Supplemental: Archival Records
Marker: Journal Entries From The Diary of Mrs. Amelia Pond-Williams
Frequency: Intermittent
Entries provided courtesy of Mr. Anthony Brian Williams

13th of March 1944

Dear Doctor,

Yesterday Rory and I attended a funeral. Sunny's husband, who I know you heard me mention, died. He was killed on the beach at Anzio. She is absolutely distraught. I can't imagine what that would be like...except I guess I can. But I feel awful comparing our situations because even though I lost Rory, I got him back. Each and every time I've gotten him back. I've been spending the last week with her. Helping her take care of the children, make arrangements, greet all the people wanting to express their condolences and just give her time to rest. Sometimes I feel I took on too much. Three months into writing the column and while its going very, very well it's wearing on me. The stories are always so sad, or maybe I'm just seeing them that way lately. Rory had said he couldn't make it, he couldn't get out of work and I understood but as we were standing at the gravesite for burial I felt a hand slip into mine and there he was.

He's been kind of distracted lately. I'll ask him a question and it takes him a good thirty seconds to reply. I'm sure you know what's going on but I can't exactly blame you for not telling me this time, can I? It's so hard not to snoop. Not to just pick up his journal or search his browser history.

Sunny and the kids came back home with us. It's not good for them to be alone and we've got the space. Her brother Michael declined. I think it brings back too many memories of his time in the service. I was playing with the kids this evening, Rory and Sunny had volunteered to tidy up, when I heard something crash in the kitchen. I jumped and ran to check on them and saw a glass shattered on the floor. Sunny was crying and Rory was holding her tightly against him. He was cradling her head against his chest, his eyes closed doing his best to soothe her.

I looked at them Doctor, and I frowned. No, not because he was embracing her but because...I don't know how to put it into words. Some writer I am, I know.

Do you know that scene in Romeo and Juliet where she's looking down at him after he's just left her bedroom. She has this horrible vision that she's seeing him dead.

Oh God, I have an ill-divining soul.
Methinks I see thee now, thou art so low
As one dead in the bottom of a tomb.

For a moment I saw myself, crying in the kitchen, except he isn't there to hold me.

No one is there.

Why am I thinking these things, Doctor? Why are my thoughts so haunted?

I try to think of what you told me when we went on that excursion to the factory. I told you about the woman in the wall who kept peering in at me. You said it, It's a time memory, like a mirage. Nothing to worry about.

Maybe this is a time memory. There's only so many times you can stand weeping over your husband's corpse before it starts to sink into your psyche, right?

Of course the problem is you knew precisely what the Flesh was, what I was and you were lying to me. Maybe there's no such thing as time memory.

I suppose I should just breathe, hmm?

Rory ended up scooping Sunny up and putting her to bed with a mild sedative.

I took care of the kids, tried to calm them down and we all turned in early. I couldn't really sleep but Rory was exhausted and nodded right off.

I stayed up, I'm up now as I write this in bed just looking at him. He looks so restful but still I have to suppress my urge to shake him awake just to have him look at me and smile.

Oh God.

I have an ill-divining soul.

Love across the stars, Doctor.

Love, Amy.