A pity. The age of instant electric communication has robbed us of one of the most touching ways to express the heartache — the exquisite pain — of a love who is out of reach.

Over 70 years ago, only a letter (or a then-expensive telegram) made it possible to contact one’s far-away love.

Such was the case for my parents during World War II.

Spouses in marriages that age well tend to retain very fond memories of their early days together. Whenever I saw a new couple in marital therapy, I asked them how they met and what drew each to the other.

If the relationship still had “life,” these questions invariably warmed the conversation. The partners retained enkindling memories of the “honeymoon” period. The spark of that early time — “the days of wine and roses” — continued to fuel their relationship.

My father entered the U.S. Army on December 12, 1943, and was honorably discharged in March 1946. Most of that time was spent overseas, in places like England, France, Luxembourg, Belgium, Switzerland, and Germany. The day he and Mom received the news of his inevitable departure for wartime Europe, she was attending her cousin’s wedding.

The tears that everyone thought reflected her response to the marriage ceremony were about something else entirely.

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I don’t have any of my mother’s letters to my dad, but only some of those he sent to her, mostly as World War II was dying down. They married late in 1940, so their relationship was still fresh when he left for the European theater.

His April 1, 1945 letter includes a dried-out daisy that he picked for her in Paris. His words surely reflected the thoughts of many that day:

My Adorable Sweetie Pie,

This is Easter Sunday and everywhere in this world people have gone to church to pray that this terrible war will soon be over. I, too, hope so for many reasons, but mainly that I can return to you and stay, and that (my brothers) Eddie and Harry need not be exposed to any more danger. Do the folks know about Harry being wounded? I hope not…

It ends:

Do you know, sweetie, that I’m simply wild about you. Gosh, I love you so. Great big kisses and hugs from the lonely husband who loves you.

My dad’s letters frequently tried to cheer up my mother. She lived with her parents for part of this time, and my future grandparents were no love-match.

Many people believed the war would go on for years more.

My mother’s only brother was eventually drafted and put in training for the invasion of Japan. That event never occurred, of course, as the Japanese surrendered after Hiroshima and Nagasaki were destroyed by atomic bombs.

Stateside, it was well known that many U.S. soldiers were not faithful to their girlfriends or wives back home. My mother must have expressed such a concern in a letter to which my father responded on April 4, 1945:

You signed this ‘Your Best Sweetie,’ but it should have said ‘Your Best and Only Sweetie,’ because that is what you are. Does that answer your question? And now to answer your air mail of March 13th. It started with that gorgeous poem about Spring and, gosh sweetie, it gave me goose bumps to know that ‘the day I return will be your Spring.’

Victory in Europe came on May 8, 1945, but my father would remain there until late February of the following year. The time passed slowly for both my parents-to-be, as noted in his missive of June 18, 1945:

I know I could perk up your morale if I came home, but they won’t let me just now. I know, too, how much your heart and body ache for me because I am undergoing the same each and every minute. You are vital to my complete happiness.

My mother suffered from tuberculosis before my folks were married. It would recur again in the 1950s. My dad was mindful of the fragile state of my mother’s health:

Sweetie, you are working much too hard for a little girl who isn’t well and you must cut it out. Gee, I wish I was around to protect you and snuggle you in the thunder and darkness of the rain.

Poor darling, you even talk to my picture, begging me to come home, and how I wish I could answer that I’ll be home in a few hours or days or weeks. But it will be a while yet and we must just be patient and hope and pray it will be very soon. The good God above must see how hungry and helpless we are without each other and I am sure He will answer our prayers soon…

All my love belongs to you, sweetheart, every drop of it.

Dad’s letters talk of many different things: day-to-day life in the Army, the problem with officers, places seen, family matters, army food and the much better food they sometimes had after Germany’s defeat, gifts and money he was sending Mom, the progress of the war, the first Bastille Day after Paris was liberated (at which celebration my father was present), and even references to the children they hoped to have together.

On July 9, 1945, my dad sent Mom a page from the Army’s magazine Stars and Stripes. That portion of the magazine featured pencil drawings of the beautiful women at the Folies Bergère, a famous Parisian show featuring popular entertainment and scantily clad female performers. On it he wrote the following:

This will give you an idea of what the Folies Bergere is like. I’d rather look at you, though.

Not everything my father witnessed brought a smile, however. This comes from October 19, 1945:

We have two colored boys (black men) in our convoy, who were carrying our postal equipment. When we went to supper here in Germany, the Sargent who ran the mess hall made them eat in a separate room. The colored boys were fighting mad for which I can blame them little. I complained about this treatment to the mess Sargent, who said that the First Sargent had made it a rule. I went to the latter and told him off plenty (my dad was by now a Staff Sargent). His answer was that I didn’t have to eat in the mess hall either if I didn’t like the rules.

So this is for what we fight. I finally talked to the colored boys and pacified them somewhat.

On February 14, 1946, the end of the seemingly endless wait to return home was near. By now, Dad had been 11 days in La Havre, not yet assigned to a ship for his cross-Atlantic voyage:

Well, at least I will be with you soon and I know ‘wonderful you’ are waiting with all the love and devotion a guy could ask for. I love you, sweetie.

On February 26, after 12 more days in La Havre, he was headed home.

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In the mid-1980s, 40 years after these events, I asked my 75-year-old dad what it was like the first time he saw my mother again. His most moving recollection wasn’t their actual reunion; rather, it was the first time he heard her voice when he called her on the telephone, just after he arrived in New York.

His voice cracked as he described that moment, and tears came to his eyes.

Soon after calling, he must have written her this postcard:

My last letter to you. From now on I’ll tell you in person. Gosh, it will all be so wonderful soon.

Here’s to the soldiers, women and men, who have taken Dad’s place in the Middle East. May they too come home safely and soon.

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*I have posted this previously. As you can imagine, the story it tells continues to touch me. I hope it does the same for you.