Elizabeth Custer saved most of the letters she and George exchanged through the 12 years they were married. I’m sure she never intended anyone to read their love letters, but I have and in so doing, developed a great appreciation for the talent that went into their correspondence. On April 1, 1876, George wrote Elizabeth from Washington. His letter began, “My Darling Sunbeam – I calculate only one week more here. Should I be detained longer I should give up all thought of a summer campaign and send for my Bunkey. My Darling Sunbeam – if you only knew how truly a sunbeam you are to me!” Custer was a romantic sort – no wonder Libbie held onto his letters. They’re almost poetic. I have never been very good at writing love letters. To be good at it, a person must be able to forget the past and disregard the future, letting the passion of the moment hang out while keeping all integrity zipped up. A really good love letter should make no sense whatsoever. You don’t want to start out the letter with something sappy like, “Dear Honey Bunch, Sugar, Puddin’ Face, Darlin….” That’s just too much. I think the best love letter I ever read was written to my grandmother from my grandfather. It wasn’t so much a letter as it was a note – just a couple of lines explaining his whereabouts. My grandparent’s lived in a fairly roomy home in Missouri that included a basement. They would spend their day doing various tasks in different sections of the house. They’d get so busy they would lose track of where the other one was. Sometimes my grandfather would go to the hardware store or get a haircut and forget to tell her he was leaving. By the time he got home she was be a bit irritated because she had been looking everywhere for him. One afternoon after my grandmother finished hanging the clothes on the line, she came in to find the “love note” sitting on the kitchen table. It contained three little words. Three words I think are the most romantic ever penned. It read, “I’m still here.” I think that’s ultimately what George and Elizabeth wanted from each other. Just to know “I’m still here.” Maybe that’s what every longs to be sure of from the people who say they love them.
