I am not alone...

I know that Mothers have had to bury their sons since the dawn of time, but it had never been made as real and personal as this letter I came across in the family records: my grandmother's cousin's aunt, Hannah Bailey Conant, wrote this letter to her sister Elizabeth (Libby) Bailey Foote, October 5th, 1851:

My dear Lib,

I have been waiting, hoping to hear from you, but still I know it is hard for you to think of writing to any of us. But I have never heard any particulars of dear little Frank's last sickness and did hope you would feel like giving them to me who feel so much interested and who loved him so well. There was not living another child in the world except my own whose death I should feel as much as his, for I had lived with him so much that he seemed very near to me, and I could always get along with him so nicely. He has done so many little errands and other kindnesses for me; he had so many little manly traits that no other boy of his age that I know ever had. He was always so kind and so very fond of little Fred that my memory of him must be green and sweet as long as I live. How you must miss him at meals, at night when you are putting the others to sleep. How your heart must yearn for his presence in the silent watches of the night, when sleep forsakes your pillow from thoughts of him. And then when you return to your house after a short absence you miss his welcome and his loud shout of "Ma!" which I remember would ring through the house as soon as he heard your step on the doorstep. His affection for you will ever make thought of him too sweet and deep for utterance. He was a true mother's boy, and if he had lived would have learned to respect you as truly as he loved you. The spring opened joyfully for him.... The autumn is here and he is not with us. He has fallen, as fall now the leaves from the trees. They will rise and blossom again - so lives and flourishes his loved spirit, in milder skies, under teachers more capable to develop his remarkable character. He was welcomed there by those who know him and loved him. If this beautiful faith could be realized, how easily could you wipe away the tears from your eyes; the sad thoughts from your mind.

Your truly sympathizing sister, Hannah.

This little Fred sounds a lot like Phillip, from the "little manly traits" to his affection for his mother. Although it was written 165 years ago, I feel like this letter could have been written for me, and sent through the years to comfort me. And in small ways it does comfort me, just knowing I am not alone.