The Ghost in the Dining Room
I have a ghost in my dining room. It fills the space with it’s silence and its presence can be felt throughout the house. Whenever I leave, I must pass it. I look at it. It stares at me. I stare at it. When I return, it’s the first thing I see when I open the door. It makes me feel lost, joy and remorse all at the same time. There is a ghost in my dining room.
Before I lose some readers who may believe that I have an actual spectral manifestation occupying my dining room, I feel that I should elaborate on my situation. As I have written before, I lost one of my friends in the early days of October last year. Although, it shouldn’t have felt like the shock that it was, it still deeply moved me. As I relayed to one of our colleagues, not a week goes by when I haven’t thought about my departed friend.
A few weeks ago, two of our mutual friends gave me the opportunity to visit his office with the offer to take anything that I might want. Allow me to paint a picture for you. My departed friend’s office may have better been described as a library. This was no small academic office, but a cathedral of knowledge. It was one of the largest offices on campus and every inch of it was covered with curiosities waiting to be discovered. There were more books in that office than in some rural libraries that I have visited in my travels. In addition to the books, were bags upon bags of magical tricks and illusions, puppets, balloon animal supplies, video cassettes, audio cassettes, DVDs, CDs, personal memories, a drafting table and so much more. An office? No. This was a sanctuary for the dreamers.
By the time that I visited, I could tell that a few people had already come and taken a fair share. However, to the unknowing observer, one would not have been able to tell. I wasn’t sure what I would want. Slowly over the next several hours, as I began to comb over every inch of that office small things started to appear before me. A magic illusion here, a book there. Each thing seemingly being presented to me by an unseen force saying. “Don’t forget to take this” or “I think that you should read this.” It was as if I was being handed reading assignments from beyond the grave.
As I began to search through the mountain of luggage filled with magical illusions, music, and balloons, I found a bag filled with puppets. Beyond the first puppet, which seemed to be store-bought, I saw several handmade puppets of varying quality. My friend was intrigued by puppets. He was a decent amateur puppeteer. However, even he would admit that my skill and knowledge on the subject far surpassed his rather quickly. As I looked into this bag, I whispered “Don’t worry. You have a home now.” Although a sweet sentiment coming from a puppeteer, from an outsider’s perspective, a creepy thing to say to a doll.
After several hours, I had filled my car. It was never my intention to take that much. I went with the intent to find a book or two. Perhaps leave with a picture. However, each item seemed to say, don’t forget me. I could have taken more. I was instructed that if I had wanted to rent a truck there was a dealership down the road. I probably would have filled that, given the opportunity.
Car loaded to the brim; I looked back inside the office that I had known so well. The stories shared from across the desk. The room to which I had traveled to seek advice, guidance, and fellowship. To the chair in which I professed that I would be honored to have a life like his. To the chair where he admitted that he wanted me to have something more than that. All of that now, just a distant memory. With a final breath, I turned off the lights and watched as gravity slowly closed the door in front of me.
The next day I began loading the items from my car into my dining room. It filled the table and most of the cabinets. If a flat space could be utilized, it was. And there it sits; silently. I know that I need to find a place for all these things. A new bookshelf perhaps? Maybe a cabinet? As I ponder, they still sit. Displaced ghosts of a former life.
I know that I am not alone in dealing with these sorts of ghosts. I suspect that many people have their own ghosts living in their own homes. A memory that lingers in either physical or mental form longing for a past that will never be. How do we expel these ghosts? Should we expel them? How long can the ghost of grief manifest in our lives?
Of course, there are different forms of grief, each with their own level of differing intensities. The ghost in my dining room is not an overbearing unmovable grief. The common misconception is that when one achieves acceptance then the grieving ends. I have not found that to be so. It merely transforms into something new. This ghost of acceptance is a reminder. A reminder that you’re not who you once were, but something new.
In the case of someone passing, this ghost of acceptance can linger through what our departed leave behind. For some it may be in a single piece of jewelry or a book or the echo of a laughter. For others it may be a metaphorical or, in this case, literal library. A library of memories for others to take solace in.
Over the next few weeks, I will slowly begin to remove the ghost from my dining room. It won’t happen all at once. A book here, a set of puppets there. Perhaps there is room on my desk for a small magical curiosity. Only time will tell. Till that point, I will live with my ghosts as many live with theirs, fully aware that one day we will be nothing more than someone else’s ghost. Quietly taking up space in their hearts and on their tables.