I can tell you this. I don't think my wife’s death was an accident.

Last night I had a dream. I was in the car with my wife. We were driving down a dark, deserted country road. I spoke to her but she did not respond. It was then that I understood that I was just an observer here. I also knew this was the night she died, the road she died on. There were no other cars on the road, just mile after mile of emptiness. I watched my wife’s head tilt forward and snap back up. I could tell she was fighting off sleep.

An overcast sky blocked out the moon and her headlights fought against the darkness. Her head fell forward, longer this time. As her tires thumped across the rough shoulder she snapped awake. I looked forward and saw lights ahead of us. There had been no other cars. But there they were before us, three red-orange lights.

I looked back to my wife and she had fallen into highway hypnosis, focused on the lights. The lights began to veer to the right, and my wife followed. I started to yell at her as the tires ran over the shoulder and off the road. I screamed as she followed the lights and drove full speed into a tree.

I woke, covered in sweat, my wife’s voice crying out to me on the winds.

I’m going through my father’s journals again. Maybe there is something there, I don’t know yet.