and drove away for a weeklong honeymoon. Tin cans clanking as they raced off. They stopped just out of town while Jim removed them. When he reentered the car, he reached over and took her in his arms briefly, saying, “I never thought this day would come. Can I ever show you how very much I love you? I am so lucky, and you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Tara remembered the “til death do us part…” of the ceremony and held the picture closer, studying it in detail. Then, with a sigh, she gathered up the other pictures, letters, and papers and placed them neatly back into the drawer, all but the yellowed telegrams. She wondered why she had saved them all these years. Perhaps it would be a mistake to read more now. What had made her go to the drawer in the first place? Jim didn’t even know she had saved them. He would have scoffed at her for being so sentimental. Tara was sure he had none of her letters left at all. Then Tara opened her desk and got out some stationary and began writing.

August 26, 1971
Dear Jim,
I am enclosing an old telegram, in memory of what was, and could have been, perhaps, if we had kept our wedding vows. Leave me knowing that my love for you has never wavered though perhaps you interpreted my actions, actually reactions, to mean there was no longer any love. You can stop loving me, and refuse to accept my love for you, but you cannot kill that love. We are both powerless to do that. I will always regret that I was unable to make you happy. All my love, Tara.

She sealed it, stamped it, and addressed it to his office address. Personal!

September 5, 1971
Jim:
This is something I have to do. Write. I will let you go, of course, but I have these feelings for you, and though I haven’t written you a love letter in over twenty-five years, when I was a wisp of a girl who knew only that she loved you with every fiber of her body and soul and who wanted you for her own, always. I hope you will forgive me and understand. Please don’t laugh at me.

The same love is still there, only in a much broader and deeper sense, stronger than I ever imagined it could be and with a four-dimensional side that wasn’t there before. Four beautiful children that are the product of our love for each other. When I look at them, I truly know that God had a hand in this marriage.

Without you I might never have known how rich life’s experiences could be. There have been ups and downs, but the ups were so exciting, and the downs were mostly forgotten. You’ve given me so many happy memories. All these years you were the great pillar of strength that I could lean on if I needed to. Then something happened. How could this nearly perfect man be so human to have any faults. You were my life-force, the real reason for living. It had seemed to me that our love was a durable, deeply satisfying attachment that we had developed towards each other, but this was sweetly unrealistic.

All in the world I brought to this marriage was a simple love and trust for the most exciting person I ever met. It didn’t occur to me that that wasn’t enough. I accepted whatever you gave me. We shared our love, our thoughts and plans, but did we really share our lives? Your work has always been most important to you, perhaps it should be, but I was jealous of the time you spent at it. However, I think I have always had enough sense to know that if a man isn’t happy in his work, then he’s not happy in anything. I missed you and needed you and so did the children. Are we so unimportant in your life that you can walk out now without a backward glance?

You used to be understanding when I was worried or upset, and I think I was sympathetic with you when things didn’t go well in your work. But for some time, sympathy and understanding, once so strong in each of us, now has been missing. We each feel rejected, like having the main lifeline of our marriage cut. For some time, I have felt like I was fighting for my life or for the life of our marriage, each day that went by without the reassurance of your love was a day of despair and anxiety.

Your love for too many years has been my nourishment and the very reason for my existence. The hope of the future was all based on our love for each other. Life apart from you is an abyss.

I feel a deep-seated loneliness because of my inadequacy or inability to reach out toward you on some level of feeling and understanding, to draw your feeling and understanding comfortingly toward myself again. Do you remember when we meant everything to each other? Do you remember when we first fell in love? Jim, why have we hurt each other in so many ways? It is said we hurt those we love more than anyone else. Slowly, almost imperceptibly we have been destroying a marriage, breaking promises we made to each other August 26, 1946. We have fed each other’s inadequacies and neurosis instead of helping each other overcome them. Don’t you want to save a family unit that is very precious to us both?

Dearest Jim, is there any way to rekindle a flame nearly gone out? Is there a way to warm a cold heart? Can you imagine how I miss your spontaneous displays of affection, the squeeze of your hand, those little caresses, and expressions of love that were once so precious to me? How sustaining they were.

There were no problems too large when you were beside me. It seemed together we could face anything. I long to again give you all the understanding and devotion you have so long deserved.

Love has no pride, of course, the reason I’m writing this letter.

As always,

Your wife Tara