Haunting Grief

Life doesn't feel the same anymore. I sit in my room most days with the lights off, staring out the window in deep thought about why this happened to me. The only thing I can be thankful for these days is the weather consistently matching my mood. It has been especially cloudy lately, with the occasional thunderstorm rolling in. It's almost as if nature is connected to my sorrow. The only light source that I enjoy anymore is from the candle in the window that Graham gave me for my birthday.

Graham is my fiance, or I guess I should say he was. I don't think I will ever get used to saying that. We went out for my birthday last month to this nice restaurant. The day was perfect. Being able to spend it with the most important person in my life was all I needed. He knew I didn't care much for gifts on special days; the only thing I asked for was quality time, but, of course, he had to get me my favorite scented candle. He knew how much I loved pumpkin.

I always considered myself to be a lucky person. I didn't undergo many hardships in life, I found the right person at a young age, and everything else along the way seemed to work out nicely. I would never have guessed that the moment we walked out of that restaurant would be the moment life would finally catch up with me, the moment I entered my own personal Hell.

Graham had opened the door for me to enter the car, as he had a thousand times. I caught myself glancing into the future during dinner, picturing our upcoming wedding day, wondering what our family would look like one day. How stupid, ungrateful I was to not live in the moment and enjoy my time with him because right after he closed my door and walked to the driver's side was my last moment with my fiance.

Graham was hit by a drunk driver who swerved over to the street's side just before entering the car. Everything happened so quickly that it took moments even to register what had happened. After finally realizing what had happened, I rushed to him, but he was unresponsive. The paramedics concluded that he had died instantly upon impact. My mind was racing, panicking. How could everything change this drastically so quickly? Why was this happening to me?

Since then, I've locked myself away in my personal asylum and listened to the emptiness of my heart. That is until I find time to sleep and give my racing mind a break, which is inconsistent, almost nonexistent. When I sleep at night is when my real nightmare sets in.

Have you ever had a dream that seemed too real to be a dream? I don't mean that you can only perfectly recollect everything that happened, but every setting in the dream is exactly how it is in the real world. The first time this happened was the night after I lost Graham. After a day of torment, I finally managed to sleep for the first time since the accident. In the dream, I had woken up to a sound coming from the hallway bathroom. The sound was the same sound you'd use to describe that of someone wiping their fingers on a steamy mirror.

Naturally, I slowly walked toward the bathroom to see what I could make of it. I stepped inside the bathroom to turn on the light. The first thing I noticed was the condensation in the air as if someone had been in the shower moments earlier. What followed is something I will never understand nor forget.

I looked at the mirror, and there it was, "Why?" the mirror said. Terrified, I turn around to run back to my bedroom, and there he was, standing in the doorway. There was Graham... I woke up panting, sweating, horrified. As the nights went on, they got more vivid, more terrifying. I decided to seek psychiatric help. Any answer I could get would help, at least I hoped so.

"Why am I constantly seeing Graham? Are they even dreams? What is going on with me? Dr. Edwards told me it was normal to have these types of dreams, especially right after living through something so traumatizing as this. "There is a time for grief, but if we let it consume us, then it will inevitably destroy us in the end. Sinking into depression is a dangerous pit and a steep hill to climb if we don't let ourselves heal.", he said. "Eventually, we all have to let go of that pain. We have to learn to be thankful for the time we had with them rather than focusing on the reality of them not being here anymore." Hearing a professional's opinion about my predicament made me feel a little more reassured, more hopeful about somehow overcoming this.

Unfortunately, things did not get better. I continued to spend my days sitting at the window, staring out into the empty world, feeling the heat from the candle. The candle was the last gift I would ever receive from Graham. The one thing I refused to throw out, no matter how much pain it caused me. How could I get rid of the one thing that reminded me of how amazing my life was before all this?

Just last night, I had another nightmare. This one was more vivid and terrifying than the rest. I remember staring out past the front porch from inside. The door stood wide open as I stared out into the pouring rain. There he was at the foot of the porch staring at me. In the blink of an eye, he appeared directly in front of me. Terrified, I let out a scream as he grabbed me by the wrist with such a force that would easily leave a bruise. His eyes pierced my soul as he uttered the words, "Let go!"

I instantly woke up trembling. I can't keep having these nightmares. They are slowly eating away at me; I can't take it anymore! After getting up from bed, I moved to my normal spot, the chair in front of the window. I lit the candle and stared at the burning flame as I lost myself in thought. I was desperate. I have to find a way to be free from this pain. Maybe Dr. Edwards was right. Maybe I should just let go. I need to reflect on the happiness Graham brought into my life rather than the pain of his loss.

I took one last look at the candle before I blew it out. I grabbed my keys and went on a drive for what seemed like hours. No destination, no time-table, just driving with my racing mind.

For maybe the first time since his death, I reflected on a happy memory. It was the time that we went out for ice cream and stumbled upon an injured stray dog. Graham being the selfless person he was, immediately befriended the dog. He was patient with the poor thing and let him know he could trust him. We were not in a position to adopt a dog and give it the life it deserved, but Graham called the emergency vet to send someone out to pick the dog up. Graham gave them his information and told them he would cover the cost of everything needed to rehabilitate the dog. In the meantime, Graham immediately asked around for people who were interested in adopting the sweet thing. He was always so loving, caring. That was one of the many reasons I loved him so much.

These were the types of memories I decided to focus on from here on out. If these are just dreams, this may help get rid of them. If they are something more than that, more paranormal, then I'm at a loss. But I have to try.

I'm sorry, Graham. I never want to let you go. But this is more than I can withstand. You were always my rock, my strength, and you still are. But I have to let you go. If you had a chance to come back, I would tolerate this pain many lifetimes over. But you're not, you're dead. I have to move on living with the fact that I won't have any more happy memories with you, so I have to focus on the ones we made. I love you, Graham. I always will. Goodbye.

After shedding some tears, I noticed the sun peak out for the first time in what seemed like years. I felt a sudden rush of peace. It actually felt like a new beginning. I decided to head home.

I arrived at the house, not knowing what would happen next, but I was fixated on looking at the positive in the situations to come. I walked up the stairs, and as I opened the door to the bedroom, I turned the light on for the first time since the accident. I took in a deep breath and said to myself, "To new beginnings." Something felt out of place despite the breakthrough I just had. What was it? What am I missing? Then it hit me. I looked over at the window.

The candle was gone...