One day she came to us， and mum instantly knew what had happened. All hope had disappeared from her eyes. They stood hand in hand for a long time without saying a word. Then mum said： “We better go to church. There are certain things in life so great that we cannot comprehend them.” When mum came back home， she couldn’t get the red-haired boy out of her mind.
After the war was over， mum put away the pen and paper. “Finito，” she said. But she was wrong. The women who had come to her for help in writing to their sons now came to her with letters from their relatives in Italy. They also came to ask her for her help in getting American citizenship.
On one occasion mum admitted that she had always had a secret dream of writing a novel. “Why didn’t you？” I asked.
“All people in this world are here with one particular purpose，” she said. “Apparently， mine is to write letters.” She tried to explain why it absorbed her so.
“A letter unites people like nothing else. It can make them cry， it can make them laugh. There is no caress more lovely and warm than a love letter， because it makes the world seem very small， and both sender and receiver become like kings in their own kingdoms. My dear， a letter is life itself！”
Today all mum’s letters are lost. But those who got them still talk about her and cherish the memory of her letters in their hearts.
至今，我仍記得母親的那些信。事情要追溯到1941年的12月。每天晚上，母親總要坐在廚房的大飯桌旁，寫信給我的弟弟約翰。約翰是在那年夏天應征入伍的。自從日本襲擊珍珠港後，他就杳無音訊了。
約翰從沒回信，我不知道為什麽母親還要這樣一直堅持寫下去。
“等等看吧，總有一天他會回信的。”母親斷言。她堅信思想和文字是息息相通的，這種關聯強大得如同上帝賜予人類的光芒，這道光芒終有一天會照到約翰。