He Always Rings Twice

It has been almost 2 1/2 years since my middle sister died from early congestive heart failure. She had always been a bit mysterious and secretive, so I was not surprised when a plastic bag full of love letters fell out of a basement cabinet when I was cleaning out her home.

I picked up the bag and discovered that these were the "missing" letters that our father had written to our mother back in 1940, when she had gone off to New York City to continue her nursing career. My sister had been harboring these precious words for her own selfish lust.

I later read the letters and wept floods of tears, as I discovered that yes, true love does exist. It transcends time and space, and my parents possessed a love that most people only dream of.

The art of letter writing has been lost to emails, tweets, and text messages. Today, couples rarely take the time to hand write a letter on beautiful, scented stationary, seal it with a kiss or a bit of pressed, molten wax, and run after the mail carrier to make sure it reaches the post office safely.

If it weren't for my father's love letters, I may never had been inspired to write my first novel. A tale of love during the Great Depression, and how I came to be a love child.