Stagecoach

The Transcontinental Railroad killed the stagecoach.

It might have lessened the severity of the Great American Desert, where I currently reside with ease, but it killed those romantic little coaches and the wagon trains as well. Thank you, fifth grade curriculum, for the refresher course in American history.

In my lifetime I have watched technology kill its former self. I witnessed Nintendo kill Atari, Discman kill Walkman, and the suicide of Floppy Disc. DVD knocked out VCR and is now cowering in a corner against the reigning heavyweight champion Streaming Netflix. Technological cemeteries across the world are selling plots to landlines, payphones, boomboxes and chunky monitors.

I just don't want letters to die.

Emails are necessary. Texts are worthless. If texts kill letters like the train killed the stagecoach then I will have strong words for the girl in the pink T-Mobile dress. Nothing compares to an envelope addressed by hand and embellished with a postage stamp. A letter lessens the blow of a mailbox stuffed with credit card offers, grocery ads, catalogs one never orders from and legitimate bills.

I save letters. I have boxes and boxes of them and they are organized by sender. I love pulling them out and seeing what stamps were used, where they were postmarked and how they have weathered and softened over the years. Getting lost in a pile of old letters is the best. Especially if it's raining outside and you have a dog sleeping on your lap.

In our nearly fifteen-year marriage Greg has been a man of few written words, yet I have a full box of letters he sent me during our four-month engagement. I am so thankful there were no cellphones then! We were forced to write! He did write me a stellar Christmas letter a few years ago denoting his Top 100 memories of our marriage that he attached to this. I also have a letter he left on my car window at the gym after my turnip post. It reads: "Melissa! I love you! You rock! You roll! Thank you for being so awesome even with your turnip peasant soup filled with vitamins and minerals and lots of healthy stuff. Keep up the good work on your workouts. C U Soon, Greg"

As luck would have it, I miscarried while Greg was out of town for a two-day business trip. He was in meetings all day and I could not call him. I sat alone for forty minutes in my room at Legacy OB listening to the doctor give a successful ultrasound through the wall. Those forty minutes I was able to text Greg. I texted fear and anxiety through blurry eyes and he texted back that he loved me. He texted that together we can still do anything. I decided in those forty minutes that texts aren't as worthless as they used to be.