They're taunting me

Since Sandy died, I've seen show after show where the dead have returned to life. I'm not seeking them out. These are shows we've watched for years, and in previous seasons they didn't perform resurrections. Some of them are science fiction (Dr. Who, Eureka, Warehouse 13), but others aren't (House, Psych). In the science fiction shows, the characters have actually died; in the others, they've been faking it. But either way, grievers have been overjoyed to have the dearly departed return.

I really want her to come back and travel with me. There's
so much of the world we haven't seen yet. This picture was
in Pisa in 1998. We were delighted by the hodge-podge of
pieces from other structures that had been combined in
the facade of this building. It was one of the buildings
in the piazza with the tower, but I don't remember
which one. No idea why Sandy's holding a guidebook.

I want what they have.

I watch hungrily, searching for tips and tricks, seeing the episodes as a tutorial for getting Sandy back. The timing of so many is suspicious, serendipitous. Surely there's something I can glean.

In many ways, of course, I've learned how to welcome her back metaphysically (and she's rather insistent that she hasn't left). But oh, how I long to have her back here bodily, physically in the bed when I wake in the morning, working beside me in the garden, flying down a hill on her bicycle, cursing at Premiere as she crafts a vid, singing as she approaches the house, beaming at me over her laptop, scrubbing a cat's neck and cheek.

So I'll stay attentive to my fictional instruction manuals, alert to the possibility that they'll prompt me to discover new resources or find a path I've not noticed before. Even as I consciously make efforts to move forward and create new structures in my life, subconsciously I'm always trying to figure out just how to get her back and set the world right.