My father died when I was 19 years old, half a world away, and I was left bereft, and disbelieving. Over the years, I have had many occasions of struggle and feeling beat down, and, in those times, especially in the early years after his death, I wished that he would appear to me in some ghost-like form. It never happened. I got angry with my own rationality – I felt cheated. It seemed that some people were able to “see” ghosts – and even if it might only be an illusion, I wanted in on it. It seemed like it might offer some comfort.
When we first brought our children home last year, I had my first sense of connection with a “ghost”. The first sense I had of this “presence” was on the flight home, when I sensed the boys’ mother looking over my left shoulder. I felt that she was watching us, making sure that we were taking good care of her precious ones. That sense of watchfulness remained with me for several months, and, then, it was gone. Was it my imagination? anxiety? I have no idea, but I do feel beholden to this unknown woman who has, whether she is aware of it or not, handed over the care and upbringing of her two children to us, and who trusts us, I feel, through her absence, that we will love them and do everything we can to further their good fortunes and happiness.