The ghosts of happy times past. . . .

I went to my parents' house today to see if there were some Thanksgiving decorations I could borrow to decorate the tables at my house when we have the B family here for Thanksgiving--there will be twenty-three or twenty-five of us. I was all alone in the house with the ghosts of happy times past.

As I looked through all Mom's things that might be useful to borrow for the party (extra salt and pepper shakers, candles, decorations, etc.), I kept flashing back to times past when the house was happy and vibrant, full of people and love, and my parents were still themselves and living there. It was like I could hear the echo of all the happy family gatherings echoing in the silence of the house. It was very poignant. It is often difficult for me to go in the house but it was particularly emotional for me today.

My mother in her prime was such a great hostess and always made people feel so welcome that we often had a house full of visitors. For meals like Thanksgiving, I was always the assistant--setting the table, making a centerpiece, making sure there were salt and pepper shakers and butter on the table, and details like that. And all the "things" that I was looking through were so "my mother" that I was just transported back into the past to a time when she "owned" them. And yet, the "life" is out of all of them. They're just things. Just lifeless things. The hand that chose them, cared for them and used them is absent now and the life has gone out of them and the life has gone out of the house.