Talking to Ghosts

If you could say anything to him now, what would it be? It was a question, I can’t remember from who, shortly after John died. I had nothing unsaid with John that was important. We lived the love we shared and said it all the time. We had a short time to say it a lot in the weeks and days before he died. I really drew a blank and then I think I responded with “Where the fuck did you leave the charger for my bike?” Funnily I found the charger shortly after I uttered the words.

It’s been on my mind lately. I’ve been talking to him a lot. I tell him about my day. I tell him about what’s broken and how I managed to fix it myself. I tell him about the lurcher-roo we got last year and how he’d love her. And that the other two are getting white faces and cloudy eyes but are as mad as ever. I tell him about his kids and how proud he’d be of them both. I ask him to send me some sign that he’s proud of me too for keeping on and of course, daily, I tell him how very much he is missed and continues to be adored.

Sometimes I get angry and tell him I’m not impressed that he’s not here to help me with the more challenging things of my day to day life without him. Isn’t it nuts? Angry with the person who caused the problem for not being here after they’re dead to help you through the problem? I remember cursing at the sky one day when I had an argument with the eldest, “You fucked off and left me to parent the female version of yourself, without you Spud. Nice one!” I suspect if he can hear me, that would have gotten a good chuckle.

I get sad at the milestones and the big news days. I tell him he should be here. I tell him how much it guts me to experience everything, even those happy moments, through the foggy lens of grief and feeling robbed.

I tell him too, that I have changed hugely since he died and that I will never be that person again. I tell him that I hope he understands why and that he is happy that I am trusting in myself and discovering who I am now without him even though it was something I never wanted. I tell him that I miss the me I was with him while still being proud of the person I had to become to get through since he died.

I tell him how contradictory it feels for me to love and miss him so and to have met someone else. I tell him how frightening it is to feel all those feelings again for someone special and to know that some day one of us will be without the other.

I tell him I hope he was right and that there is an afterlife where he is reunited with all the people we’ve lost. I tell him I hope there’s a good bar there and to say Hi to them all for me, especially his Mum.

I talk to ghosts. Not just John. I have great chats with my Mum, my Dad, my friends Melanie and Jane. They don’t answer me back but I feel connected to them when I spend time putting together words just addressed to them. It’s a way to keep their spirit in my heart and it summons up the essence of who they were.

And while they don’t answer, they do pop up in my every day. John sends tunes, his favourite ones. My Mum is in every tiny knitting triumph, hack or new skill and in every situation that brings about tittering. My Dad is in every good book I pick up and on my shoulder every time I open this laptop to write. I think he’s usually in every there every time I mutter “For Fuck’s Sake” under my breath. Melanie is alive when I really connect to my heart and follow it. Jane is in my ear when I’m doubting or questioning myself, “Go on girl. Life is too short,” in her beautiful husky voice.

So yes, I talk to ghosts. Wholeheartedly and joyfully.