A Letter From Momma

Ruth Wieclaw

I had a letter from my mother today. For those of you who knew her, you will think it strange. My mother passed away 29 years ago. Nevertheless, the letter was addressed to me and I read it as though I were seeing it for the first time. It was yellowed from age. The postmark read February 2, 1972.

        At that time, Mom lived in Sarasota, Florida, and I lived in Fairborn, Ohio. She had bought a little trailer home in a mobile home park on Bee Ridge Road back in the early 1960s, and spent the winter months there. She returned to Dayton, Ohio, during the summer. She seemed to enjoy her lifestyle in both locations.

        Once a week, while she lived in Florida, I received a letter from her. It wasn't much more than a note, and was usually written on one sheet of stiff paper that was tri-folded and sealed with a sticker. The stamp on this letter cost eight cents. She wrote once a week to my sister and brother and me. The three of us talked to each other and compared notes about the contents of the letter we received. Mom wrote almost the same thing to all of us, word for word. They weren't exact copies, but close, so we started calling
them the "carbon copies.”

        "Did you receive your carbon copy this week,” we jokingly asked each other. I don't know if she ever knew we called her letters that. We didn't really mind that she wrote the same news to all of us, and it was always good to hear from her, but we thought it was humorous. She didn't have much to say. Her life was mundane and not very exciting, but at least she kept in touch with us.

        In the letter I received today she wrote about the weather. It was very windy and cold and she couldn't take her usual daily walk for several days. The day she did walk she had lost her head-gear, as she called it. She said it was a cute net cap and had blown away with the wind. That was the day she walked to Grant’s department store in the shopping center. The store was closing and they were having a big sale. The church women's circle meeting had been cancelled due to the weather, but she and my aunt had gone to church because it was the first day of Lent. Her friend, Leah, had a flood in her bathroom caused by a clogged shower drain and had to call a plumber.

        Next, she thanked me for a magazine subscription I had gotten her. And she mentioned watching a couple of television shows she thought were funny, namely Archie Bunker and Sammy Davis, Jr. She finished her page by saying she had sent a $65.00 check to the Infernal Revenue, as she called it, for her income tax, and thought they had no mercy on her. The letter closed with the words: The end for today, Love, Mom.

        Enclosed was a newspaper clipping that warned of using oven bags because they could occasionally explode.

        The contents of the letter were not exciting or newsworthy, but it was typical and told us of her daily activities. We called her on the telephone, but she was quick to want to hang up because "It’s costing too much,” she said.  So most of her news came in the weekly carbon copy. We looked forward to it, and it usually arrived on the same day each week.

        So, that's why, when this old letter fell out of papers I was sorting, it brought back nostalgic memories about a time long ago when the mailman brought the ritual letter from Mom. I sat and read, and reread the old news in the familiar handwriting and got a lump in my throat for what used to be.

        I'd give anything if I could receive a new carbon copy this week!

Ruth Peto Wieclaw says: I moved to Florida with my husband in 1976 and have lived in Venice since then. I'm a mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother to a five-year-old. I have been widowed twice. After working many years as a Registered Nurse, I retired in 1990 and now enjoy visiting my three children and six stepchildren. Hobbies are writing, reading, needlework, and Sudoku.