My father was posted far away to Canton, but they promised to write.  And write he did—at the rate of four or more times a week.  And she wrote back faithfully.

The first words were casual, almost accidental.  As my father recalled, they were something like, “Hi” and “How are you?”, exchanged when he first saw my mother swimming in the pool in the Peking Club.  It was the spring of 1947.  She was a teacher at the Peking American school, and he was a management trainee getting language training for a job with Stanvac. The following month, paths crossed again at a social event, and they started really talking.  My dad found her to be intelligent, with wide-ranging knowledge and a fresh, frank, outgoing personal manner that was totally unlike any woman he had known.  He was smitten.  She blurted out that if she were ever to get married, it would be to someone like him.

It was a tumultuous time in China, after the second world war and on the verge of a full-on civil war, but there were still a good many ex-pats in the country for diplomatic, military, business, religious and personal reasons. And in the midst of it, romance bloomed. They shared a magical summer exploring the environs, thrilled to discover everything about Peking together and wondering if it were all just a summer infatuation.

In the fall, my father was posted far away to Canton, but they promised to write.  And write he did—at the rate of four or more times a week.  And she wrote back faithfully. In his words, “Writing became a way to spend time together…not only did I try share with Lyn my own impressions and experiences in the new surroundings, but I also poured out thoughts on books I had read, the China military/political situation, views on poetry, what the future might hold, religion and philosophy, and anything else that came to mind that I thought would interest Lyn.  And of course, there was a great deal about missing her.”  I know these words because he wrote the story down for us later in life.

I also remember my mother talking about their letters and how the relationship deepened while they were apart.  My father did indeed find things that would be of interest to her.  In fact, it was those letters that convinced her ultimately to decide to marry him. Words on paper, full sentences, curiosity and thoughtfulness.  No emojis.

My own memories of my parents include wide-ranging discussions at the dinner table, and even more animated conversations at parties.  If you had an opinion, you had better be able to back it up—my mother always could. But even more than that, I remember that the two of them could be found every evening sitting together, sharing their lives and still talking.