I keep on here, im choosing a letter at random and posting. until i get things sorted into dates its a mish mosh of a story. and so it goes.


July 27, 1969

Dear Michael.,

Your last letter sits in front of me and I am sad. Knowing you love me makes me glad and happy inside. If it were for you it just wouldnt seem worth while. There isn't a day that passes that i dont think "Wouldn't Michael love that" or "I must remember to tell Michael that." Linda looks up and there you are! I wonder who will speak to you and soothe you when you demand too much of yourself. Will they misunderstand and abuse a nature so gentle? I have not forgotten you - far from it.

My Michael, I love you well, too well to be left without you for such a long time - and not feel depressed - our year in England was our only break. We've been waiting for each other a long time. No I do not like our separations - I try to give meaning and relevance to my life without you but I can't. We are reaching a time of decisions. These first five years may set the pattern for the next 15 or 20 years. I fear my own dependence on your love. I want to lash our and declare my own independence because of it. I want to tell you that - there is no such thing as one man for one woman and that we can live happily and manage our separate interests like civilized persons. That our child will manage because it has no choice. I want to tell you these things and try to convince myself that they are true, but I can't. Memories sift through my mind - a couple of kids who found something so special that even though they were too young to know exactly what it was they held on with their every fiber. Yes, we could have walked down a different street and missed one another and found another, but I believe with all my heart that it could never have been the same. I mean it when I say that I could never love anyone as I love you. We are of one mind. Marriages are not often made of this - one can work hard at a relationship and have have some success , but there is always something missing. Its the kind of thing that makes you forget about yourself and think of the other person. Its the tight close feeling I get when I know I'm too far away to help, and I read your letter and my reply could never be fast enough, timely enough.

Have I forgotten you? no, and maybe this is why I cannot smile. I realize your hands are tired - I know of your frusteration. But you too must try to read between the lines of my unhappy letters. I am a one man woman and I find it difficult wihtout you. I love you very much. I am only sorry that I cannot cheer you when I know you need it so.

Lydia