Seance

After my wife passed away, I waited – prayed – for some sort of sign from the great beyond that she was okay. As a moderately-raised Catholic, I always had a firm belief in the afterlife and after she lost her long battle with cancer, I found myself wanting to believe in it more than ever. It is human nature to cling on to the hope that death isn’t an ending, if only because of the alternative. Even avowed atheists can’t help but ponder the possibility of an afterlife when a loved one passes away.

And even though nothing could change the fact that Carolyn was gone from this earthly realm, the urge for a sign becomes even stronger when you have spent your whole life believing in the afterlife.

But days passed without a sign. Then weeks. Followed by months.

And for the first time in my life, I found myself losing faith.

  “Maybe you could attend some sort of séance?” my friend Kim suggested.

“I don’t know…” I said with maximum trepidation.

What I really needed was a therapist.

Though I was admittedly intrigued with her suggestion, I was never comfortable with the idea of conjuring spirits. As a kid, I was taught that it was against God’s will and was convinced that only evil spirits could be conjured. I wanted no part of that. I had seen enough movies. And I truly believed in it. So much so, in fact, that when I was 10, my mom had to pick me up from a Halloween party when everyone gathered around a Hasbro Ouija board.

Now, I was desperate enough to give it a shot.

More time passed and I began to see it as a silver lining: perhaps this meant she was at rest? Weren’t wandering souls often lost and trying to resolve unfinished business on earth, or perhaps had a message to deliver to a loved one?

But then Kim left her little choice when she got her a gift certificate for a séance.

 She made me an appointment for Friday, October the 13th of all days. And why not? What could go wrong?

When the day finally arrived, I began to get cold feet. I couldn’t help but think that if she was at rest, why risk stirring her soul? And if conjured spirts were troubled spirits, would I really want to find out she was one of them? Unless, of course, a conjuring might help put her at rest.

“It will be good to get out and do some socializing,” Kim said.

“Socializing with spirits. Sounds like a great plan.”

“Okay, I’m in.”

She was right. I did need to socialize and get out this rut. Séance or not.

Kim picked me up, because we both know it would make it harder for me to cancel once she arrived. Even though Kim and I had been friends since high school, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed with guilt for even riding in a car with another woman. Carolyn was always slightly jealous of Kim, even though we had never been romantically involved (unless you count going to a Homecoming dance sophomore year and one awkward, misguided kiss that landed on her ear, rather than her mouth).

I had to change my way of thinking. I was doing nothing wrong. And what we were doing was directly about Carolyn, anyway. Besides, the mere thought of dating seemed light years away. I just had to keep reminding myself that it hadn’t even been a year (though, I was hoping that I would be turning a corner by the one-year anniversary of her passing). But it didn’t feel that way. At all. But why rush it? Going out tonight was a huge step forward. Conjured spirit, or not.

To be honest, I was looking more forward to the beer afterward than the séance itself. My anxiety was trying to convince me to pull the plug.

“What the worse that could happen?” Kim asked.

I knew that answer to that question.

We finally arrived at the medium’s house, located in a bad part of town. Kim waited in the living room, while I was lead directly into candle-lit basement dwelling like you see in just about any movie where there is a seance. All that was missing was Whoopi Goldberg. She was even dressed like her character in Ghost. How could this not be a hoax? Part of me sort of wished it was.

After taking a seat at a small table, the medium took me by the hands hand closed her eyes, urging me to do the same, before instructing me to channel all of my energy into memories of Carolyn. Yet, she felt more distant than ever.

The medium assured me this wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. It meant that Carolyn was either at peace…or, unavailable. She didn’t elaborate what “unavailable” meant. And I didn’t want to ask. Just what would she possibly be up to?     

Several minutes passed and dead silence as the medium strained herself trying to channel something. But if you asked me, it just appeared that she was trying to take a shit. Just how much did Kim splurge on this waste of time?

But just before the medium pulled the plug on the whole operation, she began to sway back and forth, while humming an eerie chant.

“There is someone here,” she said.

How convenient.

“Is it her?”

The medium closed her eyes even more tightly and concentrated even harder – becoming the human equivalent of a nearly empty toothpaste tube, or nearly fully-squeezed lemon.

“A child.”

“A child?!”

“Yes. A boy. Maybe 5 or 6 years old.”

“Who could it be?”

She began to concentrate even harder. At least she made it look convincing.

“Someone from your past.”

 “Who?”

“Have you ever lost a child? Your own? Or, maybe one you were close to?”

I suddenly became paralyzed with fear.

It couldn’t be…

…could it?

“No,” I barely managed to utter.

But I knew better. I knew exactly who it was.

And just like, the child spirt was gone.

            I had Kim drive me straight me home. I had no interest in going to the bar after what I had just encountered. I just wanted to go to sleep and forget this night ever happened.

But sleep wouldn’t come easy that night.

At some point, shortly I finally fell asleep, I woke up to a child saying something that chilled me to the goddamn bone.

“Daddy?”

And standing there in the darkest corner of my room.          

My child.

My unborn son.   

Our unborn son.

Home at last.