If you were to ask me, ”Have you ever been in love?”
I would answer and say that I haven’t. But this would not be true; I can not tell a lie easily. It has never been in my nature to do so. I can not tell you why, but that’s the way it is. I have only ever lied about a few things in my life, and love was one of them. The truth is, I did fall in love. And what I felt for him in the short two years I knew him, was deeper and stronger then most people could hope to feel in a life time. It has never been easy for me to speak of him. Maybe it is because the pain of everything is still fresh, as if it were inflected upon me only yesterday, even though years have passed since I felt love and lost it later.
Love is a fickle thing. You can not command your heart what, and what not to feel; regardless if your mind is in control. Although it has been years, I think of him at night. Sometimes the pain becomes too much for my heart to handle, and I cry myself to sleep. Other times, I smile at the fond memories we shared with each other, and my heart is full in those moments. But I am always reminded of the old saying, which I will relate to you now...
“It is better to have loved and lost, then to never have loved at all.”
And I can tell you from experience, that this is true. I often tried to imagine what my life would be like if my heart had never known love. I wanted to see if it would make the pain easier to deal with. But instead, I saw a life of loneliness and despair. This made me shed an abundance of tears. For that life was more sorrowful to me, then what it was with a broken heart.
And now I sit quietly on the front porch swing of my small farm house, looking out into the sunset. It’s beauty recalls to me the memories which I am about to relate to you. I doubt the pages of this story will ever be read, but I will tell it just the same. For every good story should and must be told, or else people wouldn’t have anything to fill their books with.
Before I start, I would like to tell you that this is, by no means, a love story. If you were expecting to hear about Romeo and Juliet, I am afraid that you will be disappointed.
The story which lies within these pages, is about a girl, simple, innocent, and naïve when you meet her. But by the end she is a woman, strong, confident, and wise. Who loved someone deeply with a fiery passion, and who was loved in return. By the end, you will understand the kind of love I experienced and which still lingers with me. You will see, through my words, what happened on that dreadful Sunday morning in December, when the lives of so many Americans seemed to crash in around them.
But before I begin, allow me to tell you who I am. My name is Ellen Prescott. I was born on August 18, 1920. I grew up in California, where I spent everyday of my life until 1938, when at the age of eighteen, I enlisted in the United States Navy and became a nurse. My story actually begins in the year 1940, when I met the man who would change my life. But I felt it only right to tell you a little of myself before we begin. Having introduced myself properly, I feel confident that my story may now be told to you as it was intended to be told.
My name is Ellen Marie Prescott. I am a Nurse and Officer in the United States Navy.
And this is my story...