Hmmm, I guess that’s what you would call this. I was just thinking today about how things were when we were younger. I’m not that old but I do remember a time when we didn’t have the Internet. We didn’t have telephones. No e-mail. All we had was writing letters and driving to a person’s home to visit. News traveled very slow in that time and I can just imagine that in generations before that news was even slower.
What would make me think of that? Well, I feel sometimes like I am stuck back in a time like that. For the last 2 months or so my son has been in Marine boot camp and it feels so strange not being able to just call, email, or whatever to stay in touch! It is so agonizing just having to wait for a letter in the mail. Regretfully, they are few and far between because he stays pretty busy.
Have you ever stopped to think about how information was received in the past? Could you imagine someone giving birth and you never knew they were pregnant? Could you imagine seeing someone once a year and on one of your visits you find that someone passed away in the last year and you never knew? Sometimes we take things for granted and maybe we should just stop and reflect on that! Maybe we should also learn to take the great gifts we have been given to communicate and use them to the utmost because we have opportunities that our ancestors would have loved to have had.
Just a thought!
By the way, October 12 my son graduates from boot camp and I will be able to fly out to San Diego and see it. Then I can bring him home for 10 days! Perhaps then we will be able to communicate better!
Take care everyone!
I remember how difficult it was when my son was in boot camp (for the Air Force). Even his limited time on the telephone was strained, as he had probably a hundred guys standing behind him, all within earshot. It was a wonderful reunion when he came home.
I know how you are feeling. Hang in there, and save all of your son’s letters home. I did, and his wife, who didn’t know him when he was in the Air Force, enjoyed reading his letters to home.
Janice