“You know, it’s funny how time can pass so quickly,” Sandra said, glancing down at her hands. Her fingers locked and she felt them strain against one another. “And at the same time it seems like forever.” She forced a smile, hoping he’d consider the comment a small breakthrough. At least I’m talking, she thought. Isn’t that the point? “I understand,” he said, scribbling on the pad. “The grieving process works on several levels simultaneously, and as difficult as it is to accept that an important part of your life has ended, that’s exactly what you’re doing. At the same time, part of you isn’t ready to let go. The experience is a normal part of the healing process and should not be rushed.” “It’s been eighteen months, Dr. Adamson,” Sandra said. “But he’s still here. I can feel him, which I know is ridiculous, and Richard would expect me to . . .” She paused as her voice cracked. The psychiatrist refilled her water glass and waited for her to continue. “I have such a hard time saying it. Moving on. It’s like I’m leaving him behind and I don’t want to. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready.” “You mention that you still feel him,” he said. “Can you elaborate?” “Memories, that’s all it is,” she said. “I go through boxes, find things I didn’t even know we . . . I still had, and it makes me think he’s telling me something. Like the wine glasses.” “Wine glasses?” “The year we were married, Richard’s mother gave us a set of Christmas wine glasses. They weren’t expensive, but they were nice, and we made it a point to use them during the holidays. It was during our third year together when he dropped the box. He was clowning around and tripped over the ottoman. They shattered, and he felt bad. We both did.” “I can relate. My dad gave me an autographed baseball once, Al Kaline. It was his favorite possession and I lost it just before my parents came for a visit. I had just moved into a new apartment and couldn’t find it. Of course, as soon as they arrived he asked where the ball was. I told him it was still packed, but then when they came back six months later it still wasn’t where he could see it. I had to tell him that I thought the movers took it. He was heartbroken, but he got over it. Things like that happen.” “But the glasses returned,” Sandra said. “You said he broke them.” “That’s just it. He did. I checked the box and they were smashed . . . all of them. I watched Richard take them out to the trash. That was five years ago. Then after his death, I took the sabbatical so I could take part in the study at Southern Cal. I had to rent a storage unit for the stuff I couldn’t take with me and when I returned to Quinley, I moved the boxes to my townhouse.” “And the glasses?” “Three months ago, I was unpacking dishes when I found all eight of them,” Sandra said. “One after another I unwrapped the same glasses.” “He probably bought another set and never told you,” he said, adding to his notes. “That’s the only logical answer,” she said. “But I can’t believe I never saw them before. I know it’s silly, and Richard used to tease me about . . .” “About what?” “Richard would tease about coming back.” Sandra smiled, fingers clasping more tightly. “You know. Reincarnation. He’d joke about it.” “And you believe it’s possible.” “No, not at all, and I don’t even know if he did either. That’s one area where we differed, though,” she said. “I’m a scientist and trust what I see. He thought there was more to life than science, but he didn’t really go overboard about it.” “So now you’re considering the possibility.” “Not really,” Sandra said. “It would be nice, but I don’t believe in magic.” “You know, a hundred years ago, what I do was considered magic to most people. Perhaps not everything can be observed in a controlled environment.” “I’m analytical by nature, doctor, and by profession. Are you suggesting I start believing in reincarnation? Rethink my belief systems?” “Not at all, Sandra. I’m suggesting you keep an open mind and consider alternatives.” “Is that what you believe? In magic and voodoo and superstition?” He shook his head and smiled at her. “It seems your mind is made up.” She shrugged. “I’ll think about it. Okay?” Dr. Adamson looked at the clock on his desk and returned a smile to his patient. “Our time is up. We’ll continue this next week.” She agreed and headed for the door. Just as she was about to exit, he spoke again. “Sandra, I understand how you feel, about data and science, things of that ilk, but I’ve seen some unusual occurrences in my work. I’m merely suggesting you keep an open mind, at least until you have some answers.”
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