Til Roses Do Us Part || ✔

March 25th 1915

Dearest Percy,

As you said yourself, there's an another blockade, so I suppose you won't read the news while they're new.

It's getting warmer, the snow is melting, and I guess my mother's poor body couldn't take the shock of the changing weather. She, sadly and unfortunately, passed. It was the day before yesterday. I am still quite in shock. How I wish you were here. You'd know how to comfort me. Yet, you shall never feel as if you need to apologise for your absence. It isn't your fault you've been gone for so long, even though you did go by your own will.

She told me to greet you, at last, in her name. She was in pain, I could see it in her eyes, though she tried not to allow herself to show it. I held her hand as she closed her eyes. Her body became painless. I refrained from crying, I did not want her last sight of me to be that way. My father did shed a tear. I could almost hear his heart breaking. He had always believed he'd be the first of two of them to leave this world. She'll be buried on the 30th. We arranged a small attendance with pastor White of Saint George's. Father, your father and sister, uncle William (mother's brother), and I. Am at a lack of words. As she was quite traditional, in her honour, I shall mourn for a month.

And like this, we're both left motherless. I now truly know how you ache. May their souls rest.

Beside the sorrow of my loss, I'm upset to hear you so blue. And I suppose my letter won't be of much help to your spirit. But you asked what it's like, out here. It's the dawn of spring. The days have gotten slightly longer, I've noticed. Birds are more often heard. My father enjoys them. Your sister brought us an amazing carrot cake today, also came to share her condolences. She's an angel, a blessing, you know.

All my loving,
I send along with this letter,
Rose.