Walking Among Us

I moved in with my Dad a few years before he passed away and began the arduous task of being his sole provider. Our relationship was nearly nonexistent due to a wealth of poor choices he had made throughout my life. We both very much wanted to create the bond and connection we should have always had; I did my best to make his last few years the happiest of his life. At the time of his passing I had forgiven him completely for all the things he did and never did.

When it was finally his time to be released from suffering Dad seemed to have been forewarned. He knew it was his last day and said his goodbyes to everyone he could. I was completely consumed with grief for not only my father, but for the memories we would never have.

Not long after he died in our home we started noticing strange happenings around us. I tried to explain them away, to find some reason besides the presence of my dead father for the unexplainable. I never could tell ghost stories, it's easier now that I am living one.

The first sign that he walked among us still was subtle. Everyone missed it except my (then) fiancé's cousin, Rick. He was visiting and casual conversation always turned into reminiscence of my dad; as we walk through his house each day we are flooded with memories to talk about. A hush fell over everyone as Rick stood, looking towards the kitchen and very calmly stated; "Your Dad is here".

I did not have a reply for him; just before he stood I had gotten this odd feeling inside me I couldn't explain. Rick went on to say that he had just watched my father walk, upright and with no sense of pain, into the kitchen. Goose bumps rose over my entire body as he explained that my dad was wearing a leather vest and appeared to be a much younger, healthier person than he had known. Rick had only known my father as a fragile, terminally ill man who could barely get out of bed and into a chair; a man whom he had never seen wearing anything more than pajama pants.

I didn't sleep well after everyone left; all I could think about was my dad. Was he really still "here" with me? Very early the next morning Rick came back, he seemed uptight or unusually distant. All he could say to me was, "I had to come tell you something"; "He wants me to tell you he is OK". A look of pure relief fell over him as soon as he had said what he needed to say, we didn't talk about it any more.

During my Dads final month with us he couldn't hold down anything more than toast. We would find ourselves up at all hours making toast, trying to keep down the stomach acid causing him pain. Soon after his death we started smelling toast in the kitchen. Not a constant odor, only for a few minutes randomly. Our usual response to the smell is, he's hungry again. At times when people come over and ask what we are cooking, we simply reply, "Dads making toast".

At our house someone always has a camera ready to catch some random Kodak moment, usually provided by one of the children. I love my camera, in the 3 years I have had it there has not been a single messed up photo. Its shutter works overtime to ensure I can capture each fleeting spectacle no matter how fast the kids are running.

Going through digital images from a recent family gathering I noticed one that appeared over-exposed. I knew digital images don't over-expose the way film used to so I uploaded the image to the computer for a closer look. A photograph captured to memorialize a sweet bonding moment between my son and aunt, during the day and without the presence of interior or exterior lighting. What was this bright figure next to them on the couch? The human like shape of the figure caused a slight indentation on the couch under it. The figure in the photograph was uninvited yet strangely familiar. An arm shaped shadow was cast over my aunts long sleeve shirt.

There are so many smells that have no reason to exist in this house anymore. The random scent of Dads cologne in the bathroom as if he had just showered. I often smell his cherry cigarettes burning only in one corner of the living room; Always the corner that his bed was in, the very corner where he took his last breath.

With every unmistakable aroma, or sign from beyond, I become more convinced that he still walks among us. His time here on earth may have been used up, but he hasn't ceased to leave his footprints on the hearts of those who love him.