July 12, 1943
From Ruth’s journal
He has been gone nearly seven months now. To say that I miss him any less than the first day would be a lie, though thankfully the intensity of the pain has lessened. But there are those days, those moments, where the angst is so deep, the desire to ask “why” so overpowering.
As they so often do, these mornings bring renewed hope. I wake and go to my knees where life fills my soul, refreshing my spirit and allowing me to see beyond the unknown. And for better or worse, the message comes that today may be the day that I learn of his return.
But as the day progresses, that hope seems to fade, and at times a thick haze seems to cover over everything. And it is in those moments when all seems lost, when every good thing in life seems to be overrun, that I cry out for help, and though my eyes may not see anything, my heart is provided with a small glimpse of light that provides me with just enough strength to keep going.
I also have to remember to look outside myself. I am not the first young woman to have her boyfriend leave for war, and in many ways our situation is so much less painful than others that I know. There are women with children, pressed down by challenging financial circumstances, whose provider is across the ocean, with no way of knowing if they are even alive apart from occasional letters.
Those last words were hard to write.
Though I know I must keep taking the day and blessing others in my path, I sometimes feel that I cannot carry the pain that comes with his absence. And the pain is especially strong on this beautiful midsummer’s day, where the drops of rain seem to fall so slowly, as if they themselves are sad and faint-hearted. I know that we grow through pain and trials, though I confess that today I feel my patience is so fragile. I want him to be home, safe.
God, please watch over him.