When I first read it, Walter's death in Rilla of Ingleside always brought me to tears, and it still brings me to tears years later. My heart breaks for poor Una as she watched the love of her life being killed before they could release the depths of their feelings for one another. I so believe that they were made for each other in the special way that two souls are born to be one. L.M. Montgomery's hope and trust in the human spirit and faith was truly recognized through the strength and sacrifice of both Walter and Una, and I have always believed that they were never given enough credit.

I recently revisited the novel during my yearly re-read, and I found my heart breaking all over again. But I also found so much courage that I did not see when I was younger. Una was a shining example of the human flicker of hope, the one that has kept us alive during so much pain and tragedy throughout the many years of our life. Una may have lost so much, but she picked herself up and was willing to make a life for herself to honor what the soldiers (and her beloved) had given their lives for.

I hope that you enjoy this short piece from Una's perspective, and may we all choose to be as brave as her.

Cheers,

jJustadreamer

Unknown Date, 1931

Dear Diary,

It is with a grave heart I write to you tonight. In these long years you have provided me with so much comfort, helped me cope with so much grief, and most of all, been a true friend with open ears, always listening but never judging. I appreciate that so much. There aren't many people who know me, the true story of Una Meredith. They know of me of course, they talk to me and they hear me, but here I am able to be authentic. I am able to loosen the charade I have worn as a veil over my head for so many years and stop suffering in silence, albeit for a very short period of time.

Do you remember when I first started writing to you, dear diary, all those many years ago? My dear mother had just passed away, and I knew not what to do with my sadness. It was so overwhelming, the pain of having mother so cruelly ripped away from me at that tender age. I felt as if my whole soul had ripped into pieces and had burnt to ashes on a fire. And I could not bring myself to cry openly like Faith and Carl and Jerry. I still remember the looks and the whispers directed at me, "that dark-haired daughter of Reverend Meredith who cannot find it in her heart to cry for her own mother." I cried in my own way, and in the end I found you. You understood me and did not belittle my feelings, even though my four year old self still struggled with writing a coherent sentence. I remember writing, after the initial grief had subsided, that I never wanted to feel a pain like that ever again, the one that had seared through my entire body and ripped my whole heart into two halves, the pain that broke me down on the inside yet refused to show on my face. Oh if only I knew then what I knew now! I would have showed the whole world my feelings, and worn my heart on my sleeve for everyone to take a piece. It is my biggest regret.

I write to you tonight on the 15th anniversary of Walter's death. No, it is not the exact date that he passed away, for that we will never know for sure, but it is the day that my world changed forever, when Rilla showed me Walter's last letter and I pressed it to my lips. He wrote that he remembered my eyes that night, my steadfast eyes. I hope that his memory of me gave him comfort in his darkest hour.

My darling Walter, how I miss you. Of course I will never know if I was his darling, but he will always remain my beloved in the depths of my heart and soul. When I'm alone at night, the outside world asleep, I can still feel his lips on my cheek where he had kissed me the day of his departure. I believe that maybe, just maybe, he was falling for me just as I had fallen for him those many years ago. After all, why would he think of me so dearly before he was called towards The Good Lord? I imagine our children at times, the children we could have had if he had returned, one boy and one girl with blue-gray eyes and our shared black tresses. I can see the beautiful life we had together, the love that would have filled us until we returned to the soil we had been born from.

When I wake up in the morning, these visions are long gone. I have made a life for myself at the Settlement House, a worthwhile and fulfilling life. I tend to the children's needs, teaching them and mothering them and watching them grow into the young men and women that this New World of ours needs. I "keep faith," as Walter once said.

And I know that his sacrifice was necessary, as were the ones of countless others to keep what we stood for, our values, safe and sound and to keep our country standing and great. And I honor Walter's memory by doing my work, and also by doting on little Walter Jr., who is becoming quite the poet himself. He shows me his work sometimes, and asks for my opinion. His poems bring tears to my eyes with their thoughtfulness and beauty. Little Walt tells me that I am "not only his favorite Auntie," but also his true friend." And I tell my favorite nephew stories about his namesake, about Walter Sr.'s bravery and the vision he so believed and gave his life for.

I hope that I have served Walter's memory well. I feel his handsome grey eyes on me at this moment, as I have felt them the many times before when I write about him. I know that when my time comes, that we will meet again in the heavenly abode, and that he will be the first to greet me at the gates. My heart may hurt at times still, but I keep my memories and his vision intact. It is better to have loved deeply and lost fiercely, than to have never have loved at all.

Yours Truly,

Una Meredith