Thurs – July [8 or 9, 1926]

Mamma darling

Isn’t it strange – I’ve written all to you by this mail – more than usual, because I had more time and yet – though there isn’t a bit of news – I just want to talk to you again.

I’ve been thinking so hard, about you this afternoon – all alone in this hospital room – going over in my mind – bits of conversations I remember you taking part in – trying to recall your words. Your dear smile – your way of doing things.

I can always remember you with your hands in the [?] dough! – and – sitting in Church – at the sewing machine (making Ça commence drôlement à ressembler à Noël doll clothing for my favorite – Florence) – at the dinner table where you have presided so many many times as hostess for people and people and people. I can appreciate now, how much work it was – and is – the everlasting preparing of meals – washing – ironing – cleaning – and oh – mamma – I don’t want you to work so hard any more – I want you to keep strong and well. So you will be just he same when I get back.

Oh gee – I wish I had the money to come home to see you – something seems all wrong about my not having that supreme privilege – because it is a matter of dollars and cents. Life is so uncertain – it doesn’t seem as though money should keep us apart when it would be otherwise possible. If I had stayed at Ft. Yukon I’d have been coming home next summer and if I were still single – I’d do it any way – I’d work my way home – but as it is – I can’t plan.

You have your hands full – even now. I hope you are strong enough and well enough o enjoy each day – I love it so much that you keep in touch with me – that you are always the same – no matter how much I neglect you – forgetting even your birthday – no more now mamma dear – God bless my own sweet mother.

Yours
Mary.