Ghosts

There is one letter, front and center on my cupboards, that haunts me still. This girl, she was seriously suicidal, even as we wrote her discharge. Sure, she claimed she was better, but we knew the truth. That's the sad reality in a world where insurance runs the show: some, many, leave too soon.

Now, I can't say for sure that she's gone. I don't know. But I just have this heavy feeling that since she hasn't come back, it's because she's no longer here.

She was bright, shining on our unit. She had the loudest, biggest laugh and the cheekiest smile. She could get away with so much just because she was just that magnetic. But sometimes, when she thought no one was looking, the smile would fade, and all that was left was loneliness. She'd lived a hard life, and she was ready to give up on it.

I did everything I could to encourage her. I told her a little about my own life, what I'd been through, and she took it in. We talked, she shared a little, but it was clear she was always holding back. Keeping us at arms' length.

She told me she wanted to write a book. I told her that she should give me her autograph so that if she ever did, I could put it in the cover. She told me the title; I Google it every now and again, just to see.

Just hoping.

She did give me my autograph, and a little more besides. It's a short note, scrawled in big letters across a plain sheet of white paper. It ends with “I love you, you are truly amazing. Wish me luck.”

Darling, if you're still alive, if you're still fighting, know that I wish more than luck for you.

I wish you joy.