The In Between

Chapter 36

Tara

"We have newcomers! Welcome, Luke and Tara. Tara, would you like to share with the group?" Our instructor Ms. Timmons is shockingly perky for someone leading a grief group. She's wearing yoga pants and a too big smile. 

I can tell almost every kid here is here by force. But we have something else in common, too: that hollowed-out look in our eyes, like something—or rather someone—is missing.

"Tara?" Ms. Timmons repeats. "You have anything to share, honey?"

I shake my head, reassuring myself that this will be over soon. It's hard for me to engage in all this "letting go" stuff when I know Justin's not really gone. When I had a conversation with him just a few days ago.

"I will find a way back, I promise," he said.

I repeat the words to myself like a mantra: I will find a way back...I will find a way back... I try not to think about the fact that I've gone to all of Justin's favorite places and he wasn't at any of them.

 Meanwhile, Mom's treating me like I'm twelve. No, worse—like I'm crazy. She took all of the afterlife books away and deleted Ghosthunters from my DVR. She's probably installed that site-tracker software on my Mac. I had to ask Luke to come here with me, otherwise Mom would have insisted on holding my hand through the whole thing, reading way too far into every contribution, every silence.

Of course Luke agreed to come with me, easily and immediately. At the time, it didn't feel like a such big thing to ask, and I was desperate. Now that we're here, I realize it was a huge thing to ask.

Ms. Timmons has us sit in a semi-circle and share our stories. Watching all of these kids—trying to be strong, holding back tears, choking up, breaking down—I feel like a fraud. Spying on their grief. Especially when mine is on hold.

On the white board behind us are the phases of grief: Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance.

"They don't necessarily come in that order," Ms. Timmons explains. "But they do all come." She looks around the quiet room and levels her gaze on me. "Tara," she says. "Can you relate to anything on the board?"

I shrug, shifting in my seat uncomfortably. I'm the only one who hasn't shared with the group yet.

"Or anything at all," Ms. Timmons presses. "What have you been feeling?"

I sigh.

"It's okay," Ms. Timmons says encouragingly.

"My boyfriend is gone," I start, a little shaky. "But it feels like he's still here. And I feel like I'm waiting for him to come back. Does anyone else feel like that? Like their person is still here?"

A few people nod absently. Luke speaks up: "I don't feel like he's here. I'm mad at him for not being here. Because he's supposed to be here. And he's not. And I know that's stupid but that's how I feel."

I never thought of Luke being angry. Except for that one day on the beach—I've never known Luke to be anything but even-tempered.

"There are no stupid feelings," Ms. Timmons counters.

But Luke's on a roll: "I'm mad at him for not being here. I'm mad at him because we both liked the same girl and he went after her and I didn't. I'm mad because he got her and I didn't. And I am really happy that he did because, hey, he at least got to be with her, before...But at the same time I can't even fight him for her. Because I can't exactly compete with his memory. So he wins. And I'm an asshole."