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1/1/1956
Dear Vera,
You’ve only just left, but I imagine this letter won’t reach you for a week or so. I regret not leaving you with something, a gift, maybe, or even that handkerchief. It still smells like you.
Anyway, I hope you’re well. Are the stitches on that dress holding up? As you can probably tell, I’m not the most talented seamstress, but I hope my mending doesn’t wear too quickly. That dress is beautiful on you, and you were wearing it when we first… Well, I won’t repeat the details here.
I miss you already. Please tell me how you and your family are getting on. I’d love to hear more about you son. What’s his name? How old is he?
Yours truly,
Lena Riggi Basilone
1/10/1956
Dear Lena,
I almost wrote the date wrong on this – I keep forgetting it’s a new year! I received your letter last week, but things have been so busy at home that I haven’t had time to sit and reply until now! I’d forgotten what a state we’d left the house in. I’ve been tidying up for days! Bob hasn’t been much of a help, he’s been too busy banging on his typewriter. Apparently, the vacation gave him enough inspiration to start finishing up his memoir.
The stitches on the dress are your gift to me. I haven’t worn it since, but each time I open my closet I look at the mending and think of you. You did an excellent job, really – you have quite nimble fingers.
I’ve missed you too, especially on days when Bob is too busy to pay me any mind. Our son’s name is Geoffrey, but we just call him Geoff. He’ll be turning seven this year. He missed his mommy and daddy terribly over the holiday – I felt awfully sorry for leaving him here. But not too sorry, ha! I love him, of course, but I needed a break. Bob has been wanting a new baby for a few months now, and I think I’ll give in soon. I feel ready.
How have you been? Have you gone back to work?
With love,
Vera Leckie
P.S. I sprayed this letter with my perfume. It’s an expensive one Bob got me as an anniversary gift a few years back. It’s called Lily of the Valley by Le Galion. I hope you can still smell it by the time this reaches you!
2/14/1956
Dear Vera,
Happy Valentine’s Day! I hope you like this card – the lilies on it reminded me of you. I’m not sure if you’ll send me anything, or if you wanted me to, but I just had to let you know that I thought of you today. I think of you every day, really.
Things have been hard for me lately. I don’t know if it’s just the time of year, but my solitude has become more painful lately. These letters keep me going.
Love,
Lena
2/14/1956
Dear Lena,
It’s Valentine’s Day! I’m not really sure what to call our connection, but I know I want to spend this day with you, even if you’re only in my thoughts. I know it’s probably silly, but I made this card myself. Geoff and I were making some for his classmates and I knew I had to make you one.
I’ll be thinking about you tonight, “my man,” ha!
Love,
Vera
P.S. Smell this! I sprayed it with my perfume again. I hope you think of me.
2/19/1956
Dear Vera,
Today is eleven years since John’s death. I miss him, of course, and always will, but this year feels different. I think I have you to thank for that. I feel more at peace. These days, I think of him and smile instead of cry. It’s not that I’ve moved on, but that my outlook has changed. He wouldn’t want me to spend my life mourning him, and you helped me realize that. Thank you, Vera, really. I’m forever grateful.
I rode my motorcycle out to the beach where he and I first kissed this morning. It’s a different beach than where I first saw you, but I still couldn’t help but think of you and wish you were there. Anyway, I picnicked on the beach and reminisced, writing messages to John in the sand. I feel closest to him there, like he’s present in the breeze, drifting toward me from across the sea. I told him about you. I know he’d like you just as much as I do (well, maybe not quite as much).
Maybe it’s the weight of grief off my chest, but I’ve been feeling oddly free lately. I take long rides on my motorcycle at night and go off on solitary adventures. Like the beach, I often think about you going with me. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’ve been awfully lonely for you. It’d been a long time since I connected with someone on a personal level, and I’d gotten used to that until you came along. I miss your arms around my waist and the wind whipping through your hair as we ride together. And I miss you at night most of all.
All my love,
Lena
3/7/1956
Dear Lena,
Happy birthday! I believe you’re ten years older than me, so it’s your 43rd, correct? Congratulations! I wish I was there to celebrate with you. I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered you something from a catalog. I’m not sure when it will arrive, but I hope you like it!
I can hardly stand missing you today. Even talking to Bob, I’m distracted by daydreams of us spending the day (and night) together. Drinking wine, sitting on your couch, laying on your bed… Maybe being so open in a letter is risky, but I think about your kiss daily, and always will for the rest of my life.
Anyway, I have news. I started having morning sickness this week. I’m not sure how I feel about being pregnant again. I thought we’d be trying for a few months, but it happened faster than I expected. It’s early days yet, but… I hope it’s a girl this time. Maybe it’s just because they’re father and son, but Geoff always felt like more of Bob’s child than mine. I know that probably sounds terrible, and maybe I’m a bad mother, but he always took to Bob more than me, ever since he was a newborn. If we have a daughter this time, I figure she can be my little girl. I hope that makes sense.
Please let me know how your birthday was, and if you like my gift! Oh, and send some baby name suggestions!
Love,
Vera
3/14/1956
Dear Vera,
Thank you for the birthday wishes and for the necklace! I will cherish it always. In fact, I’ve barely taken it off since it’s arrived. I even slept wearing it once and it left little marks on my neck! But it’s something physical from you, something I can touch and fiddle with throughout the day. A constant reminder of you. Again, thank you.
Honestly, my birthday has been bittersweet since John died. I was informed of his death on my birthday in 1945. At the time, it felt like my life stopped that day. Or at least, everyone around me expected it to. But now I know that things have only changed, and not for better or worse. Life just goes on, and it led me to you.
You’re the only person I’ve told about my grief. I like that you don’t crowd me with “sorry”s or try to give me advice. You just listen, and that’s exactly what I need. And I’m glad to know you daydream of me as much as I daydream of you.
I hope you grow to be excited about your new pregnancy. Maybe it’s not my place to say, but I’d hate for you to feel trapped or forced. I don’t think having such thoughts makes you a bad mother, and from what I’ve heard, Geoff loves you with all his heart. I don’t have any experience with kids of my own, but I’m sure all mothers have similar struggles.
I never had much of a maternal instinct myself. I mean, when I got together with John, I could see myself having his children, but it was never a strong desire. Maybe a few times I wished I’d gotten pregnant before he died, so I could still have a piece of him, a John Jr. to love and look after. But more than anything, I loved him and our relationship. Maybe it’s because my parents were so overbearing, or maybe I’m just a modern girl, but I don’t regret not having kids. Did you always want to be a mother?
For a girl, I’ve always loved the name Louise. I hope you have your daughter.
Love,
Lena
5/13/1956
Dear Vera,
Happy Mother’s Day! I hope Bob and Geoff made you breakfast in bed today – and if they didn’t, I’m sorry I wasn’t there to do it myself! I wish there was a way for me to send you fresh flowers from across the country. This pressed pansy will have to do.
I hope you’re able to relax today – that’s always what my mother loved about this holiday. It gave her an excuse to sit back and let everyone else do all the work. Now that you’re into your second trimester, you need rest more than ever.
It’s days like these that I miss you the most. I feel like I should be taking care of you. It frustrates me that I can’t give you a massage and make you a cup of tea and give you a whole bouquet of flowers! And, I’m sorry to say it, but I hate that Robert gets the opportunity to pamper you and doesn’t! Maybe I’m jealous, but I wish he made you feel more appreciated.
With love and all my Mother’s Day wishes,
Lena
5/21/1956
Dear Lena,
As you probably expected, I didn’t end up eating breakfast in bed. Bob did make me a cup of coffee, though, and he came home with a bouquet of roses. Geoff made me a card at school which was very cute. Maybe it sounds selfish, but I expected Bob to do more now that I’m pregnant. Maybe a trip to the beauty parlor or a night out as a family. I don’t know. Sometimes, I feel like he doesn’t realize everything I do for him.
Thank you for the pressed pansy. It’s probably just because I’m pregnant, but I almost teared up when I opened the card and saw it. Don’t worry – it’s days like this I miss you most too.
It made me blush to read you being jealous of Bob. Trust me, you know how to do things he doesn’t. I know just how much you would pamper me, and I think about it often.
Wish you were here,
Vera
6/20/1956
Dear Lena,
I’m showing! I had to dig my old maternity clothes out of the attic earlier this week. It’s been getting too hard to squeeze into my regular dresses. Bob has been absorbed in his work. He’s almost done with his memoir, and the editing process should start soon.
Geoff and I have been spending the past few days at the library now that the school year is over. This heat wave has been ridiculous and the library is the nearest building with air conditioning. I really need to nag Bob into having a unit installed in our house!
I feel sure the baby is a girl. I wanted to ask your permission before I brought it up to Bob, but… Do you mind if we name her Joan, after your John? I understand if you don’t want us to, but I’d love to honor him and you in this way. I know you said that you sometimes wished you could’ve had a John Jr., and this is my only way of giving you that.
Love,
Vera