The Seer by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 15

Gordon continued his week with a strong sense of relief. His concentration had greatly improved, and his mood was noticeably better. Even a few of his patients noticed the change, and by the time Saturday arrived, Gordon was ready to confront what he had denied himself for so long. Although the stages of grief are not the same for everyone, how long the process takes is a different matter. For some, it can be years. For others, months, and for a rare few, the pain of grief is never-ending, a tortuous journey that can go on with a lifetime of anguish. But Gordon believed he was stronger than that, and would recover over a few weeks. Regardless of how long it took, he knew that healing was an eventuality, but one that happens only if one allows it.

His mother was buried in Standish, where she grew up, and leaving at around nine in the morning, Gordon arrived at quarter of ten. Driving through the open gate, he wandered through the cemetery and found his way to the back corner where her grave was located among several small markers beneath the shade of a number of pine trees. The morning air was cool, while a gentle wind swayed the treetops from side to side. Opening the car door, Gordon stepped out and walked the short distance to his mother's grave. His last visit was at the time of her burial, and as he knelt down, Gordon couldn't help but feel a twinge of guilt at not having looked after her grave.

The headstone was overgrown with moss and crabgrass as years of dead leaves had matted themselves around it. Using his fingers, Gordon tore away the damp, green moss concealing the granite marker, and scooping up the heavy layer of leaves, exposed its polished, engraved surface. Behind him, was a small stone bench, dedicated to a long dead couple, and lifelong residents of Sanford.

Assuming the couple wouldn't mind, he sat on its smooth stone seat, gazing at his mother's grave. As a psychiatrist, Gordon had a gift for knowing what to say, but now sitting at his mother's grave, he struggling to find the simplest words for what he was feeling. Sometimes, words fail to describe even the most basic of human emotions.

After all the time that had passed, Gordon wasn't sure what he should feel. Beyond his guilt, there seemed to be an emptiness where he seemed to have misplaced the pain.

“So,” he said. “What now?”

It occurred to him that he might be expecting too much too soon, that some realizations take time to manifest. Gordon continued to sit on the stone bench, and looking at the headstone, read the inscription several times, waiting for something to come to the surface. But still, there was nothing.

He closed his eyes and let out a heavy sigh. As his mind began to drift, he felt a strange sensation, as if the air had suddenly cooled by an oncoming storm. Then, his attention was drawn to the right. Gordon was startled to find a woman sitting next to him. She appeared old and somewhat frail, with long silver-white hair, near flawless skin, and clothes that looked as though she was wearing them for the first time.

Gordon was instantly struck with fear, recognizing the elderly woman as his mother. The shock of witnessing this unearthly vision stunned Gordon into a daze, but remembering what his doctor told him, he quickly regained his composure. If this was, in fact, a manifestation of grief, a mirror of his subconscious, perhaps there was something to be learned. He took this as an opportunity to converse with his inner dialogue, that maybe it would show him the way to resolve what was fast becoming a debilitating condition.

“Uh, mom?” he said. Unable to completely conceal his fear, Gordon spoke with a slight quiver.

“Gordon,” the woman began.

Putting a hand on his knee, he felt the warmth of her touch, and as comforting as this would have been, the experience only further tested his perception of reality.

“You don't look well,” she said. “Is everything okay? I know. It's been a long time, hasn't it?” She leaned away slightly and briefly examined him.

“Just look at you,” she continued. “A doctor now. I always knew, you know.”

Gordon continued in silent shock as his mother warmly grasped his hand. It had been years since he felt her gentle touch, and found himself beginning to slip away from reality. He shook his head several times, trying to bring himself back to the place where ghostly visions couldn't possibly exist, but the woman remained at his side, still holding his hand. Making eye contact, Gordon was finally able to speak, and asked the one question that was foremost on his mind.

“Mom, what's happening to me?” His mother spoke gently, as though she expected his question.

“Gordon,” she replied. “So logical. You were always like that. Even as a little boy. You never believed anything that wasn't in a school book.”

Gordon was focused on her every word, hoping to hear the answer he was looking for.

“But, you know, the world is a big place, and everything can be explained in books. Sometimes, you just have to have a little faith.”

In Gordon's mind, faith was not the issue. He needed an answer that made sense, and gently pressed her further.

“But, why am I seeing these things? How is it that I can see you?”

A smile came to the woman's face as she gave him a less than understandable answer.

“Gordon, sometimes you have to stop knowing and start believing. Sometimes, that's all you need.” A tear of sorrow ran down his cheek as the woman he recognized as his mother tried to comfort him with one last remark.

“You have been given a gift. All you need to do is accept it. Stop fighting it, and everything will make sense. Oh, and they don't mind if you sit on their bench.” Gordon turned back, glancing at the graves the bench had been dedicated to, but turning back to his mother, he discovered she had vanished.

“Mom?”

He stood up, and searching the cemetery, found no trace that anyone had been there at all. He did feel that he had been alone, and in fact, wanted to continue talking to his mother. It didn't matter if she was real or not. The experience alone was what he needed to begin a process he had put off for far too long, and finding himself alone, Gordon felt his emotions boil to the surface. With his knees beginning to buckle, he quickly returned to the stone bench as years of unresolved grief exploded from his soul.

Gordon spent the next twenty minutes pouring out his pain, as his body weakened from exhaustion. By the end of his bout with grief, his mind and body called out for sleep. Rising from the stone funerary bench, Gordon turned toward his car. He considered a thirty-minute nap in the back seat, but as he took a few steps, he was stopped by a small girl, dressed in the clothing typical of a Catholic school.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“Yeah, I'm fine,” he answered. “Thanks. And what's your name?”

The girl looked up at him with kind eyes and a warm smile.

“Missy,” she replied.

Gordon put a gentle hand on top of her head.

“Well, thank you Missy. You're a very caring person, but shouldn't you be with your mom?” The girl smiled again.

“She comes here every day. But, she can't see me like you can. She just looks at pictures. But you're different, aren't you?”

Gordon was terrified, realizing the young girl who stood before was also deceased. He took a few steps back as his eyes widened with panic.

“What do you mean 'different'?” he asked. The girl's voice took on an excited tone.

“You can see me! Your mom was right, ya know. You do have a gift.”

Gordon began to fumble with his words as he became overwhelmed with confusion.

“But, you're dead, aren't you?”

For a brief moment, Gordon was consumed by the nonsensical nature of his question. How can someone be dead, if you have to ask them if they're dead?

“Well,” she replied. “We're not really dead.”

“What do mean, 'we'?” Gordon asked. He was beginning to feel faint, and grasping his knees, bent down to force the blood back to his head.

“All of us,” the girl replied.

With his mind clearing, Gordon stood up and discovered he was surrounded by the occupants of the entire cemetery. Some displayed the misery of their earthly lives, while others expressed the joy of spiritual awakening. But, the only thing he saw was that he was surrounded by the dead, something that violated what he considered to be the nature of reality. However, reality is, at best, a thin veil of illusion, shielding our minds from what would certainly push us into insanity. Some things are simply not meant to be understood by the smallness of the human mind.

As Gordon turned in each direction, he found himself surrounded by increasing numbers of the departed. Most seemed curious about being seen by a living man, and by the look on their faces, saw him as something of an oddity. But the clash between what Gordon thought he knew, and what he saw was quickly eroding his senses, and with his consciousness beginning to wane, his legs folded beneath him as he crumbled to the ground. When he woke, only several minutes had passed, but upon opening his eyes, he was startled by a middle-aged man calling to him.

“Hey! You alright?! Can you hear me?!” As Gordon stood, the man took him by the arm and pulled him up from the ground. Once on his feet, he couldn't help but study the man’s face, suspecting that he may be another illusion.

“Are you one of 'them'?” he asked. Looking slightly confused, the men answered Gordon's question with another question.

“One of who? You sure you're alright? You didn't hit your head, did you?”

Gordon glanced around and discovered that the specters he had witnessed had vanished. His skin had broken out into a cold sweat a he studied the man again.

“So,” Gordon began. “You're not dead, are you?” The man's expression turned to deep concern a he took a cell phone out of his pocket.

“You look like you've seen a ghost,” he began. “You want me to call an ambulance for you?” Since ghosts don't normally carry cell phones, Gordon was confident that the man who helped him up probably was not an illusion, but flesh and bone. Someone real.

“No,” he replied. “I'm fine. I just need some rest.” Continuing to his car, Gordon turned and waved to the man, thanking him for taking the time to help him. The man waved back, still, with an expression of concern as Gordon backed his car. Turning around, he drove along the dirt road, passed through the cemetery gate and onto the street. It would be a long time before he would, again, visit his mother's grave.