Jeff, near the window at the other end of the attic, gently opened a small wooden chest that was his mothers. The thought that he was trespassing in other people's lives again occurred to him, and these people were his parents. As a child, the idea that his parents had any other life or could have any thoughts that he did not know about was impossible. Only after he married and had children of his own, did he have the truth revealed to him. This small wooden chest had occupied the top of his mother's dresser for as long as he could remember but opening it now, he was wary that what he was about to see was something best left to his mother. But they knew that each item would have to be looked at and determined if it should be kept or relegated to the throw- away box stationed in the center of the attic floor, so he opened the lid. On top lay a small tatted handkerchief and a delicate scent that was his mothers came to him with all the memories of her. After a moment of solitary grief, he picked up the top item under the handkerchief, an envelope, yellowed over time, with her name and address on the front. The return address was a military camp where his father had been stationed. Inside the carefully folded letter, equally yellowed was a picture of my dad, almost unrecognizable in his youth. Jeff carefully opened the letter and began to read.


February 10, 1946


My dearest Ruthie,


I arrived here at two o'clock in the morning. A worse time I couldn't imagine. I have traveled thousands of miles across an ocean by plane, bussed fifty miles on a bus that had no springs, and set down in the middle of a dark squadron area, hungry, dirty, alone and terribly tired. I am sitting here on my duffel bag waiting for a CQ runner to come fetch me. Here he comes now. I will write more later.
I'm back. It's now four o'clock in the morning, but I feel much better. They found me something to eat, gave me a bed and a locker and I have showered off about a million miles of grit and B.O. I can sleep in until 1300 hours, or 1:00 for you civilians, before I have to report to the squadron commander. I'm starting to relax and sleep is not too far away, but before I surrender to my dreams of you, I want to tell you again how much you mean to me. Ever since we met and decided that we should venture out on a second date, a calm and a certainty came over me that you and I would travel down a long road together. I knew it then and I know it now separated from you by thousands of miles and international date lines. I am in no danger now that the war is over, but even if I was to die, I believe our love would continue somehow. My love for you is a real living thing, but spiritually I believe it will last eternally. Well anyway, I say to myself, as I try to end this letter on a more upbeat note, I sure miss your luscious body. (I don't think they censor the mail anymore. Oh what the heck.)


Now it's off to sleep and dreams of you, I love you.


Jack



Jeff put the deeply creased letter back in its envelope, and sat back thinking of what he had just read. The letter had touched him deeply. It brought his parents back to life as real flesh and blood people. He would show the letter to his brother and sister, but for now he had to think. Their belief that they would transcend this world and meet again on the other side was not a belief they conjured up as their lives were coming to an end, but something they knew for a certainty for over sixty years. "Is it possible?" he wondered.



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Finally after two weeks of sorting, crying, and sorting some more, they were finished. All that was left now was deciding which realtor would be given the house for listing and the selling of the furniture they couldn't keep themselves.


That night Jeff and Ellen were unable to sleep until they had made their decision which they would announce the following night at a family gathering. Ellen spent all day preparing the feast. Ruth, she was sure, would have been happy seeing the enjoyment she derived from her favorite room in the house. When Ruth and Jacks grown children arrived, they were greeted with aromas of days gone by. The food was deliciously prepared and presented on the long dining room table. Jeff sat at the head of the table and as they all bowed their heads said grace,


"May God bless this food and all of us under this roof. We pray you look after our mother and father whose presence is missed, but I am sure are happy together with you. And bless this house where many happy times were had and hopefully will again. Amen."


Steve and Sarah looked questioningly at Jeff.


"After dinner, I'll explain." Jeff said.


When the dishes had all been cleared away, Jeff and Ellen announced that if no one objected, they would like to buy the house. Of course no one did and the deal was done.


The following week many changes occurred. Jeff arranged with his company in Minnesota to be transferred here to Ohio, and have a realtor in Minnesota to sell his house there. He bought the house here from his brother and sister. He arranged with a mover to have his furniture in Minnesota packed and sent here to Ohio, and when all was done, they were back in the town they grew up in. He would still have a commute to work, but he was used to that. They met men and women they had gone to school with, and grown up with, in surroundings familiar and comforting. He was glad to be home, but he couldn't shrug off the feeling that his parents knew something, something that if true, transcended the fact that when we die, everything ends. What it seemed his parents believed was that life here on earth was only the beginning; beginning of what, he didn't know.