Ghost Story
Happy Hallowe'en!
I'm a "recovering" Catholic. I don't believe much (but, I do believe I'll have another beer
I know people who've seen my dad.
The day my dad died was a traumatic, nearly incomprehensible thing. One minute I was sitting on his bed, talking stuff inconsequential and consequential; "Don't worry about stuff. It's just a waste of time..." Two hours later he proved the point by dying.
One minute he was there, and the next--no dad. All or nothing. 24 grams of difference, they say.
When the doctor came in and told us he did all he could do, my mom collapsed into my brother's arms and wept. It's one of the few times I've ever seen him cry. My sister grabbed onto me, and me? All I could do was not believe it. It was inconceivable that my father could die, and I couldn't imagine what life, for us, on the other side of that event, would be like. It didn't occur to me to think about him. He was dead, and that was it. His troubles had ceased. I remember crying violently and pounding on my leg in disbelief, like it would wake me from a nightmare. Pound pound pound. For all the good it did. Dad was just as dead.
And life was just as changed. It would never go back. My family went in to see Dad's body to see him at rest. I demurred. Mom told me it would reassure me, but I said no. I've never regretted that decision. My memories of my father are only of him alive. *
We went back to our house, stunned. No more Dad. We were cried out, in shock; not much to say, not much to be said, really. And then the relatives started showing up, with casseroles, with sympathy, and with stories...and a miracle. Within two hours, my morbid Uncle Rob and his brother-in-hijinks, Uncle Bill, had us laughing hysterically--my Mom, too, laughing gratefully at their jokes and cutting up. It's my fondest memory of my uncles, and whenever I see their kids I remind them of it.
But at some point, everyone had to leave. We were exhausted. I had a date that night, and I cancelled. I stayed at home with sister and Mom and tried to make sense of it all. Failing that, we all went to bed early....
I was the last to get up. I hadn't slept well and was restless all night. I groggily made my way to the kitchen, noting that coffee would be nothing like my father had made it--thick, black and slightly chewy. He'd learned to make coffee in the Navy. Both my mother and sister were up. They looked at me. My mother looked at me gravely.
"Did you see Dad?"
HUH?!
"I saw dad last night," my mother said. "So did I," said my sister.
What'd you see? Are you sure it was him?
"Yes. I saw a flashlight first, like when your dad would get up in the middle of the night. I looked at him and I said 'John?' He told me not to be afraid--that everything was going to be alright."
What'd he look like, mom?
"He was beautiful. He seemed so at peace. He said not to worry about him, he was alright, and everything was going to be fine. Then he walked away. I got up to follow him, but he was gone. So I went to your sister's room, and she was sitting up in bed." My sister nodded. "She looked at me and said, "Did you see him?"
I looked at my sister. "You saw him, too?"
"Yeah. I saw a light, and I saw him. He said he was alright, and everything would be fine. The mom showed up."
"Did you see him?"
No. (But that doesn't mean anything--I'm as psychic as a brick.)
Both my sister and my mother I consider rational people. This was twenty years before my mother's Alzheimer's diagnosis. After my father's death, she would go to work at a mall bookstore, and for the majority of the time before her retirement, worked the mall Information Booth--ironic, as that's the least-likely job for someone who would suffer from short-term memory loss. I could argue that the shock of my father's death triggered some chemical spurt in their brains to manifest his image (the way they say that those stories of "life flashing before your eyes" is caused by strength-producing adrenaline being released through your system). I don't know, but I suspect not. In the subsequent years, when I've heard similar stories--many of which came from an all-day session recording people's near-death experiences--I've been alert to the similarities between those stories and my mother and sister's. For instance, the phrase that seems to be a lulling mantra--"Don't worry about me, I'm alright and everything is going to be fine"--is common in the majority of these stories. The similarities are striking--unnervingly so.
But is that real or the imagination? Are we consoling ourselves through brain chemistry, or does St. Peter allow a free phone-call at check-in? Either way, I find myself marvelling at the mechanics of the Universe that would provide such comfort. Does it work for everybody? How about when everything isn't okay, and not fine?? Do the dead return to console in war? How about a death by violence? Are those the ghosts who wander the Earth as wraiths, poltergeists and banshees?** In death, apparently, one size does not fit all.***
We will all die (Garrison Keillor says that "Nature doesn't care about your golden years--it's aiming for turnover" and that's exactly right). But some of us could die "better" than others. One hopes that when The End comes for us, we can have the opportunity to reassure those we love...one way or another. It's the unfinished business of a finished life. The opportunity of a lifetime.
"Don't worry about me. Everything's going to be alright."
Reading over this, I'm a bit frustrated that there are far too many questions and not enough answers, but I suppose I won't know those answers until I cross-over, with the possibility of discovering The Big Picture.
When I do, I'll get back to ya.
*Subsequently, when my Mom died, I was the one to go make sure the funeral arrangements had been met, so I elected to view the body. My brother and sister did not. My sister-in-law, Jane, went with me. I've never regretted that decision, either, relieving them of that task.
** I'm sure I mentioned my psychic-friend. On this subject he was blunt: "Ghosts are ass-holes!" he said. He was very contemptuous of them.
*** I remember reading that Stanley Kubrick thought his film of "The Shining" was, actually, quite hopeful. "Isn't anything that implies life after death?" But Kubrick gave death his own spin by implying that it could be just another trap, waiting to make life...or death...hell.
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Bumper-sticker of the day: "Yes! This is my truck and NO! I won't help you move"
Song in me head: "Mrs. Robinson" (Simon and Garfunkle)
1 comment:
Wow, That is quite the story. Makes you think. Thanks for sharing that. Steve B.
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