After 62 Years of Marriage My Husband Passed Away and at His Funeral a Girl Gave Me an Envelope From Him

piece of paper. Dozens of letters, organized chronologically, each one preserved as though it mattered very much. I lifted one and opened it carefully.

It was addressed to Harold in handwriting I did not recognize. It described a school play, a new teacher, a cold winter and a coat that no longer fit. At the bottom it was signed: your Virginia.

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