Phyllis and Donald started exchanging letters as early as 1938. They had been dating for about a year. Hundreds were written and exchanged, laden with laughter and love, promise and fear, and eternal hope through to Donald’s untimely, and heartbreaking, death on April 30, 1945, just a mere week before VE Day in Europe. These letters comprise the essence of this story through which I have struggled to make the conversation real, meaningful and enduring. My palpable challenge came, as the writer, when I realized very early that most of Phyllis’ (Mom’s letters) had been destroyed.