The Ghost of a Memory
My writing marathon has resurrected a ghost of a memory. As I ascended the grand old opera house staircase in Lincoln, Nebraska this past weekend, I looked at my reflection in the antiquated mirror. My reflection seemed to hover in the air, and it immediately transported me back in time to leave me wondering if this life really just is smoke and mirrors.
I remember when I was pregnant with Ian. It was August and after a risky and painful bout of preterm labor, my doctor sent me to bed for two full weeks; our moms arrived to our home in Middletown Springs, Vermont to care for baby Colin while Derrick continued to bring home the bacon. Although it was fantastic to have our moms so close, each for a week at a time, I was frustrated about being confined to bed. I was nervous if baby Ian would be born early, and if he was, would his lungs be prepared to meet this big, bad world. Why was he so eager to embrace this world when I was being forced to cocoon him a bit longer?
I remember on the fifteen day of my forced hybernation. Our moms had returned to their homes the day before, and our small family of 3 and a half were once again on our own. I awoke at 3:03 in the morning. As I was lying on my left side staring in a calmly peaceful way across my sleeping husband, I noticed that there was a woman hovering next to his side of the bed. She gazed down lovingly watching him sleep. Her stiff white shirt collared her neck with ruffles, and her cats-eyed shaped glasses framed her warm and wistful gaze. She never looked at me. My gaze never left her, and there I lay watching her watch him. When she dissipated into thin air, my peacefulness left me. Abruptly, I flipped over my awkwardly pregnant body and raced into the nursery. Colin slept soundly on his belly with his legs drawn up beneath him. I covered him with the light blanket, but let my hand rest on his back for a few assuring breaths. I returned to bed and my original position while waiting for my husband to awake at the predetermined time on his alarm clock.
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| This is actually my great Aunt Ida... |
This was the first time that I saw a ghost. A couple of times in my life now, usually when my heart is most anxious, I experience the presence of a loved one long since lost. A few months later, while I nursed our little one in the colorful midnight hour of Christmas, this ghostly figure would return to me again. Some people say that they don't believe in ghosts, or angels for that matter, and while my mysterious visitor could have been either, I believe because I have seen.
