Dear Glory,
One year. How is it possible?
Here I am, getting my garden ready, washing the dinner dishes, mending a skirt, writing—so much the same, yet so much different. Now a sturdy toddler helps me plant my sunflowers. And dear friends place bouquets on my front porch, a reminder that sorrow can bring sweetness as well.
One year.
I woke up this morning and asked Sal to give me a sign, something to let me know he was still present, still watching over me. I dropped Little Sal at the USO and walked to work, eyes bright, searching.
I came up blank.
Dr. Aloysius Martin asked me into his office after lunch. The university has begun preparing for increased enrollment when the boys return from overseas. Florence met a naval officer in San Diego, so they’ll be looking for me to go full-time during the school year, when Roylene returns, of course. My performance has been exemplary, he said.
I stood there looking at him for a minute. Was this it? It was the only extraordinary thing to happen to me all day. Was this Sal’s sign?
Then something struck me. It’s time for me to stop asking Sal to give. He gave me everything when he was living; why do I keep asking him to pull double-duty?
I decided right there to take the doctor’s offer. It was a sign, but not from Sal. It came from me. You once said I honor Sal by taking care of Toby. What you also meant was I honor him by living. Which I intend to start doing.
It’s time to start jumping off some cliffs.
As part of my pay package, I’ll be eligible to take courses free of charge. I’m going to take advantage of this. Charlie thinks I should take Advanced Psychology. Irene votes for Creative Writing. I might take both, thank you very much.
With all this consideration of the future, I can’t help but get excited thinking about our reunion. Hopefully by next summer this war will be over, and I can bring my family to meet yours. It simply will happen—the soul meeting the body, so to speak.
Love,
Rita