Dear Jack
Dear Jack,
It is almost perfect.
The fireplace is blazing brightly, the warmth could be felt all the way in the dining room, where the you could smell the turkey already. I just had the rug changed yesterday morning; Max loved the new smell and snuggled on it all day. Dad came over to help with the Christmas tree about two weeks ago. Billy loved the whole decorating process, insisting on putting everything sparkly up the tree. He and dad had a really good time. Sometimes dad would stop over to help with the cleaning, but I was managing well without him. Of course, Billy was great help. He actually tried to stop dad from moving the heavy boxes around, and one time dad said, “William Adams, are you doubting my ability as a grandfather to carry a box?” and Billy replied, “No, sir, but as the man of the house I should be the one doing all this carrying!” He reminds me so much of you.
It’s been snowing since Wednesday. Sometimes it would get so cold in the morning I couldn’t get up ‘til half past eight. My feet had been aching, but nothing a little massage couldn’t cure – and that, is nothing I cannot manage. I went to the doctor last week, and he said the baby is very healthy. I will be due in March, Jack. Dad said we should name him after you. How does that sound, sweetheart? John Junior Adams. When you come home your second son will be waiting for you.
Please come home Jack. We’re all waiting for you. It snowed so heavily yesterday that the snow completely covered the grounds. Obviously I couldn’t shovel, but Mrs Smith was very kind to send her husband over in the evening. Later that night Max rushed out of the house chasing birds again, and Billy just ran after him without thinking twice. He slipped on black ice and knocked his head, I thought my heart had stopped right then because he did not utter a sound. You know how Billy is – his lips would tremble if you so much as raise your voice, and when he cut his knee on the pavement last summer he cried for hours. I could not risk running on the ice myself, I could only grab the porch post for support and scream for help. Mr Smith shot through his gate and helped Billy up.
What would I have done if Billy had injured himself? What if no one heard my scream? What if I was in the kitchen and didn’t realise what was going on?
Billy told me that he didn’t cry because he thought of you. He said that that hit in the head hurt a lot, but it cannot hurt any more than what it feels to have someone deliberately hit you or even shoot you. I don’t know where he gets these ideas, Jack, he’s only seven. Seven is too young to be a man. You are the man of the house. You belong here, in this house built with your own hands. We all pray for you every night.
I hope you receive our Christmas parcels. Dad will be coming at eight, and so are your parents. I insisted that they come at dinner time so that I could have some time alone with you. My thoughts to you, sweetheart.
May God bless you.
Love,
Anna.