Deborah

I just found his death so disturbing, I couldn't take it.

So I sequestered that aspect of my prior life away.

I never looked at it again.

This is Deborah's daughter, Lee.

And that's just what Deborah did.

To escape the grief of Jerry's death, she threw herself into graduate school, got a master's degree in social work.

And from there, life just kept on spooling.

She married a man named Irving, who was an attorney and a good provider.

And together, they raised three kids.

But all the while, through 64 years of marriage, through every move, every new chapter, Deborah kept the box with its lid closed shut.

Until recently.

Nearly 80 years after Jerry's death, and over a decade after the death of her husband Irving, Deborah was finally ready to open the box and start reading.

Every letter, every postcard, and every e-mail.

E-mail?

V-mail.

The letter V as in victory.

Right.

Right.

Will you listen to me?

V-mail, as I only later learned, was a method the government used to get soldiers' letters to their families.