There are some days that I still see him. Not in clouded memories. Not in chilling flashbacks. But here, in my life, beside me.
I was sitting today in our former office. It's now our son's room. It has no resemblance to the room he knew, the room we shared. But as I sat there, starring the corner where our computer desk used to be, I saw it there. And he was in it. Th walls were no longer little boy blue. It was just as it was. As it should be.
And for that brief moment, where he and I were together - back then - everything seemed okay.
And then the blue returned. Both on the walls, and in my heart. And he was gone.
I live for those moments. I long for those moments. Brief flecks in time where things are right, okay. Where family is not an abstract term. Where my husband and I live together.
Yesterday, building snowmen which my son in the yard, again I could se him. Beside us. Building right along. I heard his laugh. I saw his smile. I felt his warmth.
Deep down, I know those moments are not real. He is not here. He no longer exists.
People have asked me why I still live here, in the place he died. There's practical reasons. But there are emotional reasons too. There is memories of pain, but many more memories of joy. And when a happy memory collides with the physical space in which it occurred, it becomes something you can touch, taste, feel. For a very brief moment in time, the memory lives a life of its own.
I hate living in a place where the ghosts of the past are all around me. But every so often, in a moment like today, sitting on my son's bed, I'm glad at least I have the ghost to keep me close.
A ghost is better than nothing at all....
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