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Erie, Pa.
Sunday, Nov. 6, '38.
Scarcely know where the day went except that I spent the morning cleaning out the children's room after I could stand the frightful confusion in there no longer.  It resembled a second hand store crossed with an out and out junk dealer's establishment.  This afternoon, Rog and I went "esploring" while the ladies rested.  Bab was still bedridden but much improved.  Rog is a good little companion - interested in everything and a voluable talker.

When we returned home, I was looking through some things in my Journal pocket and found the two letters I still have from Doris, written after we were married, the last one in 1932.  Reading them made me very thoughtful and very regretful that I never saw Doris again, never will see her again.  I wish I could believe that in that "next world" I should be able to see the people who have gone but somehow I no longer have any faith in there being a "next world".  I hope there is, but I can't believe there is.  And so to me, Doris is gone, gone for all eternity.  And yet, I felt very close to her somehow as I held those letters, realized her plump, pretty hands had held that same paper, written those words, her eyes read them, maybe re-read them wondering what effect they might have on me.  My memories of her always bring regret - not that I'm unhappy now, but always wondering what Doris' life might have been if on that fateful night long ago, I had acted differently, been less "honest" with myself and with her.  Might she not be here now - alive and happy?  The tragedy of Doris's life I feel hanging rather heavy on my shoulders when I look back and realize how I wrenched it so badly she had to practically remake her whole outlook.   And back give years or more ago,