Letters, Losses, Loved ones.

The Whole Story:

"When you're father was only a child,Waldemar was his name, which we later changed to Walter. His father and mother smuggled him out of the country in order to save their sons life. It was commonly done with most children, and many people held a business in smuggling children to safety. It was dangerous work, and the child was to be put in a suitcase in order for it to be completely hidden. Many children did not make it to safety because they could not bare the lack of air and space, crying out for help in submission. You're father was one of the lucky children who controlled themselves and didn't make a movement nor a sound. The reason such an act was done, did, of course revolve around safety, and in many cases, desperation. The war and dictator had become an unstoppable force of destruction and control. When you're father arrived in london, he had no one to turn to, and was dumped in a group home with many sickly children. At the time, Mr. Gobble-wart and I were interested in adopting a child. We stopped by many group homes, but we found the children either to young, too old, too injured, or too sickly to care for. Then we found your father, who was quite new and just the right age, with no injuries or sicknesses. He was perfect. Before we new it, we were signing papers and arranging payments. You're father was officially ours. That, however, did not stop him from protesting or crying his heart out. We felt terrible, when he explained what he had been through and that he was sure his parents would come back for him. It took many months for him to finally accept the truth . But, when he did, he was the most optimistic, and loving boy we had ever met. Time went by so quickly, and before we knew it our boy was off to find a job in the city. We pleaded him to stay, as he already had all the money he needed,but he was determined to go and make money on his own, as if trying to prove himself worthy of our wealth, which in our eyes, he already was. He came back with a young wife named "Alison". We were very pleased at the thought of our son settling down in the city with a family of his own, and as we got to know her, she too became family, and for a short time, we were all together and happy, Unaware of the destructive war that had begun around us. But nothing lasts forever. Your father came home one day with anger in his eyes. He told us he had just returned from the city to buy supplies, and was thrown at and yelled at. When we asked him why he replied, "What kind of man am I, If I do not serve our country by fighting in battle, in order to protect our nation? A coward? No! What good am I doing by just sitting around, enjoying my riches, while other men fight to the death for their people?" We told him that he did not need to prove anything, but he only grew angrier. When your mother awoke the next day, he was no where to be found. Not that we did not know where he was....we all knew what had happened. We all sat at the dinner table that night in silence. Your mother only said this: "I must leave first thing in the morning. Please don't ask why, but it is what I must do." Once again, Mr. Gobble-wart and I were alone, with only each other to call family. Or so we thought. Only one week later did we receive news that your mother was expecting. We were overjoyed and begged your mother to return when you were born, but from then on she did not reply to any of our letters. I wish I knew why.When we did receive a letter, it was not from your mother, but from the army. It informed us that your dear father was killed in action. That, Abigail, was the last of him, and of your mother. Only in her last letter did she ask if we could care for her child. And, well, If the war comes to an end soon, then I am afraid this is the last we will see of each other. But we mustn't think of such things at the dinner table! Tell me Abigail, how do you like your knew room?" asked Mrs. Gobble-wart in a carefree sort of way. I blinked, feeling extremely overwhelmed by all she had told me, and breathed deeply, trying to process all of the information given. This was the most any one had ever told me of father, and for the first time, I felt a true, depressing grief for his loss. Mr. Gobble-wart glanced in my direction, and cleared his throat, turning to his wife and saying with a gentle tone. "Miriam, I think you'd better give her a moment. Don't you see? You have told her too much." he said seriously. Mrs. Gobble-warts face dropped. "Oh, dear! I am so sorry Abigail, It must almost be too much to take in, I really do apologise. You're right, Mr. Gobble-wart, I have told too much in so little time." I shook my head in disagreement, "No, no! Mrs. Gobble-wart, You've said just enough."