There are two types of ghosts: ones that you call in to validate your sense of humanity and this crazy experience; and ones that you fear coming to steal away your sanity in the dark.
The first is a ghost you crave to catch a glimpse of as you enter a room or reach into an old jacket pocket. There are things left unsaid, and you strain to hear the whispers of memories you wish you could replay. These ghosts never come enough; they leave you laughing, loving, and feeling less alone. Your heart is full, and you anticipate their presence in birds and books, old music and buildings that have long converted into new space. There is a hollow echo because you wish they were still living. In their memory you almost believe you can bridge that gap between life and death, and find the connection, an unseen truth, after all.
The second ghost you’re less inclined to have within your home. There are things better left unsaid, and you fear the heavy weight of being anchored into moments you would prefer to let go. Objects become embodied and you fear their magnetism. Thoughts are electrified and the peace you crave doesn’t come. You are haunted by what won’t be laid to rest. You grapple with glimpses of ugly, gnarled visions, so much so you don’t look closely at any one thing. You fear getting dragged into the deterioration, as if it will eat away at you and there will be no escape.
How can death drive two distinct states of being? Perhaps they are not so separate as life breaks down. That which is a mystery can be quite unnerving and curious all at once. Whatever comes for us, either good or bad, is not to be ignored.
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My mom passed; I’m still unclear about how I feel about it. I’m surely grieving but also so detached, unlike when my dad died and a tidal wave came over me. In fact, the lack of emotion right now leaves fumbling in the dark for a light switch that will illuminate all that surrounds this space and time. I wonder did I truly get the grieving out the past three years or is the tidal wave still to come?