An Old Lady Discovered a Hidden Letter From Her Late Husband What It Said Brought Me to Tears

It was a sunny morning, and in the little house at the end of the street everything was oppressively heavy. The curtains were pulled part-way, and there was the odor of dust and old paper. There was one lady residing in that house, a woman of seventy-nine years of age, by the name of Mrs. Margaret, whom we all, in the neighborhood, called Grandma Maggie. She was no one there, however, whose real grandmother she was, but people called her that, because she was old, and kind, and knew how to smile kindly.

But there was a heart that was full of memories that she could never forget behind that smile. Maggie was living alone. Her husband died a long time ago and her one and only daughter had travelled to a different country. They would discuss things at the telephone, but this process was brief, hasty and full of such phrases as, I am busy, Mom. I will ring you back later.” Soon did not always come.

It was one afternoon, when the sadness was too much on Maggie, she chose to clean her attic. There were boxes, photo albums and items she had not handled in decades in the attic. The dust was rising with her footsteps, but her heart beat, as the boxes seemed to call out to her.

She unlocked a wooden trunk which had belonged to her husband. There were clothes neatly folded, his old watch and a packet of letters, tied together with a ribbon which was faded with time. She sank to the floor, and with her trembling hands deftly untied the ribbon. They were letters of her daughter. Scores were. Notes made by her when her daughter was at school, drawings which she had drawn and long letters which she had written in her teen age. Maggie took them to her breast and cried.

She recalled how her daughter would sit in her lap and request her to read bed time stories to her. She recollected how she used to laugh together with her daughter when they made cookies and how her daughter would put her arms around her neck and say, Honey, don not leave me, Mama.

Maggie was the one left behind this time years later. It was too quiet in the house. The telephone had rarely rung and even when it did it was usually some stranger attempting to sell her things she did not want. She missed the voice of her daughter, the sound of the excited footsteps hurrying along the hall, the heaviness of family.

Day by day the loneliness became more heavy. She started to speak to the photographs on the walls and tell them her day. She would go so far as to even put out the dinner-table for two, in a moment of forgetfulness, and then replace the extra plate in silence when she recalled that no one was expected.

Maggie had not seen it before, as she kept on searching the trunk. It was an envelope and a single one at that, down at the bottom, covered with the letters. The yellowed paper was faintly inked. On the front, in the handwriting of her husband, it contained the following words: For Margaret, when you feel lonely.

Opening it her heart raced. It contained a letter, written by her husband many years before he was killed.

It said:
Dear Margaret, are you reading this, because the days are quiet now, and you are feeling all alone. There is something I want you to remember. You are not so alone, my love. You bear me in your breast, in each breath, in each sunrise you look out the window. And even as the house seems empty you have all the love you gave and got around you. Love does not go away–it just transforms. Swear to me that you will never lose your smile by loneliness. Swear to me you will live, you will love and you will always be kind to the world. Since the world needs you like I needed it.”

Maggie held the letter to her lips and the tears ran down her cheek. Into the lonely attic she said aloud, Oh, John, John, John. I miss you a lot.”

That letter switched something in her somehow. The isolation was still there but she had a new courage. She had made up her mind not to let her late years quietly disappear. She wanted to live, as much as her husband had begged her to.

The following morning she put on her best dress and went to the park. Children were running and young mothers were sitting on benches. Maggie sat on a bench too, and when a little boy let his toy go and it rolled near her feet, she picked it up and gave it to him with a big smile. His mother thanked her cordially and they started to converse.

Each day Maggie came to the park. She brought cookies once in a while, and gave them to the kids. Gradually people learned her. They even began to call her “Grandma Maggie” and she became the addition to their afternoons. She heard their concerns, shared stories of her own childhood and made her days merry once more.

It was months afterward that her daughter came. She had not visited her mother in three years. Mother was always sad and weak and she entered the house hoping to find her the same. However, she came across Maggie sitting at the table, with neighborhood kids around her, laughing, as she demonstrated how to make paper boats.

And her daughter was astonished. “Mom… You have a lot of friends here, I did not realize.”

Maggie smiled. I perceived. Being lonely is a weight but love is everywhere as long as you open your heart. You are occupied with your life and I know that. Yet I have life to live, And love to give.”

The eyes of her daughter filled. Hugging her mother, she said in a low voice, I am so sorry, Mom. I ought to have come here oftener.”

Maggie gave her a tight embrace and told her, it is never late.

Since that time her daughter came more frequently, and even with her children. The silent house now again rung with voices, with laughter. Nevertheless, Maggie was never lonely any more even the days when her family was unable to visit. She had the children at the park, the neighbors who adored her and above all the recollection of the words of her husband.

She used to keep the letter framed on her wall, and read it when she was weak. And each time, it recalled to her that love does not leave at all. It shows itself in memories, kindness and the relationships we make with other people.