The second letter my mother wrote to herself was on her twenty-fifth birthday, to her thirty-year-old self. She’s a bit deleriously in love I think.
R.R. 4 Port Elgin
Feb. 17, 1942
Happy Birthday Margaret.
And how does it feel to be thirty? Today as I sit in S.S. # 4 Saugeen on my twenty-fifth birthday evening, I do indeed wish you the very best in health and contentment as you leave your twenties. But on this, my birthday, let’s look back a few years. Yes, carefree Marnie of twenty, I have had a lot of dreams come true. By June I will have finished six years of teaching. Marnie never dreamed of a No. 9 Bruce with Mr. and Mrs. White and Helen, all the swell children there at school, and the Christmas Cake and other ways they showed their kindness. The crocinole games and hockey matches and baseball games and even a high (or was it low?) dash cutter. But it too is past and it’s funny that I should really be teaching in No. 4 after sort of wishing for that all along. That’s one dream come true.
But far above them all is the one of really having the love of the only one for me in all I’ve known. Through the years we’ve known eachother, our lives have in many ways been linked together even though at times we’ve seemed far apart. For two years now we’ve shared a secret too precious for others to know and so real, we hope this year our dreams may come true. That is why his Margie is so very happy on her 25th birthday. And may it be the very special year for us if God wills.
And as I look into the future and see you in 1947 – if you are still Margie – if you still deserve his care and kindness – if you remember always the little things that help life for others – if you have not forgotten the place your Church should play in your life – if you can smile though life has not given you all you hoped for, then you have not disappointed me.
At twenty five you hoped for someone to call you Marnie now, and though no one does, well you don’t seem to mind. Even if your castles in the air have not all come true, I’m sure my dear you’ve had your share of life’s treasures too. But if you can touch his hand and hold close his curly head, you have a priceless treasure, and that is my true wish for you, my dream girl of 1947.
New friends are probably near, but still there is, now and always, Blanche, Lena, Vera (who I hope may soon be someone I’ve really seen) and Nina too though she now lives in Manatoulin Island as Mrs. May and Blanche is Mrs. Delbert Wheatley and Ettie is Mrs. Carmen Currie. And Marguerite will always be someone very special.
Our family too is scattering and I’m wondering where we will all be in 1947. Mabel is now in Toronto and Gomer in the R.C.A.F. in Toronto, and Edna at high school and Mother and Dad at home. Many changes have taken place too. Grandpa and Aunt Abbie both gone and Grandma still with us and very much her old self.
Can you remember the stormy 17th, dusk gathering as you sat writing by the fire at the back of the school, and now home to Jamiesons and maybe a word or two more from there. There always seems to be things we regret and one of them is the 2 lb. box of chocolates that came yesterday. But tonight, nothing can mar the happiness – a letter and card from Hank “Looking Ahead” and a telephone call from Dad and home. Tonight what I wear or what I’m doing seems so very unimportant because life seems all bound up in a certain someone who is in Nobel and still says he does so love his Margie. And though we are separated by miles tonight we seem nearer than ever, and if that love grows richer with life’s experiences you will, Margie, be very very happy on this, your thirtieth birthday.
Bye from Margie, on her twenty-fifth Birthday.
I don’t know why I know this, but the disappointing regretful box of chocolates was from another man who very much wanted to be in my mother’s life. She was such a lovely and kind person I don’t think she knew how to get rid of him. Especially without giving away her special secret.
Five months after this letter was written, the “secret” was finally revealed to all and my parents got married. They had at last saved enough money to buy their first home together. It was the last year that mom would teach school. And my brother was born in April of 1946, so I hope you will forgive my mother for not having time for something as silly as writing yet another letter to her future self in 1947, when he wasn’t yet a year old.