I’ve always loved reading letters. Two of my favorite books are the letters of poets Sylvia Plath and Anne Sexton, so it wasn’t unusual for me to read any letter I came across in our house whether it was addressed to me or not. Okay, call me a snoop, I don’t care. It was fun. And I learned a lot!
Loving letters, why wouldn’t I read a letter addressed to my mom and postmarked from some small town in Arkansas? It was from her BFF, from her childhood, telling her a guy named Bob had burned up in a fire. He’d been drinking and smoking. Reading on, I learned that BFF was Mom’s former sister-in-law and that Bob had been her firsthusband. What? My mother had a former life? I never dreamed the woman who popped my face when I poked my chin at her would have anything before my dad.
What do you think the most difficult part of marriage is?