“Whenever in my dreams, I see the dead, they always appear silent, bothered, strangely depressed, quite unlike their dear bright selves.” – Vladimir Nabokov

I was standing in the backyard when I saw her. She was on the front porch. Hands on her hips, smiling. Even though it was a familiar sight there was something empty, even robotic about it.

She was looking north when I noticed my brother walking excitedly toward her. The look on his face was elated. Not far behind him, my father suddenly appeared. He started shouting, “It’s not her! It’s really not her!” My brother heard him, stopped and realized what was going on. A stunned expression of disbelief settled across his face. She remained on the porch standing there, beaming emptily.

I next remember standing with my father at the edge of the river. We stood still watching her walk into the water. She didn’t say anything and this time she was expressionless. He looked on as she went further out into the river. He appeared to accept what was happening, but you could see sorrow in his eyes.

She drifted out into the river. I could hear her begin to cry. It was a strange sound. I did not hear fear nor did I hear pain. It sounded regretful like those missed opportunities you always say you will get to. But also, there was an acceptance. By the time she reached the middle of the river, her head was bobbing up and down with the waves until it became just a tiny dot. Her cries became louder and then suddenly stopped altogether, her head disappearing completely. As all of this took place, from beginning to end, I could only look on with shock and numbness.

The last thing I remembered is walking with my father among tall grass near a stream that ran into the river. It felt like the other side of the river. He had his walking stick. He was using it to part the grass and then look around at the ground. I was helping him, but I felt more like an observer at that moment. I was worried about him. He had a sad expression. He suddenly turned to me, with a look of hesitant acceptance, and said, “She’s gone.” We then left.