Dated to Saturday, October 21
Sometimes Anne felt like she was out of tears. It was not true of course, and a few had escaped her over the past few days, but she did not weep and wail as she once would have; she felt only a great heaviness at Constable Fraser's absence. He had been very much someone she had looked up to, and would continue to do even now that he was gone.
Even now, she believed that people came to the island for a reason, and they vanished for a reason, too. Perhaps Constable Fraser had learnt what he had been meant to, or perhaps he had taught what he had been meant to. Or, Anne thought with a sudden burst of insight, both, for one seldom went without the other. And perhaps those of them who remained were meant to learn from his absence as well. Perhaps Anne was meant to learn to in some way take on that role of an upstanding citizen on the island.
What she could not understand was, in the absence of any evidence either way, choosing to believe the worst when something like this occurred. No one was ever made a happier person by choosing to believe the worst, and so Anne chose to believe the best, that Constable Fraser had gone home, or to wherever he wished to go, and that he was happy wherever that was. And that whatever sadness he left behind him on this island, it too would pass.
Anne had known a great deal of grief in her life, and so she knew that it was never an easy thing. But if one wanted to endure, one had to take those first steps towards acceptance. For Anne, those first steps were coming here to the Memorial, sitting on one of the benches and looking up at the Memorial Wall. Constable Fraser had been kind enough to inscribe Constable Turnbull's name on it, and though it hadn't been entirely for her benefit, Anne still felt, and would always feel, a very personal connection to that name. She wondered, as she looked at the wall, who might be so kind as to inscribe Constable Fraser's name there as well.
Even now, she believed that people came to the island for a reason, and they vanished for a reason, too. Perhaps Constable Fraser had learnt what he had been meant to, or perhaps he had taught what he had been meant to. Or, Anne thought with a sudden burst of insight, both, for one seldom went without the other. And perhaps those of them who remained were meant to learn from his absence as well. Perhaps Anne was meant to learn to in some way take on that role of an upstanding citizen on the island.
What she could not understand was, in the absence of any evidence either way, choosing to believe the worst when something like this occurred. No one was ever made a happier person by choosing to believe the worst, and so Anne chose to believe the best, that Constable Fraser had gone home, or to wherever he wished to go, and that he was happy wherever that was. And that whatever sadness he left behind him on this island, it too would pass.
Anne had known a great deal of grief in her life, and so she knew that it was never an easy thing. But if one wanted to endure, one had to take those first steps towards acceptance. For Anne, those first steps were coming here to the Memorial, sitting on one of the benches and looking up at the Memorial Wall. Constable Fraser had been kind enough to inscribe Constable Turnbull's name on it, and though it hadn't been entirely for her benefit, Anne still felt, and would always feel, a very personal connection to that name. She wondered, as she looked at the wall, who might be so kind as to inscribe Constable Fraser's name there as well.