The letters became their tradition. Every year, another birthday, another letter. Edward would eagerly awake on that February morning, both awaiting and dreading the letter he knew he would find in their mailbox.
Ed had a lot of questions about the letters; who was sending them for his mother? How did they find their way to him with nothing more than his name and each year's date? How many letters had his mother written in those few final weeks when she had been sick in bed, when the illness had stopped her from allowing much else besides something as simple as writing a few letters? More than the tumulus emotions Ed knew the letter would bring, he dreaded more the ideas of the letters abruptly stopping. Every year, he ran to the mailbox, terrified that he would find no letter, no more words form his mother. It would feel like she had died all over again.
Even so, Ed couldn't help his quickening gait as he, Al and Winry reached the intersection where their paths diverged.
"So you'll come over for dinner, right?" Winry asked. Her hair had grown a lot in the six months that the Elrics had spent in Dublith, and now it was tangled in the scarf around her neck to ward off the late winter chill. She tugged at it as it got caught in the strap of her school bag.
"Yeah!" Al piped up, easily catching up to his brother's shorter strides.
"Granny said she was making stew for you, Ed."
"Huh? Oh, awesome," he answered, barely listening.
"Jeez, what's up with you?" Winry said. "Are you even listening?"
They stopped on the other side of the bridge where Winry had to turn left. "I heard you. Stew. Dinner. We'll be there."
Winry rolled her eyes. "Alright, I'll see you guys later." She waved and started off.
"Wait up, brother!" Al called from several steps behind Ed; he hadn't realized how hurried his pace had become.
Ed didn't respond, but he slowed his walk. Al was the same way on his birthdays when the letters began to show up for him as well. It was something they never spoke about otherwise. The brothers told each other most everything, but the content of those letters was private, Al never asked after that first time, so neither had Ed.
Silently, he wondered if the letter affected Al the same way. If he too was as hurt by them as he was comforted, if they only redoubled his efforts to bring their mother back. It had been five years, their research was coming to an end, Ed knew the day of their mother's resurrection would be happening soon, most likely by the end of the summer. This would probably be the last letter, he realized. But he kept those thoughts to himself as he opened the mailbox and pulled out the patiently waiting letter.
"You coming in?" Al asked, already standing at their stoop.
"In a minute," Ed told him. With a nod, Al left his brother alone without another word.
Ed walked over and sat on the stone steps, tearing the envelope open. Over the years, the paper had begun to turn slightly more yellow and softened with each passing year. Just another gut-punching realization of how long it had been since Trisha Elric had been alive. Ed shook his head and began to read.
My Dearest Darling Edward,
It has occurred to be as I began writing this that you have now spent more time without me than you ever had with me. You are growing so old, my little man. I can't imagine you as an eleven year old, to be honest, it doesn't seem possible that my little baby could ever grow so much. You were my firstborn, Edward, and that was so special to me. The first time I ever saw you, I knew how special you would be to me. And the years, they passed by so quickly, I watched in amazement how much you grew every day. I can't help but imagine how much you have grown in the years that have passed as well. I wonder what you have gotten up to in the past few years, you certainly could never stay out of trouble for long. I'm sure you have advanced so much with your alchemy as well, you and Al knew more about it when you were toddlers than I even understand now!
Ed smiled softly. Within the year, he would show his mother just how much he had learned about alchemy. She would see and experience that for herself. Ed swelled with pride just at the thought; he had put his heart and soul into this research, spent the better half of his life studying it. His mother would be amazed by what he could do. Ed couldn't wait for her to be here to realize all the work he had done for her. She would give him that proud smile he hadn't seen in years, and Ed couldn't wait.
Wherever life has taken you so far, I know you are succeeding! You've always been so intelligent, my little man, and as you grow older, more opportunities are going to come your way. But you are still young, Edward, and I want you to remember there is no need to rush. I want you to play and be happy and have fun! This is the time to be carefree, sweetheart, and I hope you know that. Don't spend all your time cooped up in the house, studying alchemy either! It's good to get out, dear, there will be plenty of time to devote to your interests when you are grown.
Take good care of your brother, but remember, that responsibility doesn't fall entirely on your shoulders, and there will always be others to help you when you need it.
Love forever and always,
Mom
Ed sat back and looked up, feeling, as he always did after the letters, like he had just surfaced from a warm sleep back into cold reality. This time, he kept the tears and emotion at bay. He swallowed the lump in his throat.
He wondered what his mother would say, knowing how much time he had in fact spent holed up in their father's study, reading alchemy books that should have been way beyond his grasp. But then again, if his mother was here, Ed thought, there wouldn't have been a need for so much research in the first place. He never would have been so devoted so much of his time to this, never would have even trained with Teacher. He supposed it didn't really matter; the effort had already been put in and he and Al and their mother would be reaping the benefits soon enough.
Over the years, it had gotten a little easier to read the letters, easier to anticipate his mother's words. Ed couldn't tell if it was because he was coping better with his mother's death, or if it was knowledge that with each passing year they were coming ever closer to getting her back.
Well, Ed supposed it didn't matter either way. He folded the letter up and stood, heading inside.
Soon, he would see her again soon.