Prompt: Stream of consciousness
Word Count: 820
Notes: I certainly didn’t intend for the first two pieces to be about Dotty, but I’ve been thinking about writing something like this for a while, as it ties into my future plans with her. Canon. Would take place around 1953. I figured Dotty would want to wait for SimEurope to recover before she visited, but she would not want to be there to for 10th anniversary in of the D Day invasion in 1954; too many painful memories. And the memorial was constructed between 1953-1956, so that worked out nicely for my timeline.
Oh, my God. Why did I think that I could do this on my own? Why didn’t I let Mom or Dad or Danny or Nick or Alice or somebody talk themselves into coming with me? I can’t…I just can’t.
No. Dorothy Bradford Haywood. You can. Scratch that. You must. He was your husband. You love him. You owe him this much.
One foot in front of the other. I can do that. Left, right, left, right. Just like Edward did as he and his men stormed the beaches. They were probably even more scared than I am right now, and they still kept moving forward. Then again, what other choice did they have? Me, on the other hand, can return to the village and catch a train to SimParis, but I’m not going to do that, am I? No, I’m going to face it. After all, it’s just a gravestone. It can’t hurt me. Right?
Thank goodness I stopped to talk to that nice SimFrench man at the entrance. He was so patient with my clumsy SimFrench, and was able to tell me exactly where I needed to go to find my Edward. If I hadn’t, it probably would have taken me all day to find him. Nine thousand, three hundred and eighty-seven rest here. So many lost souls who left behind so many grieving families, like mine.
That memorial they’re working on will be lovely when it’s finished. Maybe I’ll come back to see it. Maybe not. There are so many places that I want to see that I don’t know if a return trip is in the cards. Stop that. This is where my husband is buried. Of course I’ll come back. Even if it hurts, I have to come back.
Here it is, section F. Overlooking the Simlish Channel, and near to the chapel. I think Edward would have liked that. Now I just need to find the right row, and then it’s about halfway down, the SimFrenchman said.
Oh, God, here it is. Edward G. Haywood. Lieutenant. Sixteenth Infantry, First Division. Massimchusetts. June 6, 1944. It’s so…final. That’s it. All our hopes and dreams reduced to a few words carved into a cold white marble cross. Oh, Edward. I wish…I wish it could have been different.
How long have I been kneeling here? The sun’s getting lower in the sky, and there’s a chill in the breeze. There’s that nice SimFrench man again. Oh, it looks like he’s reminding people that the cemetery closes soon. Is it that late already?
No, I’m not ready to leave yet. This…this can’t be goodbye forever. No. No. No. It wasn’t supposed to end like this! Edward was going to get himself stationed somewhere, Simmany probably, and I was going to join him and we were going to be husband and wife, and then have a family. I’m too young to be a widow! Damn you, Edward. Why did you have to follow in your father’s footsteps? If you hadn’t been in officer training school, you wouldn’t have been here on D Day, and you might have made it home. But if he hadn’t been in officer training, you never would have met him. Either way, you’d still have to face a life without him. Whoever said it was better to have loved and lost than never loved at all is full of it. Losing something you loved is the worst thing in the world.
Oh, it is time to go. Crap, how do you say one moment in SimFrench? I really should have brushed up on this blasted language before I came here, but I was too busy trying to learn a few Simtalian phrases instead. Stupid me. Yes, I’ll be just a moment more. I promised Edward’s mother an etching of the inscription, and I want one for myself. Ah, he sees what I’m doing, and he’s letting me do so. Merci, monsieur. Je suis très reconnaissant.
Oh, I’ve taken too long, and now he’s coming over to throw me out. No, he’s asking me something. Mari…oh, he wants to know if this was my husband. He would ask; I stopped wearing my wedding ring last year. I was trying to keep my promise to Edward to live, and the ring was too much of a reminder of what I lost. Oui. Thank goodness I know that word. What’s that? Oh, a daisy for me to leave for Edward. How fitting. The first flowers he ever gave me were daisies.
Edward, darling. It’s time for me to go now. I’ll try to come back, someday, I promise. But now, I need to live, like I promised you. I know I shouldn’t cry; I thought I didn’t have any tears left to shed for you, but I guess I was wrong. But I do miss you. So very much. Au revoir, mon chéri. Je t’aime. Je t’aime toujours.
*Dotty's French translates to: Thanks you, sir. I'm very grateful. Goodby, my darling. I love you. I love you always.