Ghost visit

Mama,

Last night I was vacuuming our bedroom carpet of our new house, feet away from the bassinet parked in the hallway while Michael paints the baby’s room, and I hoped you were there to see it. Me, vacuuming, the handle hitting my belly every time I pulled it in! In a house we own! With baby things cluttering the hallway! And I thought about how if you were still alive I would have documented every square inch of the house, behind the bedroom door and beside the bathtub, in the garage and backyard, so that you owuld know exactly what it felt like. Since you wouldn’t be able to be there.

And I thought about how in this present predicament, unencumbered by oxygen tubes and a wheelchair and exhaustion and needing help to pee, you could possibly¬†at least be there. Maybe sitting on my bed while I vacuum, pointing out silently that I missed the spot beneath the ottoman. I asked you to give me a sign and promptly ran over a penny–was it you? Something else got caught, and I had to turn off the vacuum, and in the second of turning it over to pull out whatever was causing it to choke, I expected it to be a sign. A golden cross or an old pendant. But it was just a thread, and I didn’t really get the feeling anyone was there.

Kelly and I have been talking lately about needing to get a hold of you. We have considered two TV psychics and are willing to pay big bucks if we ever find them in our area. I feel all I need is a sign that you’re there–I don’t need for you to say anything or tell me what the afterlife is like. I just want to know that you can see me vacuuming when I need you to, that you notice when I need someone to see that I am passive aggressively rolling my eyes at Michael’s horribly dishwashing techniques, that you’ll be there when my daughter is born.

Maybe you’re waiting for the big things. I will be looking for you during the big things.

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