I wanted to get this in before Halloween... but it just wasn't possible. One could say I was having a DEVIL of a time getting it done, ha ha ha.
Thank you to Bebop3 for the unbelievably wonderful ideas, editing, kindness and support. It's appreciated more than I can say.
________
It was freezing the day we buried my mother. January was naturally a cold month, but it was unbelievably frigid that day. It made sense to me that it would be too cold to feel anything, physical or otherwise. Us mourners were bundled up in thick coats and gloves, waddling through frozen snow on the ground after the pied piper in our journey-- a ruddy man named Todd who had the loudest voice I'd ever heard--toward my mother's grave. In the movies, they always showed the coffin being lowered into the turned over earth. Sometimes a distraught and weeping woman fell in with the coffin, or some great secret was revealed, or a distant and detested relative showed up to make things uncomfortable. Of course, this wasn't like the movies.
Her coffin was perched beside a somewhat uneven hole in the ground. A tarp was on the ground around the hole. And no strangers arrived with a deep, dark secret. Todd organized us in a semi-circle. The priest prayed a little, and then men from the funeral home were thrusting roses in our hands and guiding us up to place them on top of the coffin. Everyone else followed and hugged us, and it was over. People got in their cars and drove off. The air seemed to be holding its breath, as frozen as the ground beneath us, and Mom was gone, and everything had changed. Dad nudged me gently toward our own car. I wiped icy tears from my cheeks and let myself be led.
________
My mother and I were extraordinarily close. We had a complicated relationship, as mothers and daughters often do, but we loved one another deeply. When she died, something died inside of me, too. It was a grief too strong and too large to fully explain. None of my friends had lost their mothers yet. I felt alone and adrift.
So when I started hearing her, seeing her, dreaming of her, I thought it was just because of that. My mind couldn't handle such a terrible loss. The brain does funny things with grief, a therapist told me.
Of course, it was something much worse than that.
________
The months that followed were simultaneously fast and slow. I'd wander through my apartment, checking the time and wondering how I would make it through the dragging hours of the day. Then I'd check the calendar and marvel at the month written in large letters.
People stopped asking how I was, which was a relief, but it also made me a bit sad. It was surreal how the world kept turning while it felt like mine had stopped. Mom was gone but people were still worrying about their taxes and buying their groceries and celebrating holidays.
I was afraid people would forget her, that I would forget her. Her life and death had caused ripples in a calm pool, and now they were disappearing. I replayed videos of her over and over, forcing myself to memorize her laugh. The way her eyes sparkled when she was amused by something. How she looked at my dad.
Six months later, my father was laughing again. Alex, my brother, talked about her more often. Everyone seemed to be healing but me. Things were getting harder. I couldn't bring myself to get out of the shower in the morning. Work was a blur of paperwork and red ink, and friends were starting to drift away. My therapist began calling it "complicated grief" and mentioned going to a psychiatrist for medication.
Then I had the dream.
I was at Mom's grave alone. Snow was on its way and I wasn't wearing a coat. Someone was beside me; I could feel their warmth, the softness of their clothes against my bare arm. I didn't want to turn my head for some reason, but then the person spoke.
"Why aren't you wearing a coat?" Mom asked.
I burst into tears and said everything I'd been dying to since she left me--why had she left me, that I wasn't sure I could go on without her, that I was so sad and lonely, that I wasn't sure I'd ever be the same again. That I wasn't sure I could carry on.
"You're gone, you're gone," I wept.
She shook her head. "I'm right here. I never left. Don't go looking for me."
When I woke, I could tell I'd been crying in my sleep. Rain battered the windows with punishing force. I'd fallen asleep with the hallway light on, and its light was creating frightening looking shadows in my bedroom. Everything felt off, like it was designed to frighten me. I got a glass of water and tried to shake off the feeling that she
had
been there. I could still feel the freezing air, the sensation of her clothes on my skin. And yet I didn't feel comforted. More than anything, I felt disturbed. In the dream, I was certain it was her. I wasn't surprised to see her, and I wasn't relieved. I was afraid. Her words were more like an ominous threat than words of reassurance.
I told my friend, Jackie, about it when I met her for drinks one night. She was the only one of my friends who stayed on top of me to get out of my apartment every now and then.
"What a nice dream," she said.
I felt so ridiculous getting so worked up over a dream, but I needed her to understand. "You're not hearing me. It freaked me out."
"Well, yeah, it sounded really vivid. And then you woke up to reality and she was gone. I'm sure that was upsetting." She glanced down at her Apple watch and I realized she just wasn't interested. To be fair to her, listening to dreams other people had wasn't the most thrilling thing ever. I told myself to let it go, even when the dream returned several more times.
But then I started hearing and feeling things. Footsteps. Creaking of floorboards that had never creaked before. Open doors I was sure I'd shut. I was freezing all the time and absolutely nothing could warm me up. One night, I could have sworn someone sat on the bed beside me as I was falling asleep. Of course, it woke me right up and I bolted from the room, beyond terrified. Another night, I swore I heard someone whisper "Kitty", Mom's nickname for me. I searched the apartment but I was alone, and very few people knew about that. The fear I was hallucinating grew.
Then I was certain I had lost my mind the day I came home from work to find my journal on my bed, open to where I'd written about the dream. My hands shook as I lifted it, rereading the line: "I'm right here. I never left. Don't go looking for me," over and over again.
I didn't know what to do, who to tell. If I told my therapist, would she commit me? I was hearing and seeing strange things, after all. And I didn't feel like I could tell any of my family or friends.
That was around the time I met Gabe. Alex invited me to his apartment for his birthday party in early September. I told him I'd think about it but he begged and pleaded until I finally relented.
"You need this, Cat," he had said to me. "Mom would want you to have some fun. You look exhausted lately."
"Is that your way of telling me I look like shit?"
He frowned and resembled Mom so much that it took my breath away for a moment. "I'm worried about you and so is Dad. You haven't been coming by and you ignore our calls and texts."
"I'm sorry, I've just been busy at work."
He hadn't looked like he believed me, but he let it go. He squeezed my arm and said, "Just promise me you'll come."
I was going to protest, or make up some excuse, but he really did look worried. I hated that I was adding onto his grief. I also just wanted to be normal. So much of my life was spiraling out of control; going to my brother's party would be a normal activity.
"I'll be there."
The apartment was packed by the time I arrived. I spotted Alex over by the makeshift bar he'd built, and his eyes lit up when he saw me. He wordlessly poured me vodka and sprite.
"Happy birthday," I said, handing him his favorite bottle of bourbon.
He grinned at me and put it on the bar. "I'm so happy to see you."
"Are you drunk? You just saw me last week."
"Yeah but it wasn't at a
party
." He gently knocked his beer into my cup. "Cheers. It means a lot that you're here."
I rolled my eyes. "You must be drunk. You're getting sentimental."
Alex laughed. "Okay, okay, I'll stop. There is someone I want you to meet."
