It was a clear, quiet Sunday morning. Dad was in the living room reading the Los Angeles Examiner and listening to the radio. Mother and I were in the kitchen discussing Christmas plans while I bathed my two-month-old daughter, Janice. I was trying to decide whether to mail my husband’s presents to him in Hawaii or hope he would be home for the holiday. He had been due for a discharge from the Navy in November but had been told he had to wait for his ship, the USS West Virginia , to return to the States.

Dad came to the door and said he hoped we wouldn’t be disappointed about missing our favorite radio programs; a tube had burned out, and he couldn’t get another one until the next day. Then he asked Mother to come into the living room. Busy with Janice, I paid no attention to his request.

A neighbor who was a nurse stopped by on her way to church. That wasn’t unusual either, because she had shown me how to take care of the baby. The telephone began to ring. Mother answered but didn’t talk long. My best friend, Theresa, came over. She had a problem with watery eyes, especially when she looked at Janice and when she helped me wrap some presents for Earl.

I was busy all day—so much company, so much to do. That night, although I felt uneasy, I slept.

Janice woke up early the next morning. I changed her and nursed her, and she went back to sleep. The unease I had felt the day before was growing stronger. I went out to get the paper. It wasn’t on the lawn. It wasn’t in the house. Was it the first time in years that it hadn’t come? I ran to the garage to check there and found the paper tucked away under the front seat of Dad’s car. As I tore off the rubber band, I saw the headlines VERY HEAVY LOSSES IN HAWAII and 2 U.S. WARSHIPS, 2 ENEMY AIR CARRIERS REPORTED AS SUNK .

I began to yell, using swearwords I didn’t even know I knew. My parents came outside and helped me into the house. Janice was awake, frightened and crying. My seven-year-old brother, David, was consoling her. I sat on the divan while Mother and Dad explained that headlines were often wrong, especially after a disaster. My fury began to fade, and I started saying that if there were only two survivors on that ship, Earl was one of them. I had to be strong for myself and especially for Janice. A deep coldness settled upon my emotions. I did not cry. I was determined that he was all right. Dad plugged the radio back in, admitting that the day before he had disconnected it, hoping to postpone my learning about the attack until