Posts Tagged ‘ghost’

I really enjoy reading http://my91yearoldmom.wordpress.com/.  If you would like to read a sensitive, loving, humorous story of an aging mother, check out “My 91 year old mom.”

Helping to care for my 90 year old mother, I relate to his stories of Tom caring for his mom.  I was going to link to the story of his sister haunting the house, but I could not find it.  It is somewhere in his blog and worthy of your read.  The story of his mother and Mr. Booger head is hysterical.  I particularly relate to the story of his sister’s ghost, for I have had some experience with my own ghost.

David, Evelyn Sheryl

My brother was six years older than I am.  I understand mom would have to tell him to stop giving in to me, when I was little, because I would get spoiled.  But, what I remember is playing by the door when it was time for David to come home from school.  Through the years, David would give me advice on boys and chase away the ones who liked me but I did not return their feelings.  He was my protector and friend.  He made eclairs for us to share and he taught me how to wrap Christmas presents, play backgammon, chess and cribbage, and, when he went into the Air Force, he read my teen angst written letters.  He died in 1990 of Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma.  My brother, David, and I.

My dad became ill around 1998, although I’m sure Hemochromatosis was destroying his body for some time before we found out what was wrong.  This disease is a build-up of iron in the body.  Normally your body excreets it.  Dad’s did not.  It destroys your organs and causes a build up of ammonia in your brain.  Dad was getting to the point where he was difficult to deal with.   Husband and I went to visit them, in Arkansas, to discuss having them move to Wyoming.  Dad was opposed to the move but husband had the idea of giving them the upstairs and we would move into the finished walk-out basement.

David and Dad in 1948

As we sat around their dining room table discussing the move I looked out the patio door.  It was dark outside and our figures reflected in the glass.  I was startled at the resemblance of my dad to my brother.  I had never noticed it before, but there he was, my brother, looking back at me in the glass.  I slowly turned to look at dad, and to verify that there was a resemblance. There was not.  In his 70s, he did not look a thing like his son had.  I swung back to the glass, and the reflection had gone.  I could barely even see the reflection of my father.

I have always thought that my brother was letting me know that he was waiting for dad to join him. My dad died three months after he moved in with us in Wyoming.

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There I’ve said it out loud. WE HAVE A GHOST, or Ghosts. Since you can’t really see the darn things, how are you to know?

When mom lived downstairs, she told us she had  a ghost. Apparently, irritating little chihuahua would sit for hours watching the corner of the room. Always the same corner. Then, the chihuahua ran away. She packed her toys and ran away. Well, since she didn’t have a suitcase, she couldn’t really pack, and since the only tool she really has is her mouth; what she actually did was pick up a toy, take it upstairs, drop it and then go down and get another, until her toy box was empty and my floor was covered.

I thought it was perhaps a new exercise program. Her old one consisting of taking a mouthful of food into the frontroom, going up her stairs to the couch, dropping food on the couch and then crunching very loudly as she eats it. Thereby letting everyone in the room know that she is being abused by being forced to eat YUCKY dog food, when we should be feeding her Chicken. 

Why she did this the first time, the packing and moving thing,  is that mom was getting firm with her. She wasn’t laughing at all chihuahua’s cute tricks, and she had the nerve to swat chihuahua’s backside with a fly swatter, when said chihuahua went across the road. Then, one day, mom’s balance being rather bad lately, she accidently stepped on her and, that was the last indignity, chihuahua said, “I’m outta here.”, packed her bags and moved upstairs.

But, she would sit or lay for hours, at the top of the stairway, starring down. Like, I want to go down but I can’t take it. Mom said it was the ghost.

It seems the ghost liked to stand in the corner in the bedroom, so chihuahua wouldn’t stay in the bedroom and also, the ghost liked my mom’s computer room.  Middle son now half lives in the computer room, since mom moved to her own place. I say half lives because middle son half lives other places, depending on the month.

What is with that anyway? Used to be only girls did sleep-overs. Now, guys do them. Times, they are a changing.  Anyway, middle son tells me that we have a ghost. It resides in his room and he has seen the depression when it sat in a chair. He also says it tried on one of his hats one day. Middle son doesn’t really care about his hats or the chair, he is just afraid the ghost is going to mess up his room.

I will pay the ghost to clean younger sons room, as no one would know if he messed it up, but alas, ghost is afraid to set foot in younger son’s room  for fear of stepping on a plate of macaroni or being overhwelmed by the smell of dirty clothing. Perhaps he is just afraid of becoming lost and no one would find him. Believe me, I know that feeling.

Ghost does not come upstairs. I tried sleeping downstairs for a while, but it is horribly cold and damp in the concrete block, walk-out, finished basement. Either that, or ghost just likes to sleep on top of me. Either way, I’m outta there.

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