Grief is a Ghost

Josh

This must be very difficult for them.

I did think about how it would affect them before I asked Izzie to help. I nearly didn't ask her, but she wanted to know what my plans were, and the suggestion that she helps me finish Sam's work just slipped out before I could stop it. I expected her to say no and was surprised when she agreed.

I hate seeing them like this. The sadness radiating off of both of them is very hard to miss.

Sam was my best friend. We were about seven years old when we met at Dad's favourite fishing spot. His family had just moved into the neighbourhood, and he didn't have friends yet. My dad and his dad became friends instantly, but, though we got along well enough, Sam and I didn't really become best friends until later when Francis Steward decided it was a good day to beat me up, and Sam intervened.

He scared the crap out of Francis for some reason. Sam wasn't a big kid, but he had a way about him. Black hair and dark grey eyes... Stormy Eyes is what Izzie used to call him. She came along the following year, and we soon became a trio of misfits. We were inseparable. Sam and I protected Izzie, and she listened to our fears and wishes.

I look at Lucy, fast asleep on one of the camping beds Sam and I set up, turning the massive entertainment area into our make-shift bedroom, as the rooms upstairs aren't functional yet. Tonight, Izzie will sleep on the other camping cot, and I will sleep on the couch. Fortunately, it's a big, comfy couch.

I spend some time gazing at the little girl sleeping in the bed her father used to sleep in when he stayed over. Lucy looks so peaceful, sleeping with her arms around Miss Angelica Sprinkles, a rabbit plushie Sam bought the day she was born. The memory makes me smile. He named the darn rabbit Miss Angelica Sprinkles, and it stuck. I can feel my throat constricting with emotions that I don't want to feel and my smile is slowly turning itself upside down.

After our grand tour, which wasn't all that grand since it couldn't cover most of the house, the three of us made ourselves a feast of bagels, store-bought chicken salad, crisps and ice cream and stuffed our faces, while sitting around the kitchen table.

"Mom never lets me eat ice cream after seven o'clock," Lucy stated in between bites and licks of her ice cream, and this was followed by a very complicated and confusing conversation about rules and when it's okay to break them.

After supper, we stayed at the table for a while and discussed our plans for the following day. Eventually, Lucy yawned and decided to go get in her bed and read for a while before going to sleep. Isabelle announced that she wanted to test the bathroom, especially the shower and after gathering everything she needed from the bags I'd brought from her car, she left us alone in the entertainment area.

I sat sprawled on the couch, watching Lucy read and kept on irritating her by asking questions about the book she was reading. I'm very good at irritating people. Sam used to say I've honed the skill to a rare artform. Lucy eventually relented, lowered her book and turned those bright eyes, so much like her father's, on me.

"Well, it's about a girl who lives in a small town with an upside-down waterfall. There are some sad parts but funny ones too," she frowned, maybe recalling the sad parts in the book. "She gets to live in her granny's cottage and finds out that the town is actually a magical place. There are animals who aren't really animals. They talk and can do magic."

"Animals that aren't really animals?" I'd teased her. "Well, that's... not confusing at all. What are they really?"

"Fairy people, duh," she'd rolled her eyes, just like her mother always does, cutting me down to size and stuffing me back in my place.

"Fairies... Right. How did I not know that? Pfffft. Silly me." She'd given me the gift of a brief, tired smile and now the little bug is asleep, and I'm stuck, staring at Miss Angelica Sprinkles and trying not to think about Sam and how much this little girl misses her daddy... as do I...

Isabelle

Allowing the warm water to cascade over my tired body, splattering on my head, soothing away at least some of my tension, I enjoy a long shower, thinking about how strange it feels to know that Sam was once here.

He existed. I imagine him carefully pouring over blueprints of the house, with the tip of his tongue sticking out the way it always did when he was concentrating, just the way I saw Lucy doing it earlier. I see him wiping a drop of sweat from his forehead, talking to Josh or one of the contractors. I remember him calling me to tell me what time he'd be home.

We don't live far from this house. It's just one town over. He drove that road every second afternoon to be home with us so we wouldn't be separated for too long. And then one day, just like that...

I slide down the wall of the shower until I'm sitting on the tiles, and when my gaze land on the new bruise on the bridge of my foot, the dam wall finally breaks and I'm having a good cry. It's the first proper one since Sam passed away, and my tears mix with the soapy water and disappear down the drain.

I suddenly stop weeping when I hear what sounds like a child's crying coming from the shower drain. Or is that laughter? I try to breathe as quietly as possible, trying to listen. The noise of the shower and my heart pounding aren't helping... and then I hear a whisper...

What the hell?!

I'm tired and... Grief. Yes, grief does weird things to a person. I'm a psychologist, for crying out loud, I know these things! It's probably just some old pipes.

In an attempt to jump up from my sitting position, I slip and crash into the shower door, causing the glass to protest and shudder. Shit, that was close! I imagine falling through that door, the glass breaking, scattering all over the tile floor, mingling with my blood, and a shudder trembles down my body. Shaking my head, I try to dislodge the intrusive thoughts from my mind.

Stepping out of the shower, I berate myself for my lack of composure. I have a little girl to be strong for, I cannot be falling apart like this! I don't believe in ghosts, at least not movie ghosts. The ones that stick around in a place, all pissed off and trying to kill people. Or the ones that try to tell you something important, but they just end up scaring the crap out of you. It's counterproductive.

Maybe ghosts are repressed emotions, wishes, and memories. Things that happened and things that never will happen. Things that we have lost. Grief is a ghost.

Yes, that's all it is. I nod to myself in the mirror, pleased with the very logical conclusions I'm drawing as I wrap myself in a towel that smells like Sam. Almost breaking down again at the deluge of warm memories flooding my senses, I remove a bottle of anti-anxiety tablets from my vanity bag.

That's right! Grief is a ghost... and I am haunted.

***