A Letter Surprises - 1. Chapter 1

I held the now age yellowed envelope which was addressed to my father in a confident fluid cursive handwriting. I turned it over and saw a return name and address in the same cursive script. I didn’t recognise either the name or the address. The letter had been opened so I assumed the contents had been read and replaced, and it seemed possibly more than once.

I thought back to why I was in this storeroom going through my father’s possessions.

My father had died quietly and peacefully three months before. I was living with him at the time because after a minor stroke he needed someone to be with him. That didn’t mean that I was his sole carer, after all I still needed to work.

Anyway, back to the stroke. Our mother had died from breast cancer that she had refused to have diagnosed until it was too late, and that left our father living by himself for six years. He was retired and unlike a lot of retired men had continued to stay physically and mentally active. He had worked hard and invested wisely and had a healthy self managed superannuation fund. He lived comfortably and happily.

We didn’t need to worry. We, being myself, my brother and my sister, all got on extremely well. I expect that was because we grew up as part of a very happy and loving family. Of course as we grew through adolescence, we each fell in love and left home and married.

Mine is the only marriage that hasn’t lasted. We had a son and a daughter and when they were 12 and 10, Susie, my now ex, told me the marriage wasn’t working and she wanted a divorce, the children, and, as I found out latter, another guy she’d been seeing for about a year.

Anyway as I was regarded as the “single” sibling, it was suggested that I go and live with dad. It wasn’t a problem for me so I accepted. I put my apartment in the hands of an agent and it was quickly leased by a couple of young gay guys. While that didn't thrill me, I trusted the agent. I just hoped the bond would cover the damage they did while having the wild parties and other things I assumed gay guys indulged in.

I settled into living with dad and the house was big enough for my two kids to be able to visit and even stay when they wanted, which early on was quite frequent. It worked really well because dad loved having his young grandkids around and doted on them as much as his stroke would allow. Initially it also gave my children the opportunity to be with their grandfather and understand about aging. He indulged them more than I wanted, but there was little I could do about it.

None of us expected that I would be living there for six years. They were mostly happy years and I got to know my father better than I ever had before. In fact, I thought I knew everything about him.

Unfortunately, during that time, dad’s health slowly deteriorated as he had a couple more minor strokes over those six years. The final stroke occurred during his sleep, and I found him in the morning.

The funeral was simple and dad was buried next to mum. The will was straight forward, with the estate split equally between the three of us. After six years I had started to think of the house as my home and my siblings had also moved from thinking of it as dad’s house to thinking of it as my house.

Of course, the lawyers didn’t see it that way, but as joint executors we came to an agreement. In exchange for the house, my sister and brother would split the proceeds from the sale of my apartment.

What I didn’t expect was that the gay guys would still be leasing my apartment after all this time and hadn’t damaged anything. In fact, when they found out I would be selling it, they were keen to buy it. I didn’t even have to go through an agent.

In the end we were all happy: I owned the house, the gay guys bought the apartment, and my siblings were happy with their share of the sale money. The three of us shared dad’s remaining assets.

All this meant that the house still had most of the stuff my parents had accumulated over a lifetime living in the house. Sure, my brother and sister had selected things they wanted to have, along with memorabilia from when they were young children, but that still left a lot of stuff for me to go through.

With everything settled I found I had time to think about sorting through Mum and Dad’s possessions and deciding what to do with them. I decided that clothing was the easiest and therefore the best starting point. Anything in wearable condition could go to a charity shop. There rest could be binned.

I started with Mum’s clothes and with my sister’s help we sorted them very quickly. We were surprised how much mum had stuffed into the pockets of jackets and coats and forgotten about. Not just handkerchiefs, tissues and shopping lists but also money, Jewellery and notes with phone numbers. We were too busy to think about it at the time, so apart from the tissues we tossed them all into a plastic box.

Dad’s clothes I went through by myself. Many more pockets than with my mother along with many more surprises. Yes, more tissues, receipts, theatre tickets and money (even two wallets) but also some keys. Again, apart from the tissues, all tossed into the plastic box for checking later.

I was surprised at how much of Dad’s clothing looked as if it had only been worn once or twice and most of that looked like stuff Dad would not have bought for himself. The charity shop manager was delighted.

Next was sorting through the shed. The shed was originally a porch and outside laundry. A renovation that included a new kitchen, laundry and outside barbecue area made the area redundant, so it was enclosed and turned into Dad’s workshop and storeroom. It was renamed ‘The Shed’.

I was familiar with the workshop section of the shed because I used the tools in there to carry out maintenance around the house. Now I needed to start working my way though the storeroom and working out what to do with everything. Generally it wasn’t difficult, but then hidden at the back of the storeroom I came across a medium sized locked metal trunk. Painted green, it was about 30cm by 20cm and 15cm deep. I couldn’t remember ever seeing it before but it grabbed my attention as something that was important to my father and now to me. It was locked.

I decided that the shed wasn’t the best place to try to open the trunk and check its contents, so I picked it up and took it to the room I used as an office and placed it on my desk. My next question was how to open it. My mind travelled back to sorting through my father’s clothes and the keys that I found in the pockets.

I lost count of how many keys I tried before one turned and the lock clicked open. I carefully lifted the lid and that’s when I first saw that aged yellow letter. It was lying on top of what looked like a collection of old letters, postcards and fading photos.

I pulled it out and opened the carefully written letter that was both formal and personal.

My dear Albert,

Sadly, this letter is to tell you that we have received formal notification from the Royal Australian Navy that our much loved son, Phillip, was killed in action against the “enemy”.

I stopped reading to understand why that word had been put in quotes. At the time there had been many heated debates and demonstrations questioning our involvement in the war in Vietnam.

The letter continued.

“I am writing to Phillip’s friends, most of whom are also your friends, to advise them of Phillip’s death and the date and location of his funeral. Yes, his body is being returned home for his funeral.

Albert, we know that you were much more than Phillip’s friend. We have watched the love that you have for each other develop and blossom and had hoped that it would carry both of you into a life together, while understanding the challenges you would face.

Harry and I are both grieving as Phillip’s parents and we both know that because of this news you will be grieving for someone you loved and who also loved you. We hope that you will attend the funeral and stay in touch with us afterwards. When we understood the love you and Phillip shared we came to regard you as another son, and you should know that is the way we will always regard you.

We would like you to be with us at the funeral and afterwards.”

I stopped reading and simply noticed the date and details of the funeral that followed. It was before my Mum and Dad married. But what did this letter mean? The inference was clear. My father had been in love with a sailor before he married Mum and went on to have three children together. But could that be true?

I folded the letter and carefully returned it to its envelope.

The contents of the box looked back challenging me to search further for the truth it was holding.

A shiny white corner caught my eye and I gently pulled it free. I was looking at the order of service for a sailor’s funeral. The sailor was the Phillip named in the letter. Obviously in uniform, his young face incongruously smiled cheerfully out of the photo on the front of the funeral's order of service. I dropped it back into the box and picked up some postcards. They had photos of foreign cities on the front. Obviously ports where his ship had visited. On the back was a date and a scrawled message. Deciphering the handwriting I found the messages to be similar. They thanked dad for his letters, said he was missing him, promises to write and looking forward to being together back in Sydney, enjoying having a beer together and going to the footy.

The messages were cryptic, presumably because they could be read by anyone the mail passed through and because homosexuality was illegal, but after reading the letter from Phillip's mother I could see that they were expressions of love.

My mind wanted to shut this out. My father wasn't gay. He had married and had three children. Maybe Phillip had a crush on Dad. Maybe he loved Dad and mistakenly believed Dad loved him back.

But Dad had kept these frequently handled and no doubt reread postcards.

There was a photo album. I picked it up and opened it at random. Any thought that I had that my father didn't love him back was shattered by the photos. There was nothing graphic. Their proximity, the way they touched and looked at each other said it all. There were a couple of containers of coloured slides. Even without a viewer, I could tell they were the same as the photos.

Then there were also the letters to my father in envelopes addressed in the same scrawled hand as the postcards. I couldn't bring myself to open any of them.

I closed the chest. I needed to think.

Holding my coffee in both hands I sat at the dining room table.

Without thinking I glanced up at a photo on the sideboard; Mum and Dad smiling happily at each other one Christmas. Normally the photo brought a smile to my face and fond memories. Today it elicited rising anger directed at my father. It reminded me of that line, smile and smile and be a villain. A villain, a hypocrite, a poofter who pretended to be normal by marrying Mum, no doubt living a double life and sneaking off to . . ..

I seethed as I finished my coffee.

Later still angry, I decided what I needed to do. I would destroy the contents of the box. No one would know about my father's perverted double life. I certainly didn't want the embarrassment of my son finding out.

Back in my office I glared at the chest as it sat there with the horrible truth it contained. A truth I needed to destroy. Lifting the lid, I rummaged through the contents one more time before taking the box outside to burn everything.

A letter whose writing I recognised came to the surface. It was still sealed and addressed to the three of us, in Mum's very distinctive cursive hand. Our three names written across the envelope.

This letter was a challenge.

Internally I debated. Should I share it with my brother and sister? Should we open and read it together?

Conflicted, I stared at the envelope.

No! I had found the chest! It was my responsibility to decide. I'd respect Mum by reading the letter and then burn everything. No one else needed to know.

Roughly I opened the flap and pulled out the handwritten letter.

To my beautiful children,

Even though you are all adults, you will always remain my beautiful children.

You are reading this letter so that means that at least one of you has opened the chest and looked at what is in here. I'm sure you all have different responses to what you have discovered.

What you have uncovered is a truth, a very real truth, but there is another truth that you need to know.

You may have assumed that I didn't know about what this box reveals about your father, my loving Albert. You must now know, that I do know.

Albert told me about Phillip early on while we were still dating and even shed tears on my shoulder while telling me. He didn't want us to marry without me knowing, understanding and accepting. Albert is what could now be described as Bisexual. But you need to know that when he loved, he loved monogamously. When he loved Phillip they loved exclusively, and when we married, we were all that each other wanted and needed.

I had the beautiful experience of loving, truly loving, and being truly loved only once. Your father has experienced truly loving and being truly loved twice. At one time I may have felt a pang of envy about that previous love but that was replaced by knowing that all through our marriage I've received ALL his wonderful love. In return I supported Albert through many dark days when he confided about his conflicted sexuality. Albert in return supported me through my traumas, including my miscarriage. Every time our love for each other triumphed.

Our unconditional love for each other has also produced you, our three beautiful children.

Phillip's parents attended our wedding, and we continued to stay close friends with them until their deaths. They were very happy that Albert had found love again even though Phillip's death always hung heavily.

Albert has encouraged me to include this letter so that you will know the full story. Now that you do, we don't ask for forgiveness. What we wish for is your understanding and acceptance.

Your ever loving mother.

The letter finished with the signature she always used with family letters.

I reread the letter and dropped it back into the chest and sat back. I couldn't believe I had been so wrong, so judgemental. I had assumed he went behind Mum's back, but she knew all the time. I had to do some more thinking but much calmer this time. I pushed the chair back and went to stand but Mum's letter caught my eye. Picking it up I carefully folded it and slid it back into its envelope.

I could think while having lunch.

That night I carried the chest to the front door and pressed the bell. The door was opened by Shane, by my twenty year old son's, boyfriend.

"What do you want?"

"I'd like to talk to Robert."

"Yeah, I've heard how you talk to him, and I'm not going to have you come in here and do that."

Before I could answer Robert appeared in the doorway, " Babe, who's here?" He looked at me. "Dad, what are you doing here. Are you trying to cause trouble?"

I stepped back but held out the chest. "I've been going through my father's belongings and today I found this. I think it should go to you."

I was grateful that Robert reached out and took the chest although with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Shane, his boyfriend eyed me suspiciously.

I looked at them, "I want you to know I'm sorry. I'd like you to call me after you look through the chest, but I will understand if you don't."

I turned to walk down the front path but after one step, I looked back at them, still silhouetted together in the front door, "I'm sorry for how I've treated you, both of you."

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon when, with Robert and Shane, I stood at Phillip's war grave holding a wreath with a message from us. With a nudge from Robert, I stepped forward and placed the wreath on the grave. We stood silently for a moment.

Quietly we walked into another section of Rookwood Cemetery to stand in front of Mum and Dad's side by side graves. This time Robert and Shane placed an identical wreath and message on Dad's grave while I placed flowers of thanks on Mum's grave.

Again, we stood in silence which was only broken when Robert turned and hugged me. As I tearily hugged him back, Shane wrapped his arms around both of us.