Dear Rita,
I forgot to enclose Robbie’s sweetheart in the last letter. He padded into the kitchen this morning and found it tucked into a stack of papers on the kitchen table (my new desk).
“You didn’t send Auntie Rita my valentine?” he said, his innocent eyes brimming with tears.
“Oh, love! Mama forgot!”
And do you know what Robbie said to me? Out of the mouths of babes, that’s what they say, isn’t it, Rita? I almost dropped the teacup I was holding. And that would have been a shame, because it has a sunflower on it. I bought it last week in honor of you. So here’s what he says to me, that little smarty-pants: “Like you forgot about Daddy?”
Oh, Rita. When you are right, you are right. Three and a half years old and he’s a font of truth. What have I done?
This war. It’s stolen our peace. It’s stolen our tomorrows as well as our yesterdays.
Here is your valentine, Rita. A red heart on a paper doily. My Robbie loves you and he doesn’t even know you. Maybe he can just feel how much I love you.
Children are wise.
Love,
Glory