then memories are films about ghosts.”
-- Counting Crows
Like Adam Duritz, sometimes I think with faint sadness of ghosts from the past. Those people whose names conjure warmth or laughter or stories, those people I wish I still knew so they could know my husband, my children, my older self. They are people whose season in my life has passed, and mostly I am accepting of this coming and going.
Yesterday one of my most prominent ghosts said good-bye to his father. Not unexpectedly, but far too soon. And for him, and his wonderful family, I find myself heartbroken.
Though I am cognizant and accepting of seasons and their passing, there are people I used to think I’d always know. People for whom I had assumed I’d always be able to be there. I am struck by this deep sadness and loss, on behalf of others for whom I can do nothing. There is an urge to help, but to them, I am also just a ghost.
Today my little girls and I ditched the to-do list and went adventuring, through thousands of buttercups, strawberry fields, an antique café and ice cream parlor. My oldest played hooky and we wandered, unhurried, through a bright, gorgeous day. I continue to grieve, vicariously and to no avail. But I am covered by a sense of peace and overwhelming gratitude for this family, for our life together, and for the gift of today.