The Garden House

CW: Mental health, Suicide or self-harm

I am certain I saw it.

It was there, just before dark, in the garden house. But the leaves of the tree might have been in the way, so I could have imagined it. The way things have been going lately, yes, I must have imagined it. Grief certainly plays with a person’s mind, doesn’t it?

I turned from the window and looked around the living room, it glowed. It was warm, twinkling lights glistened as the evening started to take over. It was quiet, the silence deafening, it was empty. I turned on music for the favorite playlists, at least that would quiet the cicadas singing in my ears, maybe calm the memories flying through my head, dull the ache that was my now constant companion and soothe my sorrow.

I stood and looked at the sofa. Then sat, hugged the pillow, the one where his head had lain. I could almost feel his presence; touch his skin, take in his scent, kiss him, so peaceful. But, I just sat there, empty. The memories of him flooding over me, never to experience those again. It was so quiet here, it hurt. The fire danced in the hearth, the music played softly, my eyes closed and I drifted away wishing to meet him in my dreams.

His funeral was two weeks ago, on a cold, windy day in November. I couldn’t stay warm. I couldn’t sit still. I moved without having a plan. I stopped, stared and wept. I had cleaning frenzies, then dropped into a chair in a trance. I was loosing my mind. I felt sick, the lump in my throat wouldn’t go away; tears fell, my shirts were consistently wet. I didn’t know if I would ever feel normal again. I missed him. I went to the window again; looking, searching, praying, begging, crying. Nothing soothed, nothing made sense, anymore.

I started to make deals, bargain with God. I will be a better person. I will tame my critical attitudes. I won’t ever utter a harsh word again, ever. Just bring him back. I can’t do this on my own. I will not survive this, it hurts too much.

In the bathroom, I saw his robe, hanging where it had been hanging for years. He just wore it a few weeks ago while he was making coffee. I wondered, did it still smell like him? I broke down, sobbing into it. Laying on the bathroom floor, his robe in my arms, I begged God to take me, too. God didn’t listen. I put his robe back, where it belongs.

Days passed. The light waned in the late afternoon. I found myself at the window, bargaining with God (again) over things of which I had no control. I think I see things in the yard. Near the garden house, there is something. I know it. I keep searching the skies for him, for something, a sign. Where are you? Speak to me, shout at me, send me a sign, send me…something. Yet, still I search everywhere for him, ever hopeful. Help me get through this, I beg.

Most of leaves from the beech tree had fallen and lay on the ground; brown, lifeless and rotting-just like I felt. Staring into the abyss of gray sky, did I see something to the left of the tree? When I looked, nothing was there, just the darkness of the garden house. i could have sworn there was something.

Family came to celebrate the holidays. Celebrate! How could they? I felt sick. But I managed to wear the face of deceit. You know the one that says everything is fine. I am fine. I prepared a dinner for us from the food purchased for Thanksgiving that never happened. I managed to put myself together, to get dressed, to wear nice clothes instead of his old shirts that hung on me like a sack, wrapping me in him. And again, I bargain with God. God, if you won’t take me now, at least let me not be the one who brings the entire family down during the happiest time of the year. I can be strong for this, it is just a few hours. At the window, making these plans with God, I thought I saw it again. And I did. A light. A bright beacon shining right there. Then it was gone. Gone! Come back! Come back, please.

Family is there. We are having a few tender moments, a dinner I managed to put together. I had purchased all of his favorites for Thanksgiving, even chestnuts. How he would have enjoyed this gathering and the food. How he loved to eat! As I am preparing dinner, I need to/have to go to the window, to my ‘safe’ place. I gather control. I hold back the tears, the torment, hold back the loss. I gain strength here.

And I see it, THERE in the garden house! A light? A glow? Oh, come! Come and look….did you see that? Oh! It was there, I know it! Did anyone else see that? It was as plain as day! It was there! They asked me to come back to the table, to sit, relax, calm down. They start to look at each other and not me. Am I losing my mind? I must be, but I saw it.

But did anyone else see that? In the garden house? Look through the tree and you will see it. Oh yes, I was insistent!

Over the next days, I saw it. Every day. A wonderful light. Coming on just before dark. In the garden house, every day. Just for me. I saw it. And so there I waited every day, at the same time. I wouldn’t go anywhere because that would mean I might miss it. I might miss his signal, just for me. It’s in the garden house, did anyone else see it? Look quickly, come here and look. Did anyone else see it?