The words that caught my eye were on back of an envelope in a display case in the rotunda of the North Carolina state capitol in Raleigh.
The envelope was part of an exhibit of items left as tokens of love and respect at the base of the Vietnam Memorial on the grounds outside.
It seemed obvious that the note was written on the spur of the moment –the women had gone into her purse and found a pencil and a torn envelope that had contained a bill.
She scribbled a note on the envelope and left it at the memorial.
Her note said she missed him still. She said she had married and had a daughter. And then, about her daughter, she wrote: “How I wish she could have been ours.”
Every time I think about it, that hastily scribbled note it makes me sad for her. And for her husband.
NOTE: My father, a solder in the U.S. Army, landed in France 101 years ago today. He told me that when he got there Kaiser Wilhelm II immediately threw up his hands and surrendered. I know, that’s not true. It’s not even a fact. Wilhelm II abdicated on Nov. 9, 1918.
Coming Friday: The Lucky Find
I think about that every time I ignore a beggar at a highway intersection, with his plea spelled out in block letters on a soiled piece of cardboard: “HUNGRY NEED HELP ‘GOD BLESS'” or “HOMELESS VETERAN. WILL WORK FOR FOOD.”