He had me at Hello Honey

Photo Jennifer Weber 2011In the days between Grandpa's homegoing and the funeral, we Webers practically melted a cellular tower or two or four.

Mercy. Our phones rang incessantly. So much to do and to say and to decide and to plan and to arrange.

One thing that caused considerable angst was the temporary difficulty Grandma had in figuring out where Grandpa might've stashed his Army discharge papers from over sixty years ago.

I'm not really sure I have correct information on the whys and wherefores but suffice it to say, the funeral home folks needed certain paperwork that, for a time at least, didn't seem to want to be found.

TG worked on it for most of a whole day from his remote location down below the Sweet Tea Line, making numerous phone calls and sending copious emails to various agencies and individuals.

In the end Grandma found it, and in plenty of time, and all was well.

In the place where she found it were other papers ... some she'd last seen more than half a century ago, the existence of which she'd all but forgotten. Some, written more recently, she couldn't remember ever having seen at all. Others were very recent and known to her, but not to the rest of us.

So as we sat around early on Friday morning, drinking coffee and getting ourselves organized for the day, someone handed me an envelope. Turns out it contained the last letter Grandpa wrote to Grandma before they were married.

It is dated August 18, 1948 and postmarked August 19, 1948. They became man and wife on August 22, 1948, four days after the letter was written. The envelope bears a built-in three-cent stamp.

Grandma didn't seem to object to our reading it -- maybe she just didn't get the chance -- so I pulled the single sheet of paper from the envelope. 

As I did, TG (he'd already read it) was quick to inform me that the letter wasn't "romantic" or anything. Of course he knew romance was the only thing I was hoping to find; what he doesn't seem to know, even after all this time, are the unexpected places I am prone to discover romance.

But I didn't have time to retort that I'd be the judge of that, because at the first two words on the page (except for the date at top right), my eyes filled with tears.

Hello Honey

TG pointed and maybe even guffawed at my reaction. At any rate, he cackled.

See what I have to put up with?

Maybe there's a simple explanation: when TG calls me "Honey" it's usually not in a good way. Believe me when I tell you, he would never serenade me with that sappy Bobby Goldsboro ballad from the '60s.

It's always "Honey" when he's exasperated with me ... which is often.

"Honey! Honey! Honeeeeeyyyyy," he will say, usually to set me straight or, barring that, at least get me to pipe down. I do tends to rant when I gets me pirate dander up.

When he's happy or tender or appreciative -- or at least not aggravated with me -- it's usually "Baby."

"Awww, baby ..." "Baby have you seen my keys?" "Baby which tie should I wear, this one or this one?" "Hi baybeee!"

(As often as not I am "Precious Girl" or simply "Precious." I like this particular euphemism for the more-to-the-point "Jenny.")

At any rate, you get the idea.

But I shamelessly (and likely tediously) digress.

A thousand pirate apologies.

So I'm voyeuristically devouring a 173-word pre-marital billet-doux from 62-plus years ago while sitting at the kitchen table on the morning of my father-in-law's funeral.

And as it turns out, TG was right: on its surface, the letter wasn't all that "romantic." 

Stanley and Dolly.

As with my father-in-law's life in general, if you wanted to get to the heart of things, you were obliged to read between the lines.

You see, Stanley was not exactly an outstanding communicator. He said a lot but it was usually in a lecturesque or sermonesque fashion rather than in meaningful one-on-one conversation.

He was into soliloquies.

A lot of that had to do with his bad hearing, which only got worse the last 20 years of his life until, even with hearing aids, he could barely hear anything.

(Nevertheless, he told me once that he could always hear my voice. I laughed and laughed.)

My father-in-law's parents, Andrew and Inez Weber, were folks of few words and apparently it rubbed off on their hungry, hardworking progeny. I'm told their lives were about working a farm and getting enough to eat -- surviving, as it were -- and very little else besides rearing six decent children, which they did.

Photo Andrew Weber 2010

There's not been a peep from either of them since the mid '60s.

So Stanley, their son, though charming in many ways, was not what one would think of as a sparkling conversationalist. Far from being the life of any party, instead he tended to be its mostly silent observer.

It wasn't that he didn't enjoy family gatherings down through the years; he did very much enjoy them, but more in a supervisory capacity than that of an active participant (aside from cooking for us, which he liked to do).

I think more than anything, he got a kick out of watching his children and their children and their children have a good time. He derived satisfaction from providing the framework within which we could be relaxed and happy.

His letter to his sweetheart went on to say that he hoped to hear from someone named Betty L. so he'd know what he was to do, and how to get to her place ... undoubtedly to do with the upcoming wedding. He tells his girl that he's taken care of the honeymoon cabins and that he's sorry he can't send the money he owes her yet because his sister and aunt wouldn't pay him.

He says he's been looking over a map and has some ideas.

In the closing paragraph he tells her that he's spent all afternoon working on the car, with the occasional help of Robert.

(Robert was his younger brother, 19 years old in 1948, who would die of leukemia on February 25, 1951, at the age of 21.)

He says he has a "surprize" for her and that he hopes she likes it.

The last paragraph conveys enough poignant longing to forgive the practically businesslike tone of the lines leading up to it:

Honey I hope this is the last letter I have to sign my name to for a long time. And until I see you Goodnite and Sweat Dreams. Love forever, Stan.

(I'm pretty sure he meant "Sweet Dreams" but it looks as though he might've been in a hurry.)

I have no way of knowing how long it was before he had to sign his name to another letter, but I imagine there were a few when you consider that for the first two years of their marriage he was traveling with basketball teams.

Of course I never saw any of those letters, but I did see the opening line of one he wrote to Grandma in the spring of 1989.

I was expecting Andrew ... literally expecting him to arrive any day. My mother-in-law had come to stay with us and help me with the three girls before, during and after my confinement. 

One day we were standing by the sink in my kitchen, opening the mail. Grandma had a letter from Grandpa. She made a little chuckle in her throat upon opening it and beginning to read, causing me to look over at her.

She twinkled at me and, covering most of the page with her hand, allowed me to read the salutation:

Dear Lover

OKAY! Moving right along.

I'd been married ten years and was the mother of four, and I blushed. 

Grandpa was 64 years old at the time. Whatever happened to Hello Honey? I suspect 40 years of happy marriage is what happened. You should be so lucky and so should I.

Vive l'amour, my friends.

Upon examination of a picture I took of the envelope Grandpa addressed to Grandma on that August day in '48, I noticed something interesting.

In the four corners of the small white envelope, with his pen he made half-moon shapes, forming an enclosed space at each corner. Within each space he put some letters or numbers. In the top left he wrote the letter "I." In the bottom left he put "VO." In the top right corner is "LE" and something else I can't make out but which might be a lower case "u."

In the bottom right he put the numbers "04."

I think it's code for I Love You. Four more days.

And who's to argue?

Andrew and Inez C. Weber

Yet another document was found on which Grandpa had bared his soul. This had been written on the fly, on a scrap piece of paper found conveniently at hand. In my estimation it was done within the last ten years, but no one really knows.

To each one of my grandchildren, I Write: You can keep from experiencing My Love for you, but you cannot keep "me" from loving you!

I can only imagine what prompted that confession, or even what it meant to him. All I know is, 13 grandchildren wept when it was read at the funeral.

The last piece of mail Grandpa likely ever wrote on was a small white security envelope.

It was addressed in block letters by a shaky hand to:

InSound Med, Inc c/o MDNET Solutions, 100 Mansell Ct. E., Suite 650, Roswell, GA 30076

In the upper left-hand corner of the envelope he'd written "WWII VET" and he'd added a 44-cent Liberty Bell stamp on the top right.

In it he had placed a gospel tract entitled Eternal Life is a Free Gift.

It seems he had taken to scrutinizing every piece of junk post he received and, rather than simply throw it in the trash, he used the addresses to send some good news back to whomever might be opening the mail.

Grandpa took seriously the Scriptural Great Commission to go ye into all the world and preach the gospel to every creature. 

Addressing a few envelopes each day wasn't the least he could do; it was the most he could do. He could no longer walk well, hear well, speak well, or even write well.

But to the very end, he did not let that keep him from finding a way to say what was in his heart. Although infirm and in constant pain, he was not deterred from sharing the truth of God's love.

I hope when God the Father and Jesus His Son greeted Grandpa in his eternal home, they said "Hello Honey."

Or words to that effect.

Comments

[Sue the hobbit]

There's nothing like a good love story. It inspires me to be better at my own. Thirty one years next week.

[misty]

What an amazing story... and love letters are just the best... It's a shame they are so rare these days...

[Mari]

Oh Jenny - I just loved this! It gives a little more of a view into your wonderful father-in-law. That note to the kids had me crying!

[Debbie]

So nice to have something like that to share and pass on.

Honey, Precious, Baby...

I use Sweetie, Honey Pot, and hubby has several for me, Freckles, Trixie. Sweet Wifey,

['Aunt Amelia']

Ohhhhh Jenny! What a wonderful entry you have posted here!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hugs & ♥'s...
'Cause Valentine Day is coming!

['Aunt Amelia']

Different photo of you, at top of your sidebar. Love it!

Yes, I do notice things on blogs, don't I??? ,-)

Hugs & ♥'s...
'Cause Valentine Day is coming!

[Donna (Texas)]

I love to pull out the old box of love letters from my parents to each other during the WarII.....makes me feel close to them.
This was a wonderful post!
hughugs

[irene]

I love it. I know when I was clearing out my mom stuff I found an postcard my dad had sent her, they had been married a # of years, and he signed it your husband Andrew and his last name, like she wouldn't know. We really chuckled at that one. And I am sure God and his son Jesus were delighted to greet your father in law. Perhaps he'll get a job in the mail room. I like to think things work up there too.

[Angel]

Honey..what a beautiful word my dear..the pics are awesome as are u my friend! God bless the memories always .:)