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Many years ago, when I was a young military wife and mother, every day I would write letters to my husband who was stationed in Korea or Vietmam or TDY somewhere in the world. 

Many of the letters I did not send because I did not want him to worry about us while he was on the front lines some where. Or, for him to notice my loneliness or to sense my money or child rearing worries. 

Early on, I noticed that the more I wrote the better I would feel about many of the little and big events in my little family’s life. The writing also served as a way for me to resolve many of my problems or to question a mistake or to plan through a project. I grew immensely through my writing.

When my husband was deployed to Vietnam, as a military wife, I opted to stay in El Paso, Tx with three small children.  At that time I did not realize what a sacrafice and challenge it would be to live in a city alone with three small children.  A month after my husband had been deployed, I discovered that I was pregnant with our fourth child as well.  It seemed so daunting at the time.  Especially, in the1960’s during the Vietnam Era a phone call home was costly, so I could not get on the phone and talk for hours to my mom, sisters, grandmothers or friends who all lived in Pittsburgh, PA or Masury, OH. 

Each evening after I put the children down for the night the house would take on an eerie quiet that was hard to take along with the desert  winds which seemed to howl the loudest at night., I would clean up the house then start to write the daily letters to my husband who was in Vietnam or to family back in Pittsburgh.  I noticed that the more I wrote and cried it seemed to abate my loneliness.  The more I wrote the more soothed my spirit seemed to be become. 

When I listened to the news or saw the list of the warriors who were injured or killed during the many conflicts.  I would worry about my husband and what would happen to me and the children if anything happened to him.  I would write like crazy sending as many as two or three letters out a day to any one who would cross my mind during my lonely moments.  The letter writing was akin to journaling. The letter writing took on a kind of madness, but it soothed my soul and allowed me room to laugh and play with the children.

While writing I began to think of activities, I could do to keep the children and myself busy during our long days alone in the Texas desert.  I began to sew clothes for myself and the children;  I got more involved with church activities and even tried to work a couple of days a week for Montgomery Ward selling colored TV’s on the telephone.  But, the letter writing which I now equate to journaling was my saving grace. 

Through this medium, I would tell about the happenings of my days good, bad, and ugly.  I could dream dreams of things or projects that I would like to do or about the new friends I made or just let my mind laze away in idle wonderings about almost anything.  These times were good for me to heal and grow into a strong soldier’s wife and a mother who was prepared for any thing.