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Emma

M y husband’s ghost haunts me.

Not literally, of course, I don’t believe in all that supernatural stuff, there’s enough evil in this world without worrying about the dead. But still, four years after Adam’s death, I feel as though he might breeze through the door at any moment, reeking of booze and cursing about the lack of food on the table, despite the fact that he’s the one who spends all our money on gambling.

It’s crazy. Paranoid. My son Max and I moved back home to Oklahoma following his death. Our house in San Diego no longer felt like the dream home I’d wished for and the thought of raising a two-year-old completely alone terrifiedme. It didn’t take much persuasion from my brother Jacob to decide to come home. So, logically, there’s no reason why I should feel Adam’s presence, he never lived in this apartment with me and Max. Sometimes I swear I see him, on my drive to work, heading into a gas station, walking down the street, but each time the apparition is gone as quickly as it arrived, leaving nothing behind or perhaps a baffled stranger who resembles him, his sauntering walk, his sneering laugh, his blond golden-boy hair.

I can rationalize away these feelings, but the problem is, they seem to be impacting on Max. Not only is he adamant that his daddy visits him, but lately he’s described seeing strange people too. I’m confident they’re nightmares, but I want to get a professional opinion on how to handle the situation.

“Where are we going Mommy?” he asks me from the back of the car.

“We’re going to see a doctor,” I reply, keeping my voice light.

“Are you sick?” he asks worriedly, his brow furrowed.

“No. Mommy’s fine. The doctor just needs to see you for a checkup,” I reply calmly, my gaze again darting back at him in the mirror.

“But I’m not sick. I don’t have a tummy ache or anything,” he replies, wrinkling his nose.

“I know sweetie, but sometimes we have to visit the doctor just to make sure everything is okay,” I reassure him.

I’m not sure that visiting a child psychiatrist is right for him, but my friend Sally from work convinced me. Despite Max’s young age when his father died, his loss could still be impacting him, she explained.

Once we arrive at the doctor’s office, the psychiatrist gives Max some crayons and paper and he eagerly begins drawing away with in the corner while I explain as best I can my concerns. He nods as he listens, his face impassive, giving nothing away. When I’m done, he goes over to talk to Max, asking him questions about his drawings and other generic ones to make him feel comfortable.

“Is that you and your dad?” he asks gently, pointing to the picture Max is drawing.

Max nods enthusiastically. “Uh-huh.”

“And what’s he holding?”

“A big teddy and some candy that he won for me at the fair,” he declares proudly.

“Max, what have I told you about telling lies?” I chastise. “My friend who babysits him, Jessica, took him to the fair recently,” I explain.

“No! It was Daddy!” he scowls.

The psychiatrist holds up a hand to silence me, lightly shaking his head. He proceeds to question Max further, asking him to describe his father’s appearance. The description is uncanny, he was too young to have any real memories of Adam, but Max has seen photographs of his father which probably explains it.

“Now Max, do you know what dead means?” the psychiatrist asks gently.

Max nods confidently. “Yes. My daddy’s dead. It means he can’t come back and live with us because he had to go far, far away. Our hamster Hammy died too, he’s in Heaven.”

“Is that where your daddy is?”

“Sometimes,” Max replies.

“Your mom tells me that your daddy’s friends came to see you too, can you tell me about that?”

Now Max looks scared, and my heart breaks a little.

“Don’t wanna.”

“It’s okay, they can’t hurt you. You’re safe here,” the doctor soothes.

“I don’t like them. They’re scary and have no faces…”

“When do you see them?”

“At night…” Max replies.

“When you’re in bed?”

Max nods.

“And how do you know they’re your daddy’s friends?” the doctor gently probes.

“Because they said so. They say they’re going to take me to live with him.” Now Max gets even more upset and starts to cry. “But I don’t want to be dead, I wanna stay with Mom!”

I let my maternal instincts take over and embrace my son, soothing him and reassuring him I’m not going anywhere and that he’s not going to die for a long, long time until he’s a wrinkly old man. Once he’s calmed down and distracted again by the toy motorcycle his uncle gave him that I produce from my purse, the doctor and I move away to talk.

“You have nothing to worry about Ms. Miller, this is all perfectly normal,” the doctor assures me.

“It is?” I ask, chewing on my nails, a nervous habit.

“Perfectly. Max is at an age where he’s becoming more aware of his world. He goes to school with children who have fathers and wishes to have one too. Therefore, he pretends he has a father to fit in, a fun one who treats him with gifts and is the perfect father figure. It’s no different to other children’s imaginary friends. These shadowy figures in his nightmares are a manifestation of his fear and worry surrounding death. While he may not have known your husband, the concept of death is scary to a small child and the fear that he or the ones he loves may die also is incredibly common,” the doctor explains.

“So what should I do?” I ask, my gaze falling on the back of my son's head as he plays, his beautiful blond hair gleaming in the sunshine that streams in through the large windows.

“How often would you say he claims to see his father or these shadow monsters?”

“Not often, it usually seems to be when I’m not around when he’s at school or with a friend who babysits. Once or twice he’s waved at someone when we’re out and told me it was his father, but when I look there’s no one there,” I explain.

“Ah, well there you have it. He is likely struggling with some separation anxiety when you’re not around, andmost likely he has a fear of losing you too. Spend time with him in the real world and he’ll soon forget his imaginary one. I’d like you to bring him back in a couple of weeks so I can check in on his progress, but for now, you have nothing to worry about,” he assures me.

“Thank you, Doctor,” I reply gratefully, feeling as if a weight has been lifted.

“Come on Max, let’s go get ice cream!” I declare happily, even though I know it’s a luxury I can’t afford.

Adam left us penniless and heavily in debt when he died. I’ve been working all hours as a waitress to make ends meet. It hasn’t been easy, but I’m proud I’ve done it alone, refusing to take money from my brother, whose lifestyle I’d rather steer clear of. I love him and he’s a great uncle to Max, but I don’t want to be indebted to anyone, especially not his motorcycle club, the Iron Serpents. After all the drama and danger Adam’s gambling addiction brought us, I want a quiet, law-abiding life for my son.

If Max needs a pretend-perfect father, he can have him. But I refuse to let Adam control me from beyond the grave. He haunted me enough while he was alive.

I know the truth, he was a mean drunk and a lousy father, but Max doesn’t need to.

I’m the one who's here now, and I’ll be damned if I let any man, dead or alive, get between me and my son.