Letter writing may just be the balm some people need amid a

cacophony of difficult news, terrifying statistics and

misinformation on social media.

Like many young lovers separated

during World War Two, my American
grandparents narrated their entire
romance over letters, from the
beginning of their courtship in early
1944 to the Western Union telegram
a year and a half later that simply
read, “DARLING BE HOME BEFORE
BREAKFAST LOVE GENE”.

Although the letters my grandmother

wrote to her future husband were lost
to time, she kept my grandfather’s
letters in her possession until her
death in 2005. My cousin Brooke
inherited the letters and kept them
tucked away in a box for nearly 10
years. In 2014, Brooke also died.
Soon thereafter, her mother sent the
letters to me in Brooklyn. Over a span
of half a century, the letters travelled
across two countries and an ocean to
reach me, and they have outlived
many of the people I loved best in this
world. It is not hyperbole to say that
they are my most precious heirloom.

I wept the first time I read the letters.

During the preceding decade, I had
lost a number of family members and
friends to illness and accident, and I
myself had flirted with death after
being bedridden in an intensive care
unit with pneumonia and sepsis. It
was during my subsequent period of
convalescence that I pored over the
letters. Despite having been forced to
communicate under the dark cloud of
war, my grandfather filled reams of
stationery with humorous wartime
anecdotes and messages of hope and
love. His words were just the balm I
needed to soothe my ailing spirit, and
seeing his beautiful handwriting
brought him back to life.

Five years have passed since I first

read my grandfather’s letters, and I
 am once again housebound. This
time, just like billions of other people
around the world, I am under stay-at-
home orders in an effort to contain the
Covid-19 virus.
Social media is a ‘double-edged sword’

During the first week of my isolation, I

read the news and scrolled through
my social media feeds to see how my
friends and family were faring. New
York Governor Andrew
Cuomo warned that the virus was
moving through our state “faster than
a bullet train”, and some of my friends
started posting about loved ones who
had died or who were on ventilators.
My nerves were soon worn raw by the
constant onslaught of harsh realities,
terrifying statistics and misinformation.
I turned once again to my
grandfather’s letters not only for
spiritual comfort, but also in an effort
to decrease my rising levels of
anxiety.