This is the seventy-second of 87 letters exchanged during World War II between Nicholas Salvatore and Elizabeth Galloway. For more see Nicholas and Elizabeth.
April 20, 1945
Words like arrows dipped in honey
It’s the strangest thing. Every time I get a letter from you is when I need it the most and I’m looking for it. Somehow I know the exact day that I’ll hear from you. Today was horrible. It was cold and dark and I perked up because I knew when I got home I’d have something to take my mind off myself.
How strange to think that FDR is gone. He’s the only president I can remember. My mother wept like she did when she heard about Bern. Everyone wept. Now that it looks like this war’s nearly over he dies and won’t see the end of it. How awful. The writing had to have been plainly clear to him on the wall though. He must’ve known he did it. That’s it. He got to a point where he knew others would be able to finish what he started and he could finally rest. That’s what I like to think at least.
Speaking of exhaustion, my mother hit a wall. All her efforts kept coming up short and yet she kept going, at least until a few days ago. She collapsed and all the negative thoughts and failure came to the surface at one full sweep. It was inevitable. Who in their right mind would want this place? I mean, honestly, I don’t know.
All that is neither here nor there.
Keep writing and keep doing it every day until you can come home to me.
Next letter – April 27, 1943