You died three years ago. I remember the moment I found out. It was by far the worst moment of my entire life. I wasn’t expecting anyone and you weren’t supposed to come home for another year. I looked behind the curtains before opening the door, as I always do. You know it scares me being home alone. That’s what you were worried about when you left. You didn’t care that you had just been drafted for a war you wanted nothing to do with. You didn’t want me to be alone because you knew how bad it makes my anxiety. That’s just the kind of person you were. You always put me first. I don’t think I ever got to really tell you how much that meant to me. I thought it was you waiting on the other side of the door. I couldn’t see well through the window. I could only see a deep blue uniform being worn by a young man. I have never opened a door so fast in my life. But it wasn’t you. The boy outside the door removed his hat solemnly and told me what had happened. I thanked him and shut the door as quickly as possible. It just couldn’t be. Could it? I told myself it was all a dream for a while, but deep down, I always knew it was true. They took you. You were murdered serving this country. You were too sweet to be a soldier. Too kind. Too smart. Too perfect. It was a waste of an amazing life.

I did my best to move on. I shut myself away from the world for a while. If you could be ripped from this Earth so swiftly and without notice, why should I allow myself to get close to anyone else? I didn’t make it long on my own. As I mentioned, I hate being alone. People may not be the best. They may be ignorant and cruel. But I can’t live on my own. I have a boyfriend now. I wouldn’t have done it without your blessing. I hope you know that. The day you left is a blur to me. It was too fast. The reality of your leaving didn’t really hit me until it was time for you to go. But I remember you telling me that if you didn’t come back, you wanted me to move on. You wanted me to live a good life and be happy. I laughed at this. Of course, you would come back. I think you knew how bad the war really was. I think you knew how slim your chances were. You grabbed me and made me look into your deep, beautiful brown eyes. You wouldn’t let go until I promised I would move on if you didn't make it. You always were good at fully grasping situations. You were a perfect balance for me.

Today, I was startled to find a note from you taped to the fridge. I still live alone. And you are gone.

“Meet me at the train station at 10:00 am,” it read.

What was even more alarming was that it was dated for tomorrow. I didn’t know what to do at first, but now, I’ve made up my mind. I’m going. What do I have to lose? I know I have a boyfriend. I know I said I’ve moved on. I have. To the best of my ability, at least. But if there is any chance you are still out there, I’m going to do whatever I can to get you back.

I am on my way to the train station now. I can’t even begin to explain how nervous I am. It isn’t because I’m scared of who left that note for me. I’m scared of what will happen if you really are there. How will you fit into my new life? Will you be upset that I took your advice? I really thought you were gone.

And then, out of nowhere, you appear. I am crying now. I feel my face crunch in the strange way it does whenever I cry. I feel the hot tears streaming down my face. You are back. You are here. They didn’t destroy this perfect life. Even war couldn’t manage to keep us apart. I run towards you, arms outstretched. We must look like we are in a movie. The soldier returning home to his loving wife. I don’t even care how predictable this all is. You are standing a few feet from me. You are smiling. I thought I would only ever see that amazing smile in pictures from now on. They are never able to capture the glow that seems to radiate off of you when you smile. It’s one of those smiles you get to experience.

I jump toward you and grasp-nothing. Your smile turns sad. Tears start to fall from your eyes as well.

A ghost. So you are dead. You are gone. I cry harder if that is at all possible. My whole body shakes, and I don’t even care anymore how I look or how long it took me to do my makeup this morning.

“Why?” I manage to ask. It comes out as more of a squeak than actual words, but you understand.

“I’m sorry. I know how hard this must be. But I had to see you. Just one more time.”

Your words are calm and measured. I wonder how you can possibly look so calm. You step back from me. You seem to be taking me in for what we both know is the last time. You did this the last time I saw you still alive too. You like to take mental pictures of things you love. I know without looking that I’m a mess. Who would want to remember this? I have so many questions for you. But they will forever go unanswered. You disappear as quickly as you appeared, and once again, I am left alone. What’s the point to living anyway? I used to think it was for love. But now, that’s gone. I’m not sure if all the hurting was worth it. We had far too little time together. I know I will never allow myself to love anyone again the same way I loved you. I limp over to a bench beside the train tracks and close my eyes, lacking the motivation to look at this horrible world that stole you from me. When I open my eyes again, I witness a young woman bidding farewell to a young soldier. She waves excitedly as he smiles at her. They will probably never see each other again. What a horrible world we live in.

At first I thought it was a prank but things got weirder. I kept finding random things in my house, these things were yours, but I could have sworn I gave them to your parents when you died. They were so distraught over the loss of their only son. I was too, but after two years I finally moved on. So why are you back? Everywhere I go I see you and what we used to be, what we could have been. Why are you bringing back these memories? I can‘t keep remembering you like this. The thoughts make it impossible to sleep. And now I’m longing for something that isn’t here. Let go of me! I need to move on. Please, I’m begging you. Please.

I was careful when placing the note on the fridge for my older brother to look at. It was dated for tomorrow: Easter. Three years had already passed since that fateful day...

My name is Leah Joanne Grant. I was six-years-old when my older brother Jayme promised our mother to take me to the Easter Eggstravaganza in our little hometown of Leighton, Iowa. I remember the exact date: May 27, 2016, my time of death 17:30. We had gone to the local Easter egg hunt and was on our way back home when the accident happened. It was pouring rain like you wouldn’t believe, and my brother and I were crossing the intersection when my pink stuffed rabbit—a gift from Jayme—fell into the street. My brother kept going, with me pulling on his arm, but it wasn’t until we had crossed the street did I fight free of his hand and run back out to get the rabbit...

With the rabbit, now covered in mud, and now back into my arms; I had smiled at my brother and before I knew it, I was engulfed in darkness. I later watched Jayme cry, sobbing so hard—it was hard to tell the difference between the tears and the rain—while he held onto my now limp body. Saying that it was his fault. I tried to comfort him, but in the end he couldn’t hear me no matter what I did...

One year went by, then another. My brother still blaming himself every time Easter would come around. Funnily enough, he kept the rabbit, I guess, as a reminder of what had happened. I pitied him: it wasn’t his fault, but my own. I couldn’t tell him that either, which left me restless and unable to move on. If there was a place for me to go. So for now, I just stayed with my brother and watched as he moved on with life, or at least tried to.

For the past three years, I've spent everyday with Jayme. Waking up, eating, doing fun things, school, homework, sports, and sleeping. He doesn't see me of course, watching him as he goes about his routine. For the first year after my death he had to go to therapy and on Sundays he'd visit my burial place and leave me flowers, crying and apologizing for not protecting me. Two years after, he starts getting into trouble--specially with the neighbor kids. Every time he sees one of them, he'd get angry and blame them for making fun of me all those years ago, since I had a skin disease called Vitiligo...

It was during the third year of me watching over him, that he began to realize what he wanted to do in life: he wanted to become a doctor. Someone who helped kids, like me, learn to overcome the hardships of life and to believe in themselves.....So everyday, I’ve been putting Post-it notes on his refrigerator. Encouraging him to never give up on his dream. He still has my rabbit, but I can tell that he no longer blames himself for what happened.

Today’s note was a special one: a final farewell. Happy that he now longer blamed himself, I felt ready to move on. With a smile, I looked at the fridge once more: “Good-bye Jayme, Love: Cheetah.”

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