One day she came to us， and mum instantly knew what had happened. All hope had disappeared from her eyes. They stood hand in hand for a long time without saying a word. Then mum said： “We better go to church. There are certain things in life so great that we cannot comprehend them.” When mum came back home， she couldn’t get the red-haired boy out of her mind.
After the war was over， mum put away the pen and paper. “Finito，” she said. But she was wrong. The women who had come to her for help in writing to their sons now came to her with letters from their relatives in Italy. They also came to ask her for her help in getting American citizenship.
On one occasion mum admitted that she had always had a secret dream of writing a novel. “Why didn’t you？” I asked.
“All people in this world are here with one particular purpose，” she said. “Apparently， mine is to write letters.” She tried to explain why it absorbed her so.
“A letter unites people like nothing else. It can make them cry， it can make them laugh. There is no caress more lovely and warm than a love letter， because it makes the world seem very small， and both sender and receiver become like kings in their own kingdoms. My dear， a letter is life itself！”
Today all mum’s letters are lost. But those who got them still talk about her and cherish the memory of her letters in their hearts.
至今，我仍记得母亲的那些信。事情要追溯到1941年的12月。每天晚上，母亲总要坐在厨房的大饭桌旁，写信给我的弟弟约翰。约翰是在那年夏天应征入伍的。自从日本袭击珍珠港后，他就杳无音讯了。
约翰从没回信，我不知道为什么母亲还要这样一直坚持写下去。
“等等看吧，总有一天他会回信的。”母亲断言。她坚信思想和文字是息息相通的，这种关联强大得如同上帝赐予人类的光芒，这道光芒终有一天会照到约翰。