His name was John. He was thirty-two. He had a nice house, a stable job, and a lovely wife named Margaret. Well, he had a wife until the twenty second of July, for that was the day he came home to find her on the floor: dead, cold and lifeless.

Now, John did not understand much. In fact, he did not understand anything at all until he met Margaret. She was the answer to his prayers, the love of his life. But that day he lost her, he lost himself too.

Like most people who have lost a loved one, John was depressed. His mind did nothing but think of her and in the few hours of sleep he could manage his dreams did nothing but create her again. John did not know what to do. He attempted to go through the stages of grief, but was somehow always stuck on denial. He could not bring himself to admit that she was gone.

John may have been able to get past this tragic event in his life if it wasn't for the dreams. For, whenever he slept he saw her. She called out his name. She kissed him. She wore the white dress she was buried in and always smiled so brightly. And everytime John would embrace her and ask her how this could be. I thought you were dead, he would say. How did you come back to me?

And then, every time, Margaret would reply, I was never gone, darling. I was just hiding. Come find me. I'm afriad of getting lost. Then, sweaty and shaking, John would awake confused and frightened trying to once again find reality.

One morning after a particularly realistic dream, John was unable to shake the feeling that it was just a dream. He decided that he needed to find his Maggie. So, he grabbed his coat and started searching. He looked everywhere. And he did this day after day for eleven days. It was on the twelfth day that it finally occured.

It had been raining and the dark shadows of the night were still lingering in the morning. John did his routine search, looking in the places he knew that Margaret loved. He walked in the garden, searching for her between the flowers. But only discovered that he was wilting just like them.

He went into town and checked each face he saw, wondering if maybe Margaret's was hiding in the crowd. But as his eyes fled from one face to the next, he saw no difference in them at all. They were all so blank. Begrudgingly and unhappily heading to work. They looked lost.

He visited the graveyard in which she had been buried. He bowed down before her. Touching his head to her headstone. It was cold. He let a few teardrops water the grass above her corpse.

Maggie, he begged. Please come back. I've looked everywhere and I can't find you. I need you, Mags. Please come back to me. I can't go on without you.

When he raised his head, he saw her. Standing before him just like in his dreams. The wind blowing through her long blonde hair and rippling her long white dress.

John, she beckoned.

He stood. He wiped the tears from his eyes. He walked closer to her. He reached for her, but could not feel her. Maggie, was all that his voice could manage to say.

John, she said again. John, I need you to do something for me. I need you to give up looking for me. Can you do that?

John just stared at her, dumbfounded. He had finally found her. He was able to see her. He wanted to see her. He wanted to love her. Why? he pleaded. But why?

Margaret smiled. Because, darling. I'm not lost anymore. But there are others who are. Others who need someone to find them. Others who need someone like you. And I need you to find them. I need you to help them. But I promise we'll see each other again soon.

And just like that she was gone. John was hopelessly broken. He couldn't say goodbye then and most certainly couldn't say goodbye now. Not after he had finally found her. He thought of what Margaret had said. How there were others who were lost. And he thought of the people in town that morning. He thought of how lost they looked and of how lost he felt. If he could no longer find Margaret, he thought, maybe he could find himself.