The first page was covered in my mother's handwriting.
I recognized the way she formed every letter.
Some words were darker than others.
There were places where the ink looked as though she had paused before continuing.
I kept thinking about the fact that she had held this same paper.
She had written these words with her own hands.
And somehow, after all those years, they had reached me.
I read the next lines.
She had written about me.
About the little girl she had left with Grandma Ruth.
About how difficult it had been to be away from home.
I stopped.
I had spent so many years wondering whether she had been lonely in Iraq.
Now I was holding a piece of paper that reminded me she had been thinking about home, too.
I read on.
The letter brought back the telephone calls.
Her questions about school.
Her concern about whether I was eating properly.
The way she always tried to make me laugh when I started crying.
I could almost hear her voice.
I pressed the paper against my chest for a moment.
Then I put it back on my lap.
I didn't want to damage it.
I looked at the smaller envelope again.
My name was written across the front.
I wondered why she had prepared two separate pieces of correspondence.
Perhaps the first letter was meant to be read before the second.
I wasn't ready to open the smaller one.
Not yet.
I wanted to finish what she had written.
The next part of the letter mentioned the wedding promise.
I smiled through my tears.
She had remembered the crimson dress.
Of course she had.
That promise had become one of the most important memories of my childhood.
I thought about Lucas standing in front of me earlier that day.
His bright crimson dress.
His emotional expression.
The way he had held me when I began crying.
I finally understood that he hadn't chosen that color by accident.
He had carried my mother's words with him for years.
And he had waited until the right day to honor them.
I looked toward him.
"You remembered everything she told you?"
He nodded.
"She talked about you constantly."
I smiled.
"She really did."
"Sometimes I think I knew your school schedule better than my own."
I laughed quietly.
It was the first time that evening I had laughed without immediately crying.
Then I looked back at the letter.
I noticed how carefully my mother had written it.
There were no hurried marks.
No torn corners.
It looked like something she had wanted to get right.
I read the remaining lines.
When I finished the first letter, I sat still for a while.
I didn't know whether I felt relieved or heartbroken.
Probably both.
I had spent years imagining what my mother might have said if she had lived long enough to see my wedding.
Now I had her actual handwriting in front of me.
It wasn't the same as having her there.
Nothing could make it the same.
But I had something I could keep.
Something that belonged to her.
I carefully folded the letter along its original creases.
Then I reached for the photograph.
I turned it over again.
The writing on the back was small.
I moved closer to the light so I could see it clearly.
There was something about the photograph that made me want to study every detail.
Her uniform.
Her expression.
The background.
I wondered where she had been when it was taken.
Lucas leaned forward slightly.
"That's one of the photographs she kept."
"Did she give it to you?"
He nodded.
"She wanted it kept with the letter."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
He didn't pretend to know every answer.
"She told me you would understand when the time came."
I looked down.
That sentence stayed with me.
When the time came.
My wedding day.
The day she had promised to attend.
The day Lucas had chosen to bring everything to me.
I glanced at the little envelope again.
It was still sealed.
My name remained visible on the front.
I carefully lifted it.
The paper felt even more delicate than the larger envelope.
I turned it over.
There was no long explanation on the back.
Just the seal.
I looked at Lucas.
"Is this part of the same thing?"
He nodded.
"She wanted you to open it yourself."
I placed it beside the first letter.
I wasn't ready to rush into another moment.
For the first time in years, I felt as though I had been given time with my mother.
Not enough.
Never enough.
But something.
I wanted to remember every detail.
The paper.
The photograph.
The way Lucas sat quietly beside me.
And the fact that my mother had somehow made it possible for her words to reach the day she had once promised to attend.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: The Photograph Had Been Kept With the Letter for Years, and Lucas Finally Told Me Why He Had Never Separated Them
My Mother Promised She Would Wear Crimson to My Wedding, But I Was Twelve When That Promise Became Impossible
Part 6 of 20
