Gifts from the Dead
Yesterday, as I sat typing, a sonic boom erupted from my closet. I jumped and then went to see what had happened. A box had fallen off the top shelf of my closet and its contents had spilled all over the floor. Shoved hastily in the box, was a bag with Tin Tin on it and French writing. Inside the bag, were Nicole's last gifts for the boys and my husband. I had packed them up in my haste without even opening them. I gave the gifts to the boys. French comic books and picture books were objects of delight. For a moment the boys forgot she was dead. They asked where she was and then they remembered. They remembered the grandmother that always showered them with gifts and love. My husband found the French T-shirts she had bought for him and sat down to read to the boys in French. It was good to hear French again. Since she's been gone, the language has become a ghost. In the box, there were also little things for me, some kitchen towels and a calender. The gifts were wonderful and it was like she was with us again.
It is possible that the cat knocked down the box or something explainable happened to disrupt my poorly stacked closet, but I like to believe that Nicole knocked the box down and guided me to the gifts. I like to think she is still giving and reminding us of France, even now that she is gone. Her ghost is here and it whispers to us so we don't forget where we came from.