She wrote me a letter when she was 3. I guess she didn't want me to worry! She said, in a scratchy scrawl, Mom and Dad are fine, so are Libby and Jack, and, as a matter of fact, so am I.
She drew stick figures of them all, all smiling, straight arms held high, fingers wide, physical evidence should I have any doubts if they were alive and well, and she added a stick figure of baby Jesus for safe measure. She was 3 and as such many of her letters and numbers were backwards, the hands and fingers of her stick figures wildly oversized, as were their eyes, as if surprised, and their feet, too. But I knew her intention, all was good on her end and she hoped things were good with me. She didn't understand why I had to leave, go away to study, go away to college, when she barely knew me. She didn't understand my random, occassional visits home, like an unexpected uncle rolling through. She'd wrap her arms around my neck, hugging tight, searching for familiarity, only to lose it again, fleeting and unfair. Maybe that's why she added the baby Jesus, a hopeful omen, a talisman, foreshadowing more frequent and safe returns.
Oh my gosh, so touching, Rich. One of my kids drew every person with no arms and a huge smile when he was three. I wonder what it means?!
Like when the very young me would write letters to my big brother when he was faraway doing military stuff. Thank you for this memory! Nice.