08 October 2014

Under The Blood Moon

Eclipsed,

the moon loses itself

and fades into orange,

molested by the sun's overbearing light,

on the far side from me;

Everyone loves the Blood Moon.

But I just want the moon back,

I want to know it is there,

when I look up ~

shining glowing whitely

against the night sky

or hovering softly

with the morning's first breath,

I want to know it is there,

whether or not I look up ~

as familiar as your face in the window.

Everyone else loves the Blood Moon.

Hiya Dad,

             I found out yesterday that I am not crazy and ghosts are real.  Of course, I knew both those things already, but sometimes it is nice to get confirmation.  I know you never really believed me when I told you some of my "ghost" stories ~ when Dedo and Grandpa Al came to my hospital room when the kids were born, the breath of Emeraude that wafted past me the day that Grandmommy died, Baba's yellow rose, and all the dead and dying lying in the field at site of The Battle Of New Orleans.  I know you never believed in any hocus-pocus. You must be kinda mad to know now, right? 

            I've seen and felt ghosts of all kinds my whole life ~ some of them are familiar and known to me and some are strangers, unknown to me.  Maybe they know me somehow or they have some connection that I do not understand ~ perhaps to a geographical place or a physical thing.  I've seen you so many times, usually in the little laundry room window or standing very still at the side of a doorway ~ you said you never wanted to leave that house, and I guess you meant it.  Dad, I found out yesterday that Jim and Charlie have seen you, too, so I guess that's pretty good confirmation.  It's funny, I feel you so completely as a well and whole spirit at Tower Ct ~ like the you that exists now has dropped Ego and all of the pretense and all of the posturing and all of the need for superiority, like you are finally really completely whole and happy and above all those negative things that dragged you down all your life.  I feel you that way, so completely, at Mom's new old house ~ I feel you there, so absolutely and purely happy that it is HER house.  You were right there every step of the way, guiding my hand to turn that handle, helping the boys do everything, helping me put in all the flooring go into the crawl space and everything else; I felt your hand on my shoulder as I wrestled with your panty shelves and I was about to give up ~ you put your hand there and whispered, "you can do this, Alys." You are there.  I'm so glad you are a completely whole spirit there, Dad, that you are truly "resting in peace" and contentment and you have no more need for all that horrible baggage you toted around forever when you were alive.  I am so glad it is all gone from you and you can just be.  There, at Tower Ct, you are free.

            At Herriman, I guess the last part of who you were in your lifetime, the last bit of the old you, is hanging on and that's okay with me ~ if you want to stay there forever, that's okay.  Someday, I won't be sad when I catch a shadowed glimpse of you in the window or a doorway or at the top of the stairs.  Someday, it won't hurt this much.  Don't stop, Dad, because despite the grief, I'm glad you are there, too.  Please stick around as long as you want to, because I do actually see you there ~ there, you are still a little frail and a little sad, but you are there, with your know-it-all smile, because you are doing exactly what you wanted: never leaving that house.

I love you.

Love,

Alys