Peppermint & Rain

Why do you insist on waking me so early? Why 3 a.m. every single time? It could at least be 4 a.m., or an occasional 5 a.m.! Better yet, let's try for 6 a.m. I just don't get it. If you are going to bother me like this, over and over, couldn't or shouldn't you be a bit more considerate?

I'm not saying you don't have anything valid or worthwhile to impart, but I might be more receptive or impressed if I weren't so sleep-deprived crazed when you "bring it."

So far, the strangeness of all this has been downright confusing. I'm trying to make sense of all you might be telling me. But come to think of it, you never were very good at communicating. Not even when you could speak or write. I guess now, you just float around in my head, bearing gifts. And the fog that I have to walk through to get to them...well, don't you think that's a little over the top? Rather ghostly of you, in my estimation!

Funny how I'm not frightened in the least. Annoyed? Yes! Amused? No!

The first time you woke me, do you remember that I cried? You seemed so real. Your eyes still as blue as ever...like the sky had extra lights sparkling in them. I even smelled that same aftershave you always wore. You know, the one with the funny name? I tried to hug you, but you wouldn't let me get close. The damn fog came between us each time. Cruel, really.

You came just when I thought I was finally "getting over" the loss of you. I suppose you weren't having any of that. A bitter reminder. I never took you for the jealous type, though. But I was wrong about a lot of things in our lives, wasn't I?

And when the fog cleared, I saw the envelope you had dropped. But as hard as I tried, I was unable to open it. Did you know I wouldn't be able to?

I thought about that envelope for days and what you might be trying to tell me. Had I missed something? I tore the house apart looking for any papers that might be a clue. NOTHING.

The next night, the apparition, same time, same place. The cycle repeated. Days and weeks passed...the fog would appear and bring you. But eventually you stopped coming with it, the fog remaining and nagging.

The "gifts" you left included a wrench of all things, and a white rose. Perplexing. I thought back to all the flowers you had given to me before... before you left. Red roses, pink roses, sunflowers, daisies. But never white roses.

And a wrench? Give me a break, you never fixed anything in your life. Just not your strong suit or your style. These dreams aren't making sense. They are making me crazy, though.

When you stopped coming, the fog left smells like peppermint and sounds like soft raindrops on a windowpane. I got that, at least. We had always loved to listen to rain from our bedroom. Some of my fondest memories of you and me. And how we crushed peppermint in our vanilla ice cream for a "special" Valentines dessert.

I talked to your sister today. I explained the dreams, your visits, the gifts. I could tell in her eyes, that she pitied my despair, my grief, my anger over your death. But it helped to talk to her. She misses your silly grin and your pranks.

But she helped me to have insight into what you are trying to tell me. I think. (We had always laughed at her "almost" psychic, spiritual leanings.) The letter...many unsaid feelings of a lifetime you left behind but wished you could give to me. The wrench...the adjustments you knew I would have to be making. And the white rose...our pure love for each other.

She told me you would want me to know that all you now remember were the peppermint kisses we shared on that rainy Valentines Day. Not the day of the accident, not the stupid little argument we had before you left in the car to give us some space.

Now all I can think of is how much I want you to wake me again at 3 a.m.