The Last Letter
By: Robin Gagnon
To my dearest Anabelle,
I’ll never forget the day I met you. You were in a green summer dress and I’d been riding my bike home from my job down at the farm. You’d told me that the sunset was beautiful from up on that hill overlooking the town, so I had stayed to watch it with you. All I could remember was the way your red hair glowed in that dazzling, golden sunlight and the way your blue eyes sparkled as you smiled. I knew from that day on, that I’d love you for the rest of my life.
Your daddy hadn’t liked me, though, when I showed up to take you out on our first date. He’d kicked me out of the house and I had been sitting in my father’s beat-up pickup truck when you came running out of the house and told me to drive. Your father had charged out after you, all red in the face, and I worried that he’d never like me. Eventually, I grew on him though and he agreed to let me have your hand in marriage.
That look on your face, when I asked you to marry me up on that hill where we met, is something that has never left my mind. You were so happy and showed everyone in town your new ring the next day. It had taken me years to save up for that ring and every penny had been worth it to see you so happy. I also remember crying like a little baby when I saw your daddy cry as he walked you up the aisle. I vowed to do him right, so it broke my heart when I had to leave you to join the war.
You had been so upset by it, but I told you to not worry because I would come home safe. There isn’t a day that goes by in these trenches that I don’t think of your smiling face.
I have received all the letters you’ve sent me and you would not believe how shocked I was when you told me the news. It’s what gives me strength everyday to help me win this war and come home to you.
The sergeant suggested that I write this letter before we head out tomorrow. We’re going to be invading the beaches of France on Tuesday morning. He told us they are expecting for there to be many casualties, but that this invasion is supposed to help change the course of the war and lead us to victory. Even now, as I write this, I’m not afraid of what will happen because I know if this helps us end the war like they say, it will create a safer world for a unborn daughter to grow up in.
If this is the last letter I write to you, I just want you to know that I love you and I know you’ll do a great job raising our daughter.
Robert M. Kennedy