As I’ve mentioned in previous blog posts, I run across all sorts of interesting objects when sifting through old maps, books, and ephemera. Recently, I was cataloging a report by the 1931 International Boundary Commission between Canada and the United States. A small piece of yellowed paper, dated 10/24/1944, fell out of the voluminous text. After deciphering the script, I thought the contents were worth sharing.
Mortality was undoubtedly a common concern on the American homefront during World War II, though not everyone was a victim of bullets or artillery fire. Anxiety, fear, and stress were ubiquitous, especially with those who had loved ones fighting on the front lines. To the anonymous author – thank you for sharing your innermost thoughts and I hope your final weeks, months, years, and maybe decades were filled with peace, happiness, and comfort.
[Transcription – Please Forgive any Errors]
Death is such a lonesome thing –
perhaps that is its terror.
To sit alone yet with others, not
knowing if it be Death gripping your
vitals or only the more homely – and
possibly more painful – tummy-ache; not
wanting to share your foreboding, because it’s
just as possible you’re wrong about it –
is the penalty you pay for knowledge
you’re one of the cardiac.
To wake in the night, with the
little knives whittling at your heart, not
daring to move lest it be the end; not
afraid, but not brave; not sorry, but
surely not glad – to drop off again
as the pains ebb and awake once more
in the light, half-happy and half-surprised,
is an experience you cannot share –
To sit and walk, to dine and sleep with
Death is a lonesome thing.
When he comes, let it be respectfully quick.
– – – – – – –
The joke being, I’ll probably live
another 3 decades!
24 Oct. ’44