My Ghost

Note: first written July 2007

A ghost has been haunting me lately.

I don't mean a floating sheet or lurking shadow that follows me around. My 12 year old self to the contrary, there are no such phantoms. I mean a real ghost.

What is a ghost but a memory? A deep lingering pool of thoughts, sounds, and images that persist well after the actual events are long gone. These are not usually good memories. They are full of loss and regrets; of bright possibilities cankered by tragic flaws.

I have many ghosts about me. So, I think, do you. When you lie sleepless in your darkened bed, do you not feel them swirling about you? Mostly our ghosts are too dim to disturb our thoughts. Sometimes they overwhelm you with their presence.

Ghosts are usually of our own making. We create them, feed them, give them a place to hang their ghostly hats. Here is the kicker: some ghosts arrive from outside our real experience. My ghost is such a one.

I don't know his name. He is a little boy of 3 or 4 years. He has inhabited my thoughts for weeks now. I don't know his name, but I know his story.

Several weeks ago on Lake Keowee in South Carolina, a loving father took his son sailing. It was a beautiful day on the lake with a warm sun and light breezes. I see the smile on that childs' face as if I were there. I feel the quiet pride of the father as he buckles the life jacket on him and shows the child how to sit safely in the boat.

The breeze glides the sail boat over the clear, dark waters of that high mountain lake. The surface reflects the forrested mountainsides that plunge down to the shore. What joy the little boy feels; to be alone on this boat with his All-Powerful Daddy. The father hopes to always remember this time with his child. He will.

Something happened to that little boat. I'm a bit vague on the details. The craft over turned, flipped over, began to sink. The father was thrown out of the boat. His lifejacket keeps him afloat. He yells for his son. He cannot see him.

The boy also wears a life jacket. When he visits me it is a cheerful yellow one with cartoon characters on it. Some part of the jacket gets caught in the rigging of the sail. As the boat sinks, so does the boy.

Did his father see his child dragged down? I do. I see his eyes looking at his All-Powerful Daddy, at me to save him. We cannot.

The search for the child took several weeks and hundreds of man-hours. The lake is well over a hundred feet deep and full of timber. When they found him, the boy was still in his life vest, still with the boat.

I am a new father. I have a two-year old son. I know why this ghost is with me. I see him every night. And every night I cry for his father.

Time is passing, and with it my ghost fades a little. The emotions are still strong but distant somehow. I find other things to occupy my attention, other bits of loss and regret to ponder over in the dark of my bed. Anything is better than looking too closely at my ghostly companion.

It wears my sons' face.