Gifts from the Gone

Photograph by Kendra Maurer

Every ghost story is a tragedy.

Post script to letters unfinished, loves unrequited, stories not quite finished, because they never really are. There’s always more after The End, no matter how much we want outr endings to be Happily Ever After, or even just...Ever After. 

Even a death at the end of extended illness, the kind we think we’re prepared for but really we’re not. We will always have more words, because that’s the nature of being human. To be human is to be unfinished.

Equilibrium not achieved. 

Our end is an ellipsis, not a period. 

Sometimes they stay focused on that One Thing they didn’t quite get to, like me at 3am focusing so hard on my morning’s To Do list that I can't sleep, but I can just get up and do The Thing. They can’t. They need our hands, our help to know that The Thing is done, or will be or can be or The Thing has moved on, too and it’s time to rest.

When we, the living, are lucky, the deceased will have the energy for a final goodbye. To let us know they’re ok, that they made it, and not to worry, we will be too because they will be there for us. That is a parting gift, and maybe that’s a gift to themselves, too. One less dot in the ellipsis of the end of physical life.

I don’t know what’s over there.

No one does and that’s what makes life so precious. We don’t know if we get to jump on this ride again, or get to take a nap or experience some perfect afterlife or impotently watch our loved ones struggle. But those goodbyes...those few afforded moments I’ve been given have helped me be less afraid--and in that more bold. 

Call the boy, kiss the girl, get in that stupid van and experience the drive. This life is visceral and sanguinary. Grab on, keep hold and feel that wind in your face. The ghost world will be there when you’re done.