52

The grief if unescapable. We are all feeling it. He is not the first one of us to die but he was the best of us and that makes it hurt worse.

It happened yesterday. I think it was yesterday. With the mood and the unchanging bile around us I cannot really tell anymore. I thought for sure this place would look different after he left us, but I guess I was wrong. The rain still falls on my head, the mud still sticks to my shoes, and the gunfire goes off like clockwork. You think one of the sides would want a break by now yet still we carry on. Until that white flag waves, no one gets to go home.

It surprised me when I started crying over it again this morning. I thought I emptied all my tears with Charlie. He went first. Barely a week in and the boy got shot to pieces before my eyes. I wish I could scrub the sight from my head. Time certainly has not. He reappears before me every night and still every night I fail to save him.

George was next, a few months later. He did not even die in the battlefield, instead in the bed of some field hospital a few miles away, without his boots on. George would have hated himself for dying out of uniform, that is, if he had been awake enough to know.

They kept dropping off after that. One by one our friend list grew smaller as we buried another one and tried to pack up our grief before moving onto the next camp, the next burial ground for more friends. Some settled into whiskey to get through it, others made do without hope. I tried to play a series of make-believe in my head to escape it, but it was him really that pulled us all through – Jeremy, the strongest of us all.

He may not have been the tallest or the broadest but what he lacked in muscle he made up for in determination. It was his constant desire to get back home to his girls, I think. I would be too if I were lucky enough to have such wonders as them in my life. Amelia and Grace.

He spoke of them both warmly. Amelia the wife of dreams and Grace the daughter with a feisty heart. Some of the men in our camp talked here and there about their pride in having sons but not Jeremy. He spoke only of praise for having a daughter. Many thought it was just so he was not left out of the conversation, but he told me later that it was not. My daughter is capable of many things he said, and it is because she is a daughter that she is protected from being sent to a place like this. I understood the angle of his relief but if I remember Grace well enough, I doubt even society could stop her from her goals. 

I hope she will survive this news. We feel the pain here for knowing but that grief only ricochets louder as it reaches home. We must learn to live with it immediately for survival, but the loved ones on the home front, hurt more for not knowing how and why.

 I wish there were more to say about Jeremy. I wish I had the talent, the tact to tell the story of his death with grace. He was my best friend and the only details I can divulge with accuracy is that he was shot and then died, and I held him as he did. There is no poignant statement to make about it, it happened so quickly. He was here and now he is not.

It is an empty statement I know but I will never have any other words for it other than I love and miss him and now, I try to fulfill my commitment, ensure the promise he made is kept.

I apologise in advance if this all seems too personal for you. I have never been a master of words nor have I until now had anyone to write to. My family is here with me and I am going to fight like hell to keep what is left of them here, even if he is not.

On the last day of Jeremy’s life, he gave me a task to fulfill. He spoke of the promise he made to you 51 weeks ago with his first letter. He promised he would write to you every week for a year, and if he is not home by then to write 52 more, again and again until the war ended, and he could make his way back to you. I am sorry that he is no longer here to fulfill that vow. I know by the time this letter finds you, you will have heard about it and will surely be feeling many things; anger, loss, and the unending anticipation of one more letter in your mailbox. He knew this too, which I think is why Jeremy asked me to take his place, to keep his fulfillment that you will always get one more letter.

I am not trying to be his replacement. I never could be. But I will fulfill his last wish and maybe you may even find the time to write to me. I know this is an odd way to reconnect our friendship Amelia, but I swear to you I will not leave you alone in this.

Attached are the last words of dear Jeremy.

I hope you will find some comfort in them. I will write again next week.

With the deepest of regrets and love

Neil.

Dear Amelia,

Well, here we are, letter number 52. I cannot believe it has already been a year since we started all this, but a promise is a promise after all. Morale is looking higher this week. With Christmas only a month away all the men have started talking about how they used to celebrate back home. There were discussions over pies and trees and then a random spot of carolling, which absolutely confused our Sargent. Even Neil got involved to sing praises of your pudding, without mentioning that he dropped it last time and it fell ruined on the floor. You really must forgive him for that. I know he is sorry. Maybe by next Christmas we will be home again, and we can have another round of your magnificent pudding. I won’t let Neil carry it this time. Tell Gracie I love her and that her Papa misses her stories. And to you my love, know I never stop thinking of coming home and holding you again.

Well, this is it, letter 52. I am sorry it is so short. I will try to find more time for next weeks letter.

I love you.

Jeremy