Ghost

GHOST
T.S.Bowman

         I'm really not sure how I got here. No one here knows how they came to be in this place. I guess knowing is not part of how it works. How long have I been here? I don't know that either. Time is pretty much irrelevant now. Let's just say that I have been watching you for a while now.
I see everything you do. Everything. From the time you wake up in the morning to get yourself prepared for work and the kids off to school, until the time you lie down after tucking them in for the night. I watch while you are sleeping too. I have seen the nights when you cry yourself to sleep and wonder why.
I try to let you know that I am here. I'll occasionally move something small, like your ring, and see you look around in confusion when you realize that it's just a little bit out of place. I always think that the next time I do it will be the time that you finally see me. But you don't see me.
As the days roll by, I see the children grow. From Kindergarten, through Middle School and High School. All the graduation ceremonies. The girl's wedding. But why was there such sorrow mixed with the joy of those days?
I watch as you handle all the milestones of a child's life on your own and I long for a way to help you. Through it all, you have handled yourself with a grace and dignity that defies all the troubles you have seen. You have been constant, solid presence for the children whenever they needed you. I just can't understand why you have chosen to keep doing it all alone. You are so beautiful. Surely there have been others who have wanted to be a part of your life.
Eventually, I see you getting older. The light in your eyes starts to fade as the aging process begins to take its toll. I see all the lonely days when you just putter around the empty house, finding small things to do to while away the time. During those days, I will sometimes put my hand on your shoulder to let you know that you aren't alone. But, still, you don't see me. I really don't do it very often anymore because it seems you almost always cry. I'm not sure if I am the reason you are crying. I think I am, and I don't want that. So I just keep watching and waiting for you to see me.
Then, there comes the day when I see you lying in a hospital bed surrounded by your children and grandchildren. You lie there with your eyes closed, your breathing slow and light. I see the parents, except for your son and daughter, herd the children from the room. Then, I hear your son tell you that it's ok to let go now. I see their tears as you take your last breath.
Then, I feel a hand on my shoulder and know. Now, at long last, you can see me.