" A SWEET HAUNTING "

" A Sweet Haunting " may be a contradiction in terms, however, no other way can better describe what I've been experiencing. Although I'm of a fanciful imagination, I've nonetheless always been able to clearly define what's real and what isn't. These days, I'm not quite so sure where the line's crossed, especially where physical evidence is involved.

I lead a reasonably simple life. I'm a middle-aged, professional woman and mother of a grown daughter who's currently away at college. I look younger than my years reveal, which is brought to my attention often by younger would-be suitors. I was widowed 11 years ago today after 12 years of marriage at the age of 32. My daughter Miranda was 9 when Eric, my husband, met his terrible fate at age 40.

Eric was a test pilot and while on routine maneuvers, encountered mechanical failure causing the aircraft to nose dive into the sea. While the crash was somewhat cushioned by the Atlantic, he barely lived through it and remained in a coma for several weeks before finally giving into the freedom of death. I was with him during his passing as he regained consciouness for a brief time only, but long enough to grab hold of my hand, express his love for Miranda and myself and plead with me to move on with my life. I was devistated. Ours was a happy marriage; a happy family.

Miranda took these loving memories with her, allowing them to help her through this dark period of her young life until she finally adjusted ( She and I grew much closer together through this tragedy and remain so today). I, on the other hand, threw myself into my work to side-step my profound grief. I'm a historical-fiction novelist under contract, exclusively, with a well known publisher complete with deadlines to meet and occasional office visits. I work primarily from home, but am frequently about researching my projects, as well. Needless to say, on top of motherhood, I managed to keep myself more than busy. I didn't socialize after Eric's death, nor do I still save for a few close friends I get together with from time to time.

As Miranda matured, fulfilling a life of her own, I sought solace by walking the beach at night. Our cottage being directly on Virginia Beach, provided an easy access for me. It seems ironic to have found comfort in the very place where Eric met his untimely demise, but I did. I felt a close connection to him as though his presence was residing there, awaiting my nightly visits. I'd stroll along the coastline through the splashing waves listening to classical music from a walk-man, while other times I sat on the bare sand watching the moon rise over the horizon as the surf rushed the shore. During the summer evenings, I'd sometimes see dolphins leaping into the air in graceful synchronicity, always bringing a smile to my face. And still other times...well...other times, I just wept.

I'd be oblivious to passers-by as they were of me, for I was in my own little world without having the need to uphold the image of J.P. Bentley, the author. I could be Jade, the woman -- the still quietly grief-stricken woman, trying to come to terms with her despair. After all these years I had yet to heal, let alone have another man enter into my life. Then, one year ago today, on the 10th anniversary of Eric's death, on a very cool Autumn night, began a turn of the most bazaar events to forever change my life!