Ghosts…..

It has been an interesting weekend. I have helped to produce a play for our local community theatre and Saturday night was the first time I left home and got home in the same day. There is a great deal of work that goes into one of these productions.

After I got everything ready for the play, I released the worry I usually carry around with me when doing something big.It is more self-doubt than worry. I told myself that I had done all I could do. I had done my job and done it well. It was out of my hands. It would be what it would be,

On Saturday, it snowed where I live and it has been a tradition that I make vegetable soup the first time it snows. So, I made soup. Lots of soup. Soup for me and plenty to share with those I care most about. My person, my best friend and my parents. My dad was working and he ate it before my mom got any but she did tell me that he really liked it. So it was nice he told her what she had  missed.

Sunday was the last day of production. My person was there, my best friend and her husband was there, my sister was there. My snarky little brother figure, who directed and produced the play, allowed me to add some of my photography to the set It was great!!!

During Act 1, I sat down in the audience. I had been in the booth for the other two performances. Being who I am, I sat down on a bee. I spent the rest of the play scratching my nether regions.

To quote my person, you are the only person I know who can sit on a bee in a blizzard in an auditorium. That pretty much sums it up.

So, right after the last performance, we begin striking the set. We work until after dark. At one point we decided we needed food. Only one of us had eaten lunch. So we go to a local fast food joint and one of the ladies working hadn’t seen me in the last three and half years. She didn’t know that I was in chapter 2 of my life. She said “(Insert my late husband’s name here) doesn’t get out much anymore does he??”. I was stunned Thought my days of answering this kind of comment were over. I told her about him passing. She said Oh No!!! I am so sorry I didn’t know. He was such a good man. I told her it was fine that he was in a much better place than I.

I got into my car and I cried. I went to deliver stuff for storage and I cried. I went back to the auditorium and I cried. Finally I told those around we what had happened and I walked off to do what needed to be done.

When I wake up this morning, I have  a message on social media from a young man he worked with in a mentoring situation. He was the young man’s mentor when we met. He did everything he could to encourage this young man. He wondered for many years how he turned out. He moved away after he got out of high school.

So this young man contacts me and asked if I will accept his friend request, reminding me that he was that boy from by gone days. I accepted his friend request. He told that he had moved away and that he wanted to look my husband up when he moved back and found out that “we had lost him”. I told he that my late husband had spoken of him often and wondered how he had turned out. He said that he really enjoyed the time he had known him and that he missed him. I told him that I missed him too.

My late husband had no siblings. His parents had gone on before him. His cousins were not close to him. I felt like I was shouldering the load to remind the world that he had been here. He was well known and respected in our small town but yet as his wife, his voice when he could no longer speak for himself, I wore that mantle. It is nice to know that others still mourn the physical presence that he was.

I often wonder, when I go, if there will be anyone to mourn me. Will anyone sit and allow memories to roll down their cheeks in the form of tears when they think of me. I want to be remembered. Everyone does. They may not admit it to the world or to themselves, but they want to be missed when they are no longer physically present.

Today, I had lunch in my car. I ate soup. I thought of what had happened the last 24 hours and I smiled. He did make a difference in the lives of others. He is missed by someone who is not me or some of my relatives. He is missed by a young man, he tried to and apparently helped. Somehow, that makes the load a little lighter. Someone else, should I never take another breathe will remember him. The person he was and the spirit that still remains.

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