A/N I hope you all have had a sad 94th anniversary of the Titanic sinking! I was waiting for a review on this, and once I got my review, I was absolutely thrilled. I would have updated yesterday, but I decided not to. I had already put my memorial on Found: Saved by Love.

I honestly had no idea how long the days were, how long we would be waiting for loved ones to come up here with us. I could tell how quickly the days were going by, for I often gazed below the surface of my feet, watching my widowed wife grieve over my death. Maybe we had been in heaven for about a week or so? Perhaps? I was being quite nonchalant about myself, for I knew I was already dead, but I still had that caring gift for others that I wish I could have used when I could have told Mr. Ismay that the ship was sinkable. It was a mistake we all made, in my opinion. Mr. Ismay's conceit, Mr. Smith's poor judgement, my mistake of adveritizing the Titanic amongst my friends... my dearest friends; some of whom I could see right in front of me, others still on the earth, traumatized and better off dead.

Some passengers had brought their who life's worth of money on the Titanic, and sadly had to leave it there during the evacuation plan. They were now pennyless! People who used to have a "higher" rank in society were now homeless on the streets, unable to survive because of their sanity was departing their minds; they weren't used to the conditions of sickness and filthiness that covered the streets, killing people day by day. I could see more and more people coming up to "Titanic Heaven" everyday, including rich folk who had put pistols to their heads, people who had died of starvation, and so many more people who died of other causes. It was only until now that I realized how much God would do for us to get into heaven, and how he made dying his lesson to others down below who were still living; to live life at its fullest, and when they are ready, God will take them. Some of them were not ready, sadly. It was also obvious that someone would have to do so big of a crime that they would not go down to the gates of hell itself.

"Mr. Andrews, sir, Jack Dawson is weeping," said a man of whom I had recognized as good ole Officer Moody, putting someone else's grief over his own. That was quite nice of him, in my own opinion, to think that I had good reasoning skills. I never thought that of me.

I went over to a bawling Jack Dawson, who was sitting with an Italian friend and his girlfriend (I'm sure it was his girlfriend). I supposed that he was looking down at Rose, of whom he was proud to say a few days ago that Rose had taken in his last name as her own. This time, however, he did not know what to do.

"She's starving, she's sick! Somebody help her!" Jack wailed, louder than all the other folk who were also down on their knees, crying as though nothing could save themselves.

"Mr. Dawson, someone will find her, and that person will most definitely help her," I said, patting him on his back. He trully deserved his loved one to live her full life.

"I promise, Rose, you will not die until you tell your story. You will keep it a secret, until you're old. Very old, infact," Jack cried, clasping his forehead. "You will not die now! You hear me?"

"I'm not sure if she can hear you, Jack," I said, trying to help his desperate behaviours. "It would be rather lovely if she did."

"You don't know that, Mr. Andrews," Jack replied, now looking up at me. "If she is hearing me, anyway, that would be a plus. I hope she is... I do have hope in her."

I tried my best to allow my vision of down below to make out Rose, and I then saw her looking up at the sky. Maybe she heard him in her mind, telling her that she will be alright. Then, suddenly, a person walked up to her and held her hand. He heard something about "Calvert" and "thankyou." Maybe she was talking her in to his apartment or something. Anyway, my mind drifted back to the picture of my wife, who was still sobbing over my death. I decided to go down to the floor beside Jack, and atleast give him some empathy.

"Listen--I may not be going through what you are, but I understand how you feel," I told him, looking at him straight into the eye. "I cannot bear to see my wife grieve over me, and I'm sure that Rose would feel the same way if she knew how much you were grieving over her. Look at the poor thing--she has enough to grieve about, but she does grieve over you because she loves you, and you grieve over her because you love her. I, to be honest, do not know what it's like to love... our marriage was arranged for us."

"That's awful, Mr. Andrews," Jack replied, "that you couldn't, well, love her. I think I'll just depart for a while. To her room, maybe? Just to look at my drawing again."

"I'm glad you're taking that into reason, Mr. Dawson," I nodded, now turning away to depart to my own room. But then, I saw something flash before my eyes.

...flashback...

"Father, why do I have to marry her again?" I said, as a young man of twenty. Both of our parents had planned this out, and I wished to marry a poor girl, with better looks and a better personality than this girl had. I did not even know this future-spouse's name, all I knew was that I had chosen her out of a batch of young people. I should have never done such a thing.

"Come on, I thought you wanted to marry her. You chose her, Thomas," said my father, Richard Andrews. He was a very stern man, did not exactly love my mother, either. "Surely you'd want to marry a good woman. You did have the choice and now you have chosen. Besides, we're men, and we are the ones who choose."

"I wish I could have the woman agree with it, though..."

...end flashback

I just stood there, not knowing how that could have come on. I never ever had a flashback before--maybe it was a part of being dead? I thought that it could maybe be a sign--that maybe I should have given her more credit for her love for me back in the world below. After all, what I did to her before I went to the ship was not exactly pleasant...