Erica

TW: addiction

I was driving down Route 1A in Maine, excited to start the weekend by camping in Bar Harbor with my parents, brother, and his wife. I had just celebrated one year of sobriety and hadn’t been camping with my family sober in fifteen years. It was a beautiful Friday evening—I had driven three hours straight from work—and as I crossed the bridge that connected you to the island of Bar Harbor, I had the sudden urge to pull over.

At first, I kept driving—I had driven two and a half hours already and was almost at the campground. Although I was very excited—specially to see my brother who had flown up from California—I was also exhausted after a long week of work and just wanted to relax by the campfire and go to bed. But something kept telling me to pull over after the bridge and take a picture. There were bodies of water everywhere, and the sun was on its way to retire for the night. I was finally sober after battling alcoholism for over ten years, and I was happy for the first time I could remember. Within a few seconds, and much to the annoyance of the drives behind me, I pulled onto the right-hand shoulder. I quickly got out of my car, ran back to the edge of the bridge, and snapped a picture on my cell phone. There, I thought as I settled back into my vehicle.

Before I restarted my journey, something brushed up against my arm from the backseat. After hitting my head on the roof of my car once I jumped from the touch, I looked back and smiled at my lone peacock feather I always had with me when I drove. It was a nice decorative piece, the eye of the feather exploded into luxurious deep blues and greens. I smiled at it.

“Hello, Erica,” I whispered. Erica had been my friend I met in a detox program at St. Mary’s hospital in Southern Maine. Despite being an addict like myself, she was smart, beautiful, and had a huge heart that cared for anyone but herself. Tragically, she accidentally overdosed in 2017, and when I found out about her death, my drinking went to a deeper and darker place even I couldn’t have ever imagined. I was devastated.

At the time of her death, Erica and I had both relapsed after leaving detox. It had been a year since I’d seen her, and she messaged me online asking if I wanted to hang out with her on an upcoming weekend. Maybe it was cowardice or lack of empathy, but I made up an excuse and declined. A month went by, and I never heard from her again. A mutual friend—who I had also met during my time in detox—then messaged me asking if I knew Erica had passed away. I’ll never forget the shock. No one really discusses shock when the grieving process is explained. And come to find out, she had died the weekend she wanted to hang out. I had never felt so useless and defeated my whole entire life.

I wasn’t necessarily angry that Erica died, I was angry that she didn’t feel like her life was worth avoiding an overdose. I knew she didn’t mean to kill herself, but the fact that she was so careless for her own safety and well-being speaks volumes to how self-destructive addicts truly are. Sadly enough, Erica’s untimely death (she was only 37 years young) did not prove to be a “wake up call” for my own addiction. Instead of scaring me straight, it made me drink even more. And from the years 2017-2020 I drank so much that I ended up coding on an operating table because in my addictive state, my body was not stable enough to withstand a simple, routine surgery. I would think back to last year when I cheated death, and despite how ridiculous this may sound, a small part of me had always been sad that I didn’t get to be reunited with my friend. But now that I had achieved sobriety, I was grateful to be alive. And I knew Erica was with me. I just needed a sign.

I kept peacock feathers as memorials for Erica because in Greek mythology peacocks were thought to be immortal creatures. When I learned this, I became a little obsessed. Family started buying me peacock gifts—I have a peacock ornament, a pair of pajamas, and even received custom “thank you” cards with beautiful peacocks painted on the front. I wanted every reminder of Erica and how she is immortal as well, and to now also remember that she lives on through me. Especially now that I had achieved sobriety. I smiled again at the feather. I wish you were here, with me. Sober. I love you, Erica, I thought as I scrolled through my phone looking at the pictures I just had to take.

I saw the first one, the sun was a huge ball of white that reflected beautifully on the water. There were a lot of wispy clouds that just teased the sky with kisses. The grass that bordered the water was deep green. As I swiped left to view the other, identical picture I had taken, I couldn’t believe my eyes. In both pictures, right above the grass leading into the water beyond it, there was a bright green dot. It wasn’t a big one, but it was extremely noticeable to the naked eye. And it looked just like the beautiful green that graced my peacock feather. My soul—rather than my eyes—recognized it instantly.

Erica.

Then it all made sense. The sudden urge to pull over to take a picture, the peacock feather grazing me ever so gently from my backseat, the green dot in my photos. It was all Erica. She had visited me from beyond this universe. She, who was so beautiful and kind, found a way back to me. She never visited me before, but I now know she did it because I was finally sober. And finally happy to be alive. And I’m so glad she told me to pull over. She will be forever missed, but never forgotten. And the picture I have will forever be proof and a sign of her immortal soul that lives on through me.