Mind Ghosts

I took a long journey down a short road. The road was built of dirt and gravel and as my truck rolled over the surface the wheels kicked up huge dust clouds which hung suspended, as thick as the memories that swirled in my mind. I drove past the homes of people whom I used to call neighbors and past the new homes whose occupants I had never met. I casually waived to a couple working in their yard. They offered a cautious ‘howdy stranger’ nod to me then followed me with suspicious eyes long after I drove by.

I pulled into the driveway of a small house with tan siding and for the first time in a long time I forced myself to look at it. I have been here many times since my divorce, but I always focused on the front door, refusing to acknowledge that anything else about this place existed, prefering to just gather up my girls and drive away quickly. It was a defense mechanism I used to protect myself from the debris of lost hope that the house used to bury me under, suffocating my soul. But, this evening was going to be different because time had made me stronger. I felt that I was ready to return to the scene where I had fought a war of emotional Armageddon and now I wanted to make peace with this place. I was returning to the house where my ghost lives.

It was just a simple invitation to dinner, but to my girls, it was a big deal. They were excited and I hid my apprehension as I scanned the place that used to be my home. It didn’t take long before my ghost appeared. I first saw him walking through the living room. He smiled and pointed to the television that we used to watch as a family and asked if I remembered all of the Disney movies that we had seen over and over, until the words that the characters sang were as familiar as our own faces. Then he moved throughout the house showing me various artifacts from my married days, lingering over each one and happily recalling the details of their history. I followed my ghost as he roamed through the rooms searching for old memories. The kitchen table, the silver goblets, the king-sized bed…all of these were treasured companions to my ghost, but to me they were sharp stabs at my heart. I asked my ghost if he remembered any of the dark times and didn’t he still see some of the shadows that darted about just out of eyesight? He looked at me blankly, without understanding. He prefers to see only the good things that happened in the house, refusing to admit that I no longer belong there. He will not accept that someone else has taken my place.

 My ghost resumed his roaming and I took another long look at him. As I watched him I remembered being a husband and some of the intimate talks my wife and I would have as lovers and as friends. These memories are still painful, but they are getting easier to handle. Maybe one day, my ghost and I will come to terms with the house and I will feel comfortable visiting.

Later, when it was time for me to leave, I took a moment to look at the house again. The atmosphere will never feel the same for me as it once did, long ago, but I understand that change is the tapestry of life. If I experience change then that means that I am experiencing life. As long as I have that, then walking with old ghosts can be a treasure in itself.

Take care.