She came at midnight. In my REM sleep, she stirred me with soft tapping on my window. I felt scared at first, but her welcoming features put me at ease. Today she’s wearing a white satin dress and has draped a white shawl over her shoulder.

She then sits at her usual place at the armchair near the window. Makes her appear just like a ghost but am sure she’s one of the good ones. She tells me what her day’s been like and that she missed me. I let her rant about the near-death experiences on the streets and how people didn’t let her pass. She complains a lot for a ghost.

So I stare her straight in the eye and wish her to go away. She assumes this grim look, but she understands. It’s like she reads my mind. Then she disappears, and I notice my window is still open. She didn’t even say goodbye. I wish the breeze to send her my regards. Tomorrow I’ll befriend my next-door neighbor, but I’ll not tell her about Aurora because she’s my heavily guarded secret.

I hope she doesn’t come back. She needs to move on so do I. For now, we stick with the living. When mom asks, I’ll say she didn’t visit again. That way, I won’t have to go to yet another counseling session with Dr. Theodore. She thinks I am crazy, and I think she’s an overweight pig. We cannot be friends either, something she doesn’t seem to grasp.

Handling grief is not easy. One has to be willing to walk the journey, especially psychologically.

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