I wonder if ghosts get older. If they get a glimpse of a life that waited for them if they kept breathing a little longer. & I try to picture that life as they visit us on those long winter nights when the furnace struggles to heat this hundred & twenty year old house & we remember all we’ve lost that once was as real as the dog laying on my lap right now.
In sixth grade I hung out with my friend Matt when he was able & never spoke of his hairless head or the time he had left. & I tried to find an answer, a satisfying explanation, for what I knew, even at eleven years old, was not fair. & it wasn’t fair when I went to his funeral—divine providence couldn’t assuage the numbness in my chest. I think I knew then that this is all there is.
But on my best days I hope a place beyond this one exists for the sake of reunions
to see Matt again & tell him the story of the life that could have been
to see my Grandmother again & tell her that I tried to make her proud
to see Dia again & let her know that so many of us are better because of her
to see Kelly hug Josh again & laugh about those near misses we’ve all had
to see Schiz again & tell him he deserved better than what we had to give
to see Mr. Davis again & thank him for giving us a safe place to grow
to see Paula & Cindy & Nanna & Robert & Paul B. & Gene & Jannette & Chris & even Ken &
Zach H. & Zach T. & Laura & Stephanie & Jessica & Jack & Aubrey & Scott M. & Matt E. &
Amanda & Ian & Mark & Joseph & Bonnie Jean & Ed & Donna & Sue & Regina &
& I never planned to live this long so I hope the ghosts of my loved ones haunt me as I remember all the reasons I’m not dead yet. & today I am thankful I’ve survived myself for as long as I have, to build them a monument to a world worth living in.
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