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May 14, 1944
Dear Mother:
I don’t suppose there is a red rose in all the jungles of Burma, but it is Mother’s day nonetheless. We have long ago departed from the conventional celebrating of the red letter days, but they do not go unobserved. It is impossible to explain the feeling that is within me or even to interpret it. It seems the many thousands of miles between us and the unpleasantness of this place have served to give me an even greater appreciation of the things all mothers stand for and a yearning for the little personal effects that you alone could bring about. If the decision had been left in the hands of all our mothers, there certainly would never have been war and that alone is worth more than all of man’s power and ingenuity, which are now converted almost completely into weapons of self destruction.
Why, as a child did I come to you for dimes while Dad was giving out quarters with less sales resistance? Simply because you knew ten cents was the price of ecstasy for me while he was merely paying a quarter for the privilege of reading the paper undisturbed. Fathers rule the household ‘cause their vanities demand it; mothers make it a worth while place to rule. It is impossible for me to send anything more than my deepest affection, but I can say something that will keep you happy because you are my mother: I am well and safe.
Love,
Jamie
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