May 27, 2119

To my sweet, loving Martha.

I hate this time of year. I hate it because it is the time you departed. It’s the time of year where I truly despise what I am and that I can’t follow after you into an eternal bed.

Oh, my dear Martha how I miss you. One hundred years ago, you left me all alone for the sweet serenade of Death. Now I must wander for eternity without your love. Why did he have to choose you of all people? Why you? Couldn’t he have made a mistake? Couldn’t he have overlooked your name in his book of shadows?

If only you could read this. You would understand how I long to see your face again. How I wish to hear your voice again and to kiss your lips just one more time.

Even though I’ll never be able do these things again, I can be greatful for the things that you did bless me while you were still here. Your beautiful memory, your love, and our loving son, Cole. He’s grown so much. Oh, Martha, if you could see how much our family has grown. You’re now the great great grandmother of 17 children and there’s three more on the way. I must end this now, for I can’t see the page through my tears, my love. You always said I was a softie, didn’t you. I love you, Martha.

Your husband,

Leo.

P.S. I hope you liked the flowers I placed at your tombstone yesterday. I think next week I’ll surprise you with a new type of flower the scientists of this generation have discovered. I know you’ll love them.