Retracing Our Steps ...Part 2 ....Reliving the Dream

He knew the body had a spiritual aspect and “spirit,” was real,
because of his experiences—which, he could suppress,
but not erase from memory.
― Sol Luckman

Reliving the Dream

I experienced a vivid flashback of a moment spent with Carrie, my deceased wife, but it was more than a realistic memory—I relived the event.

The event was so concrete and real it shocked me and I felt that I might be the result of the head injury I suffered as a result of the accident that took Carrie’s life.

I was so troubled by the incident that I confessed my concerns to Cat Eaton, the wife of my publisher and a long-time friend.

“Are you sure you didn’t doze off and dream?” Cat asked, looking concerned.

I handed her a glass of Yellow tail and sst down beside her on the couch.

I shook my head. “It came on me suddenly—frankly, I thought I was having an aneurism—and then, there she was and I was reliving that day at Holmes Beach—one of my happiest memories.”

Her eyes brighten. “Then maybe it was serendipity—you know, one of those once in a lifetime occurrences that are magical but impossible to fathom.”

“Maybe,” I concede, but still continue to frown. I’m struggling to wrap my mind around something that may turn out to be a never-to-be repeated event.

“Do you think Carrie was trying to reach out and comfort you?” Cat asks suddenly.

My heart leaps at the suggestion—it was a notion in back of my mind I was hesitant to voice—partly because of reticence, but mostly because it was a sacred moment, and vocalizing it might somehow diminish its wonder.

I pondered how to answer as I stared into the fire thinking of that last kiss.

“You know, Cat, if Carrie somehow gave me this one last moment, I want to savor it the rest of my life.”

She leans over and hugs me. “You are very special Daniel Gregg—you’re one of the sweetest, most romantic men I know—and if anyone is entitled to a magical moment it’s you.”

Cat’s encouragement helps me deal with the aftermath of my experience and it consoles me to know she doesn’t think me delusional.

But the more I think about the incident of reliving the past I begin to doubt Carrie had anything at all to do with it. She seemed as helplessly caught up in the moment as I was.

Since people just don’t spontaneously relive events, there has to be some other explanation.

But if Carrie didn’t cause it, what did?

Could it have been triggered by one of those anomalies the neurosurgeon detected in his tests? It’s a possibility—and then a thought hits me:

What if such a beautiful experience turns out to be simply the result of a blood clot in my brain?

I resolve to have an answer and the only way is to try to repeat the very steps that enabled me to travel back and be with her.

It doesn’t feel ghoulish or morbid to want to relive moments with Carrie. I’m not attempting to hold a séance—I just want to access my own lived experiences.

I got out the photo albums, but this time, choose our trip to BC. I find Carrie’s journal entries from our ski weekend at Whistler and also retrieve her ski jacket.

Once again I spent an hour perusing the photos, and then read her journal entries. As soon as I hold her ski jacket, the same sensations occur as before—the same blinding flash, the momentary blackout and then, awakening in another place surrounded by familiar sights and sounds—and Carrie’s voice.

“It’s so magical here, Daniel—high in the mountains, in a winter fairy land.”

The joy on her face is childlike and innocent. We’re standing in the Whistler village with huge fluffy snowflakes falling about us. I kiss her slowly, savoring the moment, and the world creeps away, leaving only my image reflected in her eyes.

We have a romantic dinner in a local steakhouse and walk the streets peering in windows and marveling at the mountain peaks towering above us.

And just as we’re about to go up on a ski lift, everything goes dark and when I open my eyes she’s gone.

It went that way over the next few weeks—I’d experiment with different photos and personal objects of Carrie’s and discover I could relive all kinds of moments from our lives—not all romantic or happy, but all of them real.

In mid May, the neurosurgeon informed me my memory loss was in fact related to an area of the brain where he observed anomalies and suggested surgery might help.

I politely declined, and Cat agreed.

She sat on my couch smiling, a glass of Shiraz in her hand.

“I told you a long time ago to fall in love for at least once in your life, Daniel—well, you did and you and Carrie enjoyed several happy years together. So now I’m telling you, go back and fall in love over and over again. You love Carrie, Daniel—love always returns.”

She’s a wise woman, Cat, and like me, an incurable romantic.

She shares my passion for the Thirties, rainy days and sappy romances—and now, being enchanted by revisiting a lost love.

© 2026, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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