It's late, but I must finish the story. Tut wrote...
“I know you must be angry with me by now for not writing, but there is so much happening here in Mississippi at present that I hardly have or find time to sleep. I haven’t had five minutes to myself since I’ve been back to Mississippi. I have been taking pictures of the march during the day and on guard duty during the night. I hope your mother received my letters it is so hard to get a letter out now, people are always watching for us to mail a letter so they could stop the mail.”
Later she asks me if I’m still “doing some of the things we used to do. (smile)” And I search my brain to remember what those things were but all that swims forward is the wonderful feeling I had when I was with her.
As I carefully return the letter to its place I am remembering the fear my parents felt when she returned to Mississippi after her training in New York. When we didn’t hear from her for lengthy periods my mother would hope out loud that she was still alive. Even though I knew people had been killed I couldn’t believe it could actually happen and I would say “oh Mom.”
As I grew up through the rest of that decade reading the news and becoming increasingly aware of what was happening, I still don’t think I ever quite understood, until I read this letter to the young me all these years later, how terribly dangerous her life had been. And what enormous courage she had.
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