Dear Alfred,
On the day that I write this, it has been exactly ten years since you went to war. I guess that you always did love to be the hero, didn't you?
You left in a big boat, but came back as dog-tags.
That was all too common back then, wasn't it?
Sometimes it feels like ages since you left. Sometimes it feels like you were with me just yesterday, and the bed has only been cold for a few hours.
I just thought that you should know that I still pray the same prayer that I have said, faithfully, for the past ten years:
"Please let the soldiers come home safe. Let as few as possible come back in body-bags, and as many as possible be in one piece."
I say it every night, because no-one should have to know how it feels to lose your heart,or your brother, or your best friend.
I lost all three.
My half-brother, Francis. I loved him so much, even though I never showed it and treated him badly at times.
My best friend, Gilbert. Best drinking buddy ever, that man. Held his liquor like nobodies buisness.
And you. My heart. The love of my life.
I'm still surprised that Gil went into the fray at all. You know, what with his personality and everything. Never doing the right thing, always mouthing off to everyone. He said that it was for his little brother, Ludwig.
I left letters on both of their graves as well. You know, to tell them about their families. Francis's love, Matthew, is doing well also. He still won't go near his grave, though.
I guess that some people just deal with the pain differently.
Well, dearest, it seems that I have started rambling now, and I'm running out of paper.
What I've been trying to say is that I love you so much, and I miss much every second that you're not here. I haven't lost my faith.
I still wear my wedding ring and your dog-tags, even though the letters have started to fade from years of wear and friction against my restless fingers.
I still cry.
Love always, untill the end of time,
Arthur Henry Jones.