A028

To:  Harry M. Wilson                                                                        From: Mrs. S.C. Wilson

Capt. Q.M.C.                                                                                    Blue Ridge Sanatorium

A.P.O. 886 c/o Postmaster                                                           Charlottesville, Va, U.S.A.

New York, N.Y.                                                                                              April 30, 1943

 

Dearest Hal—You wrote me April 4th “as if” you had heard from me, then on April 11th you wrote you had “not heard from me in a long time.”  I think you are a fake.  I got the April 11th letter several days before the others.  Well I’ll keep writing and maybe you will get one now and then.  You don’t tell us anything anymore.

            I believe I could insert a few interesting items and not reveal military secrets either.  Please don’t fill them with admonitions for me to “behave myself.”  That is all I can do.  We have had so much wind lately.  It just blows and blows, but it is not cold.  It has given me a terrific neuralgia headache for days, so I am staying in my room for a few days to see if it will keep, and it is better today.  I am thinking of your birthday, which is going to happen soon.  I will be thinking of you, even if that is all I can do about it.

            I think of you as a chubby little boy who will bring me little wild flowers from excursions with Dad over the fields.  Have you gotten the pictures of Page and Sam?  I hope you have.  Billy said his address will change again soon.  I hear from him nearly every week but he is not getting my letters but every once in a while.  He said when he first landed that he had written to you.  I’m glad you are well and do hope you won’t have the trouble you had last summer.  

                                                                                                A heart full of love,

                                                                                                            Mother