Dear Diary

Nancy's entry

Dear Diary,

I learned something today. And ever since this morning I’ve been turning it over in my mind.

Remember how I told you about Herbert, the old man that sweeps floors at the factory?

Well, a while back I heard that he and his brother left to go fight in The Great War… about 30 years ago or so. Poor guy came back alone, only to find his sweet wife had died while he was away. Then I know he had a dreadful time of it during the Great Depression. And since this second war started, his only son went missing in Europe about a year ago.

Of course, I know a dozen other people with similar stories–it isn’t what happened to him that makes him peculiar.

All that to say, I never quite understood him. He is so quiet and gentle, but also oddly stubborn. As if he knows that he knows what he knows. I don’t understand how anyone could be so sure of anything.

Anyhow, when I greeted him this morning I noticed he was moving slower and looked tired. So I asked him if he was sick. He told me that he had been up late the night before working on his book.

I was a tad surprised, “Are you an author then?”

Herbert had nodded, “You could say that. But I only write stories with happy endings.”

“What are you writing now?”

“An autobiography.”

You can imagine my confusion. I paused for a second, and then stammered respectfully, “I-I’m sorry, sir, if that is the case, how can you say you only work with happy endings?”

For the first time, I saw Old Herbert smile. It was a knowing smile, as if he had a very important secret that no one else knew of. “Ahhh, my dear girl, thats easy. I'm just copying down what God is writing in real time. So of course you don’t see a happy ending! How could you? Its not finished yet.”

Well, and maybe Herbert was right. Maybe things could look up again. For all of us.

Yours,

Nancy

September 1, 1945