Let Martha Washington do as she pleases
Martha Washington, who, upon her husband's death, burned decades worth of the letters they wrote each other.
Beth Mende Conny © 2000-2026
Martha Washington and George were married 40 years, which, like the Colonists’ break from England, was quite a feat.
Theirs was a good marriage, or so I’ve read. They wrote decades worth of letters — almost all of which Martha burned upon his death. (Only two survive; they were hidden behind a desk drawer.) Historians grimace: No! No! No! Don’t let our country’s history go up in smoke! To which I say, “Here’s another book of matches, Girl.”
Martha had every right to place her letters into the flames and to watch them turn to ash and float into the heavens. She, after all, was merely transferring her love from paper into her heart, for she knew that paper fades but memories do not.
I think of Martha often as I leaf through my old journals and contemplate burning them. They are logs across a stream. Now that I’ve walked across, too often struggling to maintain balance, I have no desire to turn around.
Although I journaled for years, I rarely chronicled the details of everyday life that, like muscle and sinew, form the body of one’s being. Rather, I brooded and complained and asked questions that rarely had answers:
He loves me. He doesn’t. I love him. I don't love him. Will I ever write the Great American novel? Lose 10 pounds? Meditate? Move to California/Vermont/Italy/Ireland/anyplace other than where I am? Ad infinitum.
Poor historians. They wouldn’t be able to read my journals without a coffee urn by their sides. Hell, I’d also need caffeine.
Accordingly, I will save all of us trouble by disposing of my journals, one outdated notebook at a time. Ideally, I would set them afire, as did Martha. But that’s impractical and unsafe. And Joe would roll his eyes the way he often does when I undertake a symbolic act.
And so I will do what Martha herself would do were she alive today: I will shred my journals, one angst-soaked page at a time. And shred some more, ad infinitum.
Postscript about Martha
Besieged by her husband’s death, Martha did not attend George’s funeral. She never again entered the bedroom they had shared, or his study. Here, though, is an excerpt from a letter George wrote to her in 1759:
“ … [I] embrace the opportunity to send a few words to one whose life is now inseparable from mine. Since that happy hour when we made our pledges to each other, my thoughts have been continually going to you as to another Self. That All-powerful Providence may keep us both in safety is the prayer of your faithful and ever affectionate friend, G. Washington."
Seems to me that one letter says it all. No more are necessary. It’s all we need to know.
Feel free to share or post this piece! One condition – please include the following: Beth Mende Conny © 2000-2026