Ghosts
Mining for memories
I once lived in a haunted house.
At least that’s what the people who bought the house from me thought. After they signed all the contracts and were planning to move in, they heard that my husband had died in the house. This was not true. He had died in the hospital, on a morphine drip, his best friend sitting beside him while I lie outside his room on a bench in the corridor, no longer able to witness him as he left this life.
But the buyers of my house heard otherwise and there’s no changing someone’s mind just because what they believe is not factual. The truth is that they should have been so lucky as to have Barry haunt their house. I can only imagine his ghost would be even more fun to live with than a human Barry who had to worry about pesky things like getting to work on time, filling the car up with gas and explaining the unexplainable to three little kids.
The whole reason I sold the house was because Barry was no longer there. He wasn’t anywhere.
But, like I said, facts are not particularly persuasive to anyone, including me. I still keep looking for him and expect I might find him somewhere. I look for a sign from him, that he understands and approves of what I’m doing with my life.
When this doesn’t work, I try to imagine old man Barry and what he’d be cranky about. Politics? Arthritis? The stupid tattoos all the young people are so fond of?
My last resort is mining for memories. The mundane ones are the most difficult. I try to remember Sunday morning pancakes or arguing over who gets up for the two a.m. feeding. I do remember the time he revenge farted in the four-year-old’s bedroom and I can almost feel the heaviness of the air as we sat under a bridge perched on his motorcycle waiting for the rain to stop.
It’s all I have and it’s not nearly enough. Memories are so flimsy and ephemeral. Like ghosts.
Please hit the ❤️ button at the bottom of this newsletter if you like it here! —Lori
This is so good, that I can’t quite get my words together. I have a friend going through this now, her husband in the hospice unit at the hospital. She wanted him to die at home, but had to pivot, as he’s been in the hospital for more than a month already, and wasn’t able to be released. These are conversations so difficult to have, I appreciate how you imagine what Barry’s ghost would be like, all the while longing for him. I also can imagine you hollowed out in the corridor. My Dad couldn’t come into their bedroom at the end, when my mom was calling for him from the hospital bed set up next to their marital bed. He sat stunned, in the living room, with my husband. My sisters and I had our hands on her, the hospice nurse just happened to be there too, which was lucky. We called him in after her last breath. He collapsed to sitting and stared and stared at her grey empty face. All he could say was “wow,” no other words were available. They had been together 67 years, married for almost 65 years. No one is prepared for this, even if they know it’s coming.
Lori, Your writing is so expressive and beautiful and the thoughts you shared are so precious. This piece reminded me to cherish each moment. Keep those memories close to your heart and thank you for sharing.