St. Marys Dec 23– 01

 

My dear Mother

                        I will try to write you a little to night and would say that my heart ached to be with you, because I can talk so much better than I can write. I received both letters from home, and they done me a great deal of good. Fathers letter was beautiful and touching, and as I read it over & over again, my heart was full & I could scarcely read for the tears & sobs. I am grieved beyond measure that the conditions existing at home are so very sad, and that you cannot / become reconciled. I pity you Mother & know that your poor heart is broken. We have all said so much to you, tried to comfort you, and our acheing hearts & kindest thoughts are all for you. Warren is gone—It was God's will to take him from us. You always taught me "Gods will be done" Father described so beautifully the environments of our dear brothers last resting place. he says—"he is at peace, it is well" he is resigned. Mother you must remember him—our father—his heart is so full, his burden too is great. He says the memory of this awful sadness will live on & on. You must bear up & live for him. You have children who love you, who are watching your dear face / for the first ray of sun shine, for the first sign of submission. They are waiting anxiously for the time when you will say "my little man is better off—he has gone to join the angels" His poor little sick body is at rest. Only a few short years and the reward of a christian life will again place your darling boy in your arms. Try to live for those who are so anxious for your welfare, and I know that if you do your part, the great Comforter will fulfil all his promises.

 

            Christmas is here & for the first time in our lives we cannot say—I wish you a / Merry Christmas. Tears & sadness, an acheing void, will reign supreme. Brothers & sisters will group about the rooms & weep silently, bitterly. the father will turn away to hide his emotion, as the tears trickle down the stricken face, for there will be the vacant chair, here, the untouched Christmas dinner, there, all that would have served to make him happy & the home supremely bright. yet not our will wish him back. Had he been snatched from us in health & a bright future, there should be no such consolation to offer.

 

            I read in the papers all about the terrible storm & the loss of life & property. I knew the engineer of the / ill fated engine which fell into Lycoming creek—that was a sad accident.

 

            I had a letter from John he did not have much to say this time but seems anxious to write to me. Uncle Ike spent a day with me since I came home, but as it rained all day I'm afraid he did not enjoy him self much.

 

            I sincerely hope this will find you in better health & spirits

 

            With kindest wishes from Estelle & love for all—I am

                       

Your loving son

H. B. Thurston

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