When the house is silent, I strain to listen for the sound of his walker scraping against the laminate floor, or his laugh, a bark followed by unreserved chortles. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I see him savoring his favorite foods in the kitchen, or whispering into my grandmother’s lonely ears. I wish she could feel his presence too.
People claim I’m dreaming. The people who fear ghosts and question their existence. I can’t afford that doubt, because then I’d have to face life without him. And if you ask me, that’s a hell of a lot scarier than ghosts.