Whispers of Ghosts

St. Michaels Street, Oxford 

I'm going to die.

Someday, yes, I'm going to die.

I didn't think much about death before Mike died; probably, many of us never do, until or unless we're hit with that horrific reality of losing someone so close to us.

Now, it seems to be constantly on my mind. The trying to make sense of the reality that he is really gone forever...and that someday, I will join him. Because...

We. Are. All. Going. To. Die.

On one of my recent posts one of the comments was about how our ancestors, living in times before modern medicine and the longer life spans we now enjoy, were likely faced with death so much more than we are. I thought of that myself often on my recent trip abroad, visiting places that contained remnants of human habitation so many more hundreds and thousands of years before we have record here in the US.

Dilapidated castles, old inns and pubs, ancient throughways, towns and cities.

It was as if I could hear the whispers of ghosts; if I was quiet and listened, I could imagine the people, their movements, their lives, their loves and losses and all the things they experienced so long ago. 

They are all gone now, as I will be too one day. As Mike is, already. He is now part of that crowd on the other side, who lived and died; who were present, and are now gone. Millions and billions of them.

All sorts of thoughts and feelings crowd my mind. Panic that I have a limited time left in my own life. Resignation that I will grow older every day and can't stop it. Gratitude that I've had this life to live. Hope that I will find pathways to new ways to enjoy and savor what I have left. And sometimes, the feeling that it's all for naught. No matter what we do we are going to die anyway, so what's the use?

But, I'm more positive than negative. I feel blessed that I have that natural mindset. And I do believe we each have purpose, if we truly look for it. So even though every day I battle the what's-the-use thoughts, I do also make that effort to get up and out, keep writing, playing, working, helping, sharing, living, laughing, crying...loving.

Life is a collection of memories, until we are dust, and someone else's memories...until, perhaps, it is we who are whispering from beyond. I guess I will make room in my scrapbook for a few more pages, until that time, for better or for worse.