My mother passed away Christmas Eve morning at 5 am with her family beside her. She had run her race and was ready to rejoin her husband, my father, 42 years later. As time passes I still come across letters she sent to me. I never throw them away. They are all opened as from the day I got them. Recently I came across cancelled checks she either wrote to me or me to her. Yes, I saved them, too. Her handwriting is as beautiful to me as she was......
16
A beautiful and moving piece, Mark--which is not at all surprising, given your gorgeous, poetic, reverential descriptions of flight in "Skyfaring." This letter and your reaction to it touches so many of us who have lost loved ones, and especially at this time of year. Sincerely thanks. Treasure the letter, opened or unopened.
18
The staggering power of letters unread!
In 1971, I lived in Germany, the young spouse of a US army officer. In pre-technology days, weekly letters from home with their week-old news were the sole communication. They were sent to an Army PO address to avoid international rates and hand-delivered by my spouse nightly. The time warp between occurence and cognition was simple reality.
Home late from an impromptu Christmas party of pool and schnapps at the officer's club, my young courtier pulled a deep field jacket pocket a letter dated August 1971. "Sorry," he slurred. "I think it's old."
Frustration became grief as i read of my beloved grandfather's death four months previous. Grief became embarrasment over unsent sentiments and clues missed in subsequent letters. Then came anger bordering on hatred - at the US army for separating me from family; at my spouse for drinking too much, coming home late, and not carinig about my family. Likely, the kitchen sink, too. The marriage shook perilously under the weight of the undelivered letter, spontaneously torn to shreds and thrown in the young officer's face.
Years later the letter took its rightful place in time and space: a cautionalry tale, an story for anniversaries and AA meetings.
The marriage survived. I wish i still had the letter.
In 1971, I lived in Germany, the young spouse of a US army officer. In pre-technology days, weekly letters from home with their week-old news were the sole communication. They were sent to an Army PO address to avoid international rates and hand-delivered by my spouse nightly. The time warp between occurence and cognition was simple reality.
Home late from an impromptu Christmas party of pool and schnapps at the officer's club, my young courtier pulled a deep field jacket pocket a letter dated August 1971. "Sorry," he slurred. "I think it's old."
Frustration became grief as i read of my beloved grandfather's death four months previous. Grief became embarrasment over unsent sentiments and clues missed in subsequent letters. Then came anger bordering on hatred - at the US army for separating me from family; at my spouse for drinking too much, coming home late, and not carinig about my family. Likely, the kitchen sink, too. The marriage shook perilously under the weight of the undelivered letter, spontaneously torn to shreds and thrown in the young officer's face.
Years later the letter took its rightful place in time and space: a cautionalry tale, an story for anniversaries and AA meetings.
The marriage survived. I wish i still had the letter.
29
thank you. that is all.
5
Today people communicate all most exclusively by email of face book. I can't remember when I last got a handwritten letter except maybe in a Christmas card. We may never have a letter for such a wonderful and precious keepsake.
5
Thank you for sharing your story.
In the bottom of my purse is a misshapen thimble. My mother sewed and was a quilter for most of her life, even as her hands and fingers were deformed by rheumatoid arthritis. The flattened side was a deliberate deformity to keep the thimble on her finger as her hands failed her. She quilted until she could no longer hold the needle and thread. After she died, I found the thimble on her sewing table. Touching it reminds me frequently of the woman I admired and loved the most.
In the bottom of my purse is a misshapen thimble. My mother sewed and was a quilter for most of her life, even as her hands and fingers were deformed by rheumatoid arthritis. The flattened side was a deliberate deformity to keep the thimble on her finger as her hands failed her. She quilted until she could no longer hold the needle and thread. After she died, I found the thimble on her sewing table. Touching it reminds me frequently of the woman I admired and loved the most.
60
And who of later generations is going to have such reminders when texting is the lowly norm and e-mails are not much better?
45
Not all letters from departed relations are likely to be little purses of happy magic. After my own mother died I discovered a cache of three or four sealed letters from her. They had trickled in during the last years of her life, when she was angry, bitter, accusatory, raging against the dying of the light, and went out of her way to make life and relationships indelibly painful. Unlike our 747 pilot friend, I did not cradle them to my bosom for years imagining the goodness inside. After due consideration, and with a reasonable expectation of what lay within, I burned them in their envelopes. I felt as good, I'm sure, as the writer will when he opens his.
23
He will always have a letter from his mom that he has not yet opened. What is in that letter is not yet a memory of something she said. It's something she has not yet told him. I understand. Don't open the letter until it feels right.
5
Disclosure - I have'nt read your book. So my entire comment is based on this essay. First Kirsten was very wrong ( she may have broken the law ). Second, she forgot about it for a decade and put the letter with the junk she had collected over the years. Third, she deprived you of the happiness and encouragement that the letter might have brought you. Fourth, she deprived your mother of showing her pride for her child's accomplishments. If I were you, I don't think Kirsten was ever your friend if she was so lackadaisical about an important letter from your mother especially when the envelope was covered with drawn pictures of planes, no matter what the nose. If I were you, I would open it a.s.a.p. It is already a decade late. You should at least acknowledge her love in that letter. Better now than late or never.
7
Leaving such a letter unopened forestalls disappointment. What if the words were no more than bland comments about the weather and the goings on of neighbors and relatives, and vague wishes for the recipient's continued health and good fortune? Most letters are full of such trivialities. What if the writer had penned a line open to negative interpretation? Was she disappointed in me, the reader might forever wonder? Or still angry about something I did or did not do? Much easier, I think, to leave the thing unread, as a holder of dreams.
10
As this letter flies across the globe, there is always the possibility that somehow it might get lost. What a pity it would be to never know what was in the letter. If it were me, I'd feel more comfortable not opening it if it were tucked away safely somewhere. If you want to keep it with you, then I vote for reading it.
7
The author has a good friend in Kristen. If I was his mother, that letter would read: Never let her go. Good friends are hard to find. A little slow on the delivery, but she didn't quit. Thank you for sharing that story.
39
I guess I can understand it. However, one thing you won't know until and unless you open the letter, is what awaits you afterwards, meaning, how it will affect the memory of your mother to no longer have something tangible to hold on to. It may not be as bad or as empty as you think.
1
I read your book. As an ex flight attendant, I truly appreciated the poetry of flight as you so well described it. So I am not surprised of the sensitivity you show in keeping your mother's letter unopened. It is your way of keeping her alive and close to you as you travel the world.
6
My father penned two letters, one for me, and one for my sister, to be opened upon his death. While settling his estate we found the letters and each read our letter and swapped with the other. My father was a military man of few private words. Even as I write this my heart and eyes fill up remembering the beautiful sentiments he wrote to each of us. He praised my sister as a wonderful mother, and told her how proud he was of her. For me he validated my hard work as a teacher, and how proud he was of my degrees, but especially of my handling of my cancer. Words he could not speak out loud, but speak to us continually through his letter.
80
That was a very loving gift. It would be wonderful if everyone could say such things face to face, but few can. In a way, I see more sincerity in the carefully thought-out letter than I do in the spontaneous, death-bed apology or proclamation of love. The latter can be an act of desperation or neediness, whereas the former is a fully conscious and sincere act of generosity.
5
Your mother's unopened handwritten letter is an artifact, a document and a piece of memorabilia. Letters, especially those that are handwritten are rare, almost obsolete. If memory serves, I've received only one handwritten letter in the last ten years. If you open the letter, you will provide resolution to the story, probably satisfaction too. And another interesting story, which I, for one, look forward to.
7
Grace comes to us in the most unlikely of ways.....
My gut tells me that your mother doesn't need you to read the letter. It is enough that you know she sent it. She is with you in spirit every day. She watches over you. She knows you love her and she forgives you wholly for whatever slight of omission you think you committed. We, mothers, understand that our birds fly the coop and she is no exception.
The words in the letter are not nearly as important as the fact the letter came when it did. Please take it as proof that somewhere in the universe, your mother is still looking over at you with pride.
My gut tells me that your mother doesn't need you to read the letter. It is enough that you know she sent it. She is with you in spirit every day. She watches over you. She knows you love her and she forgives you wholly for whatever slight of omission you think you committed. We, mothers, understand that our birds fly the coop and she is no exception.
The words in the letter are not nearly as important as the fact the letter came when it did. Please take it as proof that somewhere in the universe, your mother is still looking over at you with pride.
9
My mother wrote "family letters", which were typed and copied and mailed to her children, her mother, her sister, and later her grandchildren and grand-nieces/nephews. They ran for as many as twenty pages, and usually closed with a handwritten note to the individual. There was a great deal in her letters that wasn't relevant to the reader, or simply not interesting... I did not save them - I have way too much "stuff" already, being a researcher. When she died, we found boxes of "her" copies. I took them, and am gradually reading through them - amazed at some, amused at some, aggravated at some. Another large box contains every letter I ever wrote to her...
3
Open the darn letter. You can't write this column again and we all want to know the ending, which will be another column.
7
Please open the letter and read what your mom wanted to say to you more than a decade ago. No need to wait. It doesn't make her words more special to not read them.
6
Open The Bloody Letter.
It's Your Mother.
Obey!!!!
It's Your Mother.
Obey!!!!
6
Anyone that hasn't read Mark's magical book has missed a real treat! I just finished the first leg of a transcontinental flight home to New York for Christmas. After enjoying the book, instead of looking at the trip as 6 hours of misery, I now appreciate the cloud formations, the wonderful light, the skill of the pilots ( all gracious ladies, one wearing an red elf hat for the holidays!) and the wonder of being in California for breakfast, Chicago,for,lunch and New York for dinner.
A beautiful article....more please!
A beautiful article....more please!
10
Beautiful writing from you, Mark, as always. Don't open it!
5
Beautiful written, this piece resonates. Letters are such a tangible link to those who are no longer with us. Furthermore-- it occurs to me that, while I communicate frequently, through an almost daily stream of texts and emails and emoticons, with my college aged sons, they might not recognize my handwriting if they saw it on an envelope.
6
Recipes, letters, photos, all help keep our memories in the current of our lives. Listen to John Hartford sing "Gentle on my mind" and open the letter you weenie.
4
It's fun to read the comments on here. So many people can't help projecting their personal issues onto your story: the thoughtlessness of males! unresolved family conflicts!
So I'll add my projection. My mom is still here and thankfully is still ambulatory and competent, due to turn 90 in two weeks. The moments of clarity about my relationship with her strike me so rarely. One of them occurred some ten years ago when my father was still alive. I was in car driving away from a visit to see them and they both stood at the curb waving goodbye. I clearly saw in my mother's face something I hadn't noticed before: her realization that this may not happen again. It was the first time as an adult that I saw my mother's unconditional love stripped bare. I've never forgotten that, even while I nearly constantly forget it in the moment when I visit her today.
In Mr. Vanhoenacker's situation I know that I would have thoughtlessly ripped the letter open and devoured it right away. And I do mean "thoughtlessly." After reading this essay I realize how wonderful to save something like that until I'm getting pretty near the end myself, when maybe that letter from my mother can be the very last thing I ever read.
So I'll add my projection. My mom is still here and thankfully is still ambulatory and competent, due to turn 90 in two weeks. The moments of clarity about my relationship with her strike me so rarely. One of them occurred some ten years ago when my father was still alive. I was in car driving away from a visit to see them and they both stood at the curb waving goodbye. I clearly saw in my mother's face something I hadn't noticed before: her realization that this may not happen again. It was the first time as an adult that I saw my mother's unconditional love stripped bare. I've never forgotten that, even while I nearly constantly forget it in the moment when I visit her today.
In Mr. Vanhoenacker's situation I know that I would have thoughtlessly ripped the letter open and devoured it right away. And I do mean "thoughtlessly." After reading this essay I realize how wonderful to save something like that until I'm getting pretty near the end myself, when maybe that letter from my mother can be the very last thing I ever read.
29
I too keep unopened letters. Once opened, the message moves from the present to the past; the loss will be irreparable.
29
I wish I had a letter that was unopened from my Mother, it would keep from ever feeling alone.
9
Just like in 'Castaway'.
What was in that unopened FEDEX box? Waterproof matches, a satellite telephone and a GPS unit.
What was in that unopened FEDEX box? Waterproof matches, a satellite telephone and a GPS unit.
1
My mother is still alive but unable to write even her name and she is unable to say more than a few words. My mother was a fabulous letter written and luckily I still have cards penned with loving sentiments to me. When ever I run across her distant loopy writing I remember the mom she was and no longer will be again. I miss her.
36
"For now it’s enough to look at her handwriting, at my name in her hand, and to remember that until I open it, I know I’ll hear from her once more."
What a lovely essay. Thank you.
What a lovely essay. Thank you.
5
thank you
2
Thank you for this.
Surely she was also writing how much she loved and was proud of you. All mothers should have such a son. As I do.
Surely she was also writing how much she loved and was proud of you. All mothers should have such a son. As I do.
3
I would so want to read the letter, yet understand entirely why you have not so far... What a dilemma!
4
Most beautiful sentiments, may you find the comfort and peace in loving memories of your Mother.
Peace and love.
Peace and love.
Thanks for sharing, Mark ... poignant and beautiful.
i more or less feel what is on your mind having known flight but deciding to be a physician. The letter contains the thoughts of someone you will always love. These thoughts that you have not read makes one feel they are sacred and special and that you carry in that envelope your mother's love and warmth and it does not have to be opened since whatever she wrote was designed to make you feel loved. Every time you take off you have her with you.
3
Good grief! Open the letter!
9
Only if you have something to fear, for instance if you worry that there is something negative in the letter, would you not open it.
Better to know the content than keeping it a 'secret' for life.
Even the brightest sparkling diamond can come in a closed box. You can only appreciate the true beauty of the diamond if you see it.
A Zen saying states that you cannot describe truthfully the flavour of an orange. The Truth of the flavour has to be experienced by eating it.
I agree with correspondent Mary, that it seems wrong to carry a letter unopened.
STAN CHUN
Wellington
New Zealand
Better to know the content than keeping it a 'secret' for life.
Even the brightest sparkling diamond can come in a closed box. You can only appreciate the true beauty of the diamond if you see it.
A Zen saying states that you cannot describe truthfully the flavour of an orange. The Truth of the flavour has to be experienced by eating it.
I agree with correspondent Mary, that it seems wrong to carry a letter unopened.
STAN CHUN
Wellington
New Zealand
19
I hear you. You want to save that last time....
It's so touching it hurts.
It's so touching it hurts.
9
Quantum theory applies here.... so long as it remains unopened it can be anything!!! Once opened, it is what it is.
I believe you honor your mother holistically and beautifully by allowing the fact of her letter to outweigh whatever it may say.... when and until you decide to open it.
It sounds like she was/is a sensitive and wonderful woman. I suspect she would approve of your decisions.
I believe you honor your mother holistically and beautifully by allowing the fact of her letter to outweigh whatever it may say.... when and until you decide to open it.
It sounds like she was/is a sensitive and wonderful woman. I suspect she would approve of your decisions.
7
Or an unknown sibling, or a secret bank account, or her burial arrangements, or ???. The reason she wrote the letter was for you to read it.
16
THE INFORMATION WHICH I NEVER OBTAINED AND NOW IT'S TOO LATE . . .
I had many relatives left after my father died when I was 10. U had lots of questions I could have gotten from the scores who remained in two countries. So, I found out some answers ... some contradictory.
But, I had plenty of time to find out ... and I waited far too long. I grew apart and finally 10 years ago when my mother died (who was unreliable in her perceptions) ... she became the last one.
I am now left with so many questions ... which I can never have access to. My father was quite interested in politics and his DNA was passed on to me. But, now at age 72 ... the only information left consists of voicemails from my mom ... which I can't play because it would precipitate far too much emotion.
Mr. Vanhoenaxker, open this precious letter.
And to all a suggestion: tape record interviews with surviving family and friends ... for we are mortal and one day it will be too late.
I had many relatives left after my father died when I was 10. U had lots of questions I could have gotten from the scores who remained in two countries. So, I found out some answers ... some contradictory.
But, I had plenty of time to find out ... and I waited far too long. I grew apart and finally 10 years ago when my mother died (who was unreliable in her perceptions) ... she became the last one.
I am now left with so many questions ... which I can never have access to. My father was quite interested in politics and his DNA was passed on to me. But, now at age 72 ... the only information left consists of voicemails from my mom ... which I can't play because it would precipitate far too much emotion.
Mr. Vanhoenaxker, open this precious letter.
And to all a suggestion: tape record interviews with surviving family and friends ... for we are mortal and one day it will be too late.
15
Beautifully written, thank you. I think we all carry around unopened letters with us.
12
There's no need to open it. You know it's from a person who would have expressed unconditional love whether you deserved it or not. And you did deserve it. So dream on, you still have something from your mom to look forward to. :)
2
Why are you hesitating? Open the damn letter!
21
Hang on to that letter. Keep it safe, it's a treasure.
One day, you will know that you are ready to open that letter. You will open it, read it and, once again, know just how much your mother loved you. That letter is a unique gift.
Don't listen to those who would convince you to open that letter before you really are ready.
One day, you will know that you are ready to open that letter. You will open it, read it and, once again, know just how much your mother loved you. That letter is a unique gift.
Don't listen to those who would convince you to open that letter before you really are ready.
28
Very nice, and I understand why you don't open it. I kind of wish you would, though. Your mother would probably want you to.
9
Just about as perfect as a recollection can be. Mr. Vanhoenacker, I will look for your book. Perhaps, you will write to us all again some day after you open the letter.
10
Epestemic ambivalance?
https://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20130318122500AADcZap
The TV show, "Big Bang Theory," dealt with a topic such as this, where the character Howard did not want to read a letter from his father who abandoned him and his mother. But one of the others in the show who had read the letter came up with a scheme to reveal the contents of the letter in multiple choice format one of which actually describes the content of the letter. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QTeDpEqWQ4k
It is a moving episode, as is your letter.
https://answers.yahoo.com/question/index?qid=20130318122500AADcZap
The TV show, "Big Bang Theory," dealt with a topic such as this, where the character Howard did not want to read a letter from his father who abandoned him and his mother. But one of the others in the show who had read the letter came up with a scheme to reveal the contents of the letter in multiple choice format one of which actually describes the content of the letter. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QTeDpEqWQ4k
It is a moving episode, as is your letter.
10
The pilot writes "For two years now, on my long flights, I’ve carried the letter. It flies with me on a Boeing 747, in a transparent plastic folder that also contains some navigation charts and notes. It’s a small thing to carry. Sometimes I wonder if any letter in history has traveled farther than this one." of a letter written 13 years ago ... still unopened... from his mother... now kept in a transparent pack with navigational aides... while he 'wonders' what she wrote..as he writes so much about himself and the women who delivered the misplaced letter 2 years ago.. in an envelope which bears her distinct style of writing and doodling.. yet he delays opening the letter - justifying the action with this telling statement: "For now it’s enough to look at her handwriting, at my name in her hand, and to remember that until I open it, I know I’ll hear from her once more."
It makes a great summary for a play or a book... a psychological study of the real relationship of boy to man and his mother ...
Note to the pilot: If your name weren't appended to the writing I would have known you to be male... because men put things in 'boxes' and leave what may be a confrontation with feelings until later... Just a caveat: If you don't open the letter meant for your eyes, you won't know your mother's message and you may never know it.
It makes a great summary for a play or a book... a psychological study of the real relationship of boy to man and his mother ...
Note to the pilot: If your name weren't appended to the writing I would have known you to be male... because men put things in 'boxes' and leave what may be a confrontation with feelings until later... Just a caveat: If you don't open the letter meant for your eyes, you won't know your mother's message and you may never know it.
17
I have a letter like this, written to me by my father, a couple of years before he passed away. I read the first lines and put it back in the envelope. It is somewhere in my things, the boxes of which I will not shed until I find it. And finish reading this. Based on that, what do you feel, is my gender?
4
You sound rather chastising not only of the writer of the piece but of men who put things in "boxes" delaying a confrontation with feelings to some later moment. As if all men did that. Perhaps the writer is not given to instant gratification, preferring instead to leave the final written words of his beloved parent unread, unknown for now or forever, not limited to the specifics of her writings but allowing her the space of infinity, the heavens and the skies.
5
Beautiful piece. Thank you for sharing it.
18
My mother died 19 years ago.
Since then when I speak about her I realize how much I took for granted when she was alive.
I have one reminder of her and it is so very precious.
To me opening the letter is the end of the relationship. I would rather it continue to grow through my memories.
Since then when I speak about her I realize how much I took for granted when she was alive.
I have one reminder of her and it is so very precious.
To me opening the letter is the end of the relationship. I would rather it continue to grow through my memories.
43
my mother died 18 years ago. i have no letter or anything written, but i found a cassette with someone singing & playing the organ. it took me a minute or two to realize that it was Mom!!! i forgot when she was young she had been pursued by an agent to go to NY to be a dancer, singer & actor. of course Pa, my Italian grandfather, said "Assolutamente no!" i can only imagine what Nana, her mother, said. Ma had a very colorful Italian way of putting things....
3
I would love to hear what she wrote, but completely understand you wanting to keep the words forever unspoken. What a gift you've been given!
I find it interesting that you write about your mother and her likes and pleasures, her activities, but nothing really about your relationship with her. I'm not sure what that means or what it is that lies behind you're not wanting to open the letter. I never liked my mother for many reasons. She died when I had just turned 15. But my relationship with my father was close throughout his entire life. After I became a mother of three sons, I often wondered if my relationship with my mother would have developed after I became an adult and a mother myself - if the kinship would have opened and warmed or not. I would have liked the opportunity to have known her on an adult level. I believe it would have eased my soul and comfort with myself regardless of what transpired.
Information, per se, cannot hurt us but fear can. I wonder why you would not open the letter now after so much time has past. I do know that I would have opened the letter but I also respect your choice not to do so. The relationship of mothers and daughters can be tenuous and sometimes best left at a distance.
I wish you well and hope that if you ever become a mother yourself, you will feel comfortable in opening the letter and learning what she wanted to say. I But I also hope you can open it before it may get lost to you. Insight can be golden even when it may not be what we expect. I do know I would want my sons to read anything I had written to them.
Information, per se, cannot hurt us but fear can. I wonder why you would not open the letter now after so much time has past. I do know that I would have opened the letter but I also respect your choice not to do so. The relationship of mothers and daughters can be tenuous and sometimes best left at a distance.
I wish you well and hope that if you ever become a mother yourself, you will feel comfortable in opening the letter and learning what she wanted to say. I But I also hope you can open it before it may get lost to you. Insight can be golden even when it may not be what we expect. I do know I would want my sons to read anything I had written to them.
4
Skyfaring was one of my favorite books I've ever read; I was sad when the book ended. I'm glad Mr. Vanhoenacker continues to write so beautifully, and I eagerly await his next book.
4
In May, 2001, I moved my mother from her Westchestef County home of thirty-four years into an assisted-living facility in the Bronx. Before leaving for my home in Los Angeles, she and I sat down and snapped several photos of her and me in her new accommodations, using a then-still-common honest-to-goodness film camera, an action that had yet to become known as the "selfie."
Three months later, as the consequence of a fall and generally declining health, my mother died, just before 9/11 (whose tragedy, in its way, made my own loss far easier to endure).
As of today, December 27, 2015, I've yet to develop that film (which I've kept refrigerated against the day that I'm ready to look at those photos of my mother, still alert and optimistic a out her new life).
I know exactly how you feel, Mark, and why your Mom's letter remains unopened. Maybe the most important time capsules aren't the ones sealed in the cornerstones of public building, or under the land on which the New York World's Fair's Westinghouse Pavilion once stood in Flushing Meadows.
Three months later, as the consequence of a fall and generally declining health, my mother died, just before 9/11 (whose tragedy, in its way, made my own loss far easier to endure).
As of today, December 27, 2015, I've yet to develop that film (which I've kept refrigerated against the day that I'm ready to look at those photos of my mother, still alert and optimistic a out her new life).
I know exactly how you feel, Mark, and why your Mom's letter remains unopened. Maybe the most important time capsules aren't the ones sealed in the cornerstones of public building, or under the land on which the New York World's Fair's Westinghouse Pavilion once stood in Flushing Meadows.
9
I understand completely. I corresponded with my mother during my college years and after my marriage, when I moved from California to Boston. Phone calls were expensive, and letters were better in many respects anyway. To this day, I reread those I saved, and I hear her voice speaking lovingly to me. She was and always will be my best friend.
3
Mydad was a letter writer. He really opened his heart when he wrote me and I have most of the letters he sent me prior to his passing in 2010. I have a box I keep them in and on occasion I take them out. I sometimes I read them in their entirely or just a few paragraphs....usually, that's all it takes or me to get the sense of his voice. It's always soothing and can bring me out of my worst moods. My dad lives on in the memory of his children and grand children. He was sweet and funny and irascible at times. But we appreciate him in his entirety all of the time now and miss him everyday.
9
I never met my mother's family. My grandfather, my grandmother, my uncle. They all perished at Auschwitz, after spending two years in French internment camps -- the notorious Gurs and Drancy -- sometimes moving about from one camp to another on French cattle cars. My very good mother rarely spoke of them, but said prayers for them every day. My uncle was only 27 years old when he was murdered, a clerk in a furniture store. I have only one picture of him, an identity card picture taken by the Nazis that miraculously showed up on the internet several years ago. He is wearing a coat and a tie and has a very scared expression on his face. He bears a striking resemblance to me and to one of my children. I have dozens of letters and postcards my mother wrote to her parents at the French camps and Auschwitz, all of which were returned to her as undeliverable. They are written in German, and possibly fearing my reaction to whatever they might contain, I have never had them translated. There are days when I do not think about my grandparents and my uncle and my wonderful mother, but there are not many.
15
When I was a senior in college I received a letter from my father dated May 15th. I recognized his hand, but could not help notice that it was very shaky. Fear of something seriously wrong with his health sent a sharp pain through my heart. I read the letter, and there was no bad news about his health in it. I was superficially relieved, and resumed studying for the finals, and with deliberate efforts I drove bad thoughts from my head. Instead, I imagined myself giving the family news of my graduation under four weeks. Exams went well, and I graduated and flew home along the way suppressing my anxiety.
When I arrived home, all was quiet and family greeted me with barely audible words and sad eyes at the door. Everyone was there but my father, hanging to the slimmest of hopes I charged upstairs to my father's room, and his bed was removed. One-short-sentence-thank-you speech, which I had been practicing to give on the occasion for putting me through the college involuntarily came out of my lips.
When I arrived home, all was quiet and family greeted me with barely audible words and sad eyes at the door. Everyone was there but my father, hanging to the slimmest of hopes I charged upstairs to my father's room, and his bed was removed. One-short-sentence-thank-you speech, which I had been practicing to give on the occasion for putting me through the college involuntarily came out of my lips.
85
Thank you for a beautiful story, Mr. Vanhoenacker. The love between you and your mother is palpable and it will live on forever.
2
"For now it’s enough to look at her handwriting, at my name in her hand, and to remember that until I open it, I know I’ll hear from her once more."
What a lovely, heartbreaking sentiment - it perfectly captures why the letter is unopened. Thank you for sharing your story.
What a lovely, heartbreaking sentiment - it perfectly captures why the letter is unopened. Thank you for sharing your story.
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You are living dangerously by carrying your mom's letter so casually. Your flight bag could be lost or stolen, you could have an emergency and the bag left behind in a burning airplane or the letter could be left behind in a hotel room while you are sorting through your bag. My rule is never travel with an irreplaceable object, especially one of sentimental value. Rent a safe deposit box at your bank and leave it there. One day you will want to read your mom's last words to you and you want to be sure it is there to read.
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An unopened letter, especially a final one, is bittersweet. It allows for a silent, private dialogue engaging the imagination in the possible warmth and beauty of what it is offering, but also the longing in the loss.
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This is some of the most beautiful writing I've ever read.
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Thank you for an upbeat piece especially for those of us who fly/flew for a living in front or back. The life of the perpetual traveler requires talismans of a home that may only exist in our imagination. They are the anchors of our lives. Anywhere can be where we live; but we all take a bit of 'home' with us everywhere.
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I'd read the letter if I were you. Re-reading it will just bring her back again and again.
This inspired me to go read some old e-mails from my dad, who died in 2000. I have kept some unneeded documents just so that now and again I can look at his very distinctive handwriting.
This inspired me to go read some old e-mails from my dad, who died in 2000. I have kept some unneeded documents just so that now and again I can look at his very distinctive handwriting.
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Perhaps opening it up puts and exclamation point on the finality of her passing and you want to put that off just a while longer. A bittersweet tale.
2
Isn't it interesting that we tend to forget our mothers are people, unique and complete with their own thoughts, issues, experiences, concerns. We adult children expect our mothers spend all their time thinking about us, when in truth, most have their own lives that do not revolve around us at all.
Perhaps letter described things she was doing, a visit with a friend, music she enjoyed, achievements/problems at work, health concerns, her perspective on the news - those things that an adult spends time thinking about. Perhaps she ends with a 'good luck and I'm proud of you', validating your independent equal adult status, while inviting you to validate hers.
Before you open the letter, consciously validate your mother's independence and adulthood. Grant her the privilege of being more than just your mother, as she grants you the privilege of being more than just her daughter.
Perhaps letter described things she was doing, a visit with a friend, music she enjoyed, achievements/problems at work, health concerns, her perspective on the news - those things that an adult spends time thinking about. Perhaps she ends with a 'good luck and I'm proud of you', validating your independent equal adult status, while inviting you to validate hers.
Before you open the letter, consciously validate your mother's independence and adulthood. Grant her the privilege of being more than just your mother, as she grants you the privilege of being more than just her daughter.
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Great literary piece with all the elements of poignancy and suspense! Being in possession of a wad of letters on the very thin airmail paper of the postwar which I have not read yet, I connected. Your name appears to have a dutch origin so I connected again. My parents' letters were written in Dutch and in extremely frugal handwriting squeezing as many characters onto the page as possible. All this makes these epistles had to decipher. A child does not necessarily want to invade the private communication of one's parents. That they cover a territory of painful separation and my father's depression further hold me back. Your letter was meant for you. Don't let it become an object of superstition keeping you safe in the sky. It is your skill as a pilot, of which she must have been so proud, which keeps you flying.
6
I loved this article. For many years I have kept a short letter from my maternal grandmother (known as Gram) in my desk drawer. It was her last communication with me before she died. She reminded me to call her and reflected on her recent trip to Chicago to visit her nieces. Just reading the words brings her voice and image to me, reminding me of her fun-loving personality. Recently I sent the letter to my my much younger cousin. She is now the custodian of those words. Hopefully she will share them with her children, making Gram more than just a memory.
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Loved reading this... with tears in my eyes. Thank you Mark Vanhoenacker, for this resonant piece.
4
Mothers are special .... below are some thoughts about my mother....
I lost my mother twice. The first time was when I left the Middle East and came to the US on my own. I was a first immigrant – totally on my own before my 18th birthday. There was no telephone access, so I never heard her voice for many years. Circumstances were such that I did not know if I would ever see my family again.
As luck would have it, I managed to move my family to the US when I was 32. The responsibility for my parents changed my life – for the better in many ways. I had to live a very frugal life despite my high income – so that I could help when needed. I recall driving to Boca Raton, Florida each year to see my parents. The trunk of my car was full of my tools. Each year, my mother would prepare a list of repairs in advance. Most of the jobs were small – some involved major renovations – the kitchen and two bathrooms. Trips to Home Depot were a daily event.
After 14 years of separation, every moment was precious with my parents, particularly my mother.
I visited my mother in her hospital room on Mothers Day, 2002. I recall putting her card on a table nearby after she read it. She never came home from the hospital. She died on May 22.
It was very difficult driving back north with the Mothers Day card, the family pictures.
So every Mothers Day, when I buy of flowers for my wife – I also think of my Mother.
May 22 is 12 days away.
I lost my mother twice. The first time was when I left the Middle East and came to the US on my own. I was a first immigrant – totally on my own before my 18th birthday. There was no telephone access, so I never heard her voice for many years. Circumstances were such that I did not know if I would ever see my family again.
As luck would have it, I managed to move my family to the US when I was 32. The responsibility for my parents changed my life – for the better in many ways. I had to live a very frugal life despite my high income – so that I could help when needed. I recall driving to Boca Raton, Florida each year to see my parents. The trunk of my car was full of my tools. Each year, my mother would prepare a list of repairs in advance. Most of the jobs were small – some involved major renovations – the kitchen and two bathrooms. Trips to Home Depot were a daily event.
After 14 years of separation, every moment was precious with my parents, particularly my mother.
I visited my mother in her hospital room on Mothers Day, 2002. I recall putting her card on a table nearby after she read it. She never came home from the hospital. She died on May 22.
It was very difficult driving back north with the Mothers Day card, the family pictures.
So every Mothers Day, when I buy of flowers for my wife – I also think of my Mother.
May 22 is 12 days away.
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This object is one thing that has turned into another. Your mother intended the letter to be a communication from her to you, but by a combination of chance and your own decision, it has become an artifact.
I wonder what you would find if you opened the envelope? A description of a corner of the world that looks more magical from the sky it does from the ground? A message so mundane that it would disappoint you?
I wonder what you would find if you opened the envelope? A description of a corner of the world that looks more magical from the sky it does from the ground? A message so mundane that it would disappoint you?
12
To the author: I agree with the sentiments expressed. Open it, please - before you cannot.
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What a lovely essay! My mom and dad always wrote me letters from the time i left home for boarding school all the way to this day (in the case of my mom) and until my dad died twenty years ago. Each time I move, I carry my parents' letters in a plastic bag with me. This Christmas, the ONLY card I received was from my mother.
Sometimes, I don't bother to open my mom's letter because I already know or have a pretty good idea of what's in it: be humble, pray,go to morning Mass, be obedient, a girl is seen not heard, so be silent; tithe, be clean...
And when I'm sad and blue, I open one of my mom's hitherto, unopened letters, and sure enough, the sadness lifts.
So, follow your mind and carry that unopened letter from Mom as long as you want...until you're ready to do otherwise. And if you lose it while still unopened, so what?
Sometimes, I don't bother to open my mom's letter because I already know or have a pretty good idea of what's in it: be humble, pray,go to morning Mass, be obedient, a girl is seen not heard, so be silent; tithe, be clean...
And when I'm sad and blue, I open one of my mom's hitherto, unopened letters, and sure enough, the sadness lifts.
So, follow your mind and carry that unopened letter from Mom as long as you want...until you're ready to do otherwise. And if you lose it while still unopened, so what?
11
What a beautiful story of love and loss, of hope and memory.
25
My mother recently gave me a letter that I had sent to my father a year before he died in 2001. After confessing that she had read it, she said, "I didn't know you'd ever taken him on like that." I have no memory of whatever episode she was talking about, but whatever argument I had with him, I have forgotten it. I have no desire to read the letter, but it's in my messenger bag.
13
Thank you for sharing your story, and telling it so well.
My mom passed away in 2008. I have several unopened mailings from her, before Alzheimer's took that all away. They are among my most treasured possessions.
My mom passed away in 2008. I have several unopened mailings from her, before Alzheimer's took that all away. They are among my most treasured possessions.
12
As a Mom, please open. It breaks my heart. The thought that my son woukd carry a letter unopened seems wrong. Open, enjoy and still carry with you. It's a gift.
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My dear pilot, even after you open that letter, even if you leave that letter behind before one of your journeys, you'll still find her with you. She will never be anywhere else but your side.
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Given it was sent by Air-Mail and from your Mother -
Time to open it before you lose it.
Time to open it before you lose it.
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In Kavalier & Clay (a wonderful novel), Joseph Kavalier had a similar letter from his mother...that he ultimately loses during an attempt on his life at a bar mitzvah. Don't misplace it!
12
So lovely! Thank you.
8
Beautiful thoughts. Thank you for sharing and encapsulating the bittersweet nature of loss and the passage of time.
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Wonderfully moving story of "The Unopened Letter" by Mark Vanhoenacker! Open the letter. read it through your tears, savour it and keep carrying it with you for the rest of your life.
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