Ghosts of Memories

Ghosts are not scary specters but the presence of those we love who are no longer with us. I could feel them when I sat on the screened-in porch of the house I grew up in. The lower three sides were red brick, with the upper part screened in. During the time between when my dad died and the funeral, I liked going to sit on the porch, listening to the birds sing and feeling the soft summer breeze. As I looked around the room, sometimes with tears in my eyes, I could feel those that I love with me.

I looked in the corner where my mom’s favorite chair was and remembered how she would love to sit and read the Sunday paper there. The card table was where the family played many gin rummy games through all the generations. My mom was the rummy champion and did not like to lose, even to children. She once said to a neighborhood kid,” “You little shit!’ when he beat her at cards! Mom was also a great playmate for her grandchildren as she never lost her spirit of imagination or the child within her. Many games of school were played with my nieces and nephew. Mom would like to be the student who would get in trouble.

Growing up in Syracuse, NY, the back porch was only a seasonal place to go, but we made the most of the time we used it. It was a place for visiting with family and friends. My grandparents on my father’s side visited frequently, and we often ended up on the porch. There were a lot of good conversations and laughter. It was also where we would gather for picnics, which were a big thing at our house. Dad would BBQ in the backyard, there would be a game of volleyball going on, and people would either gather outside or sit on the porch. Friday night Lockwood dinners would often start on the porch with hors d’oeuvres and visiting before heading in for the main meal. We also had many summer birthdays, and the porch was a great place to celebrate.

As I sat on the back porch remembering all the good times, I was also sad, knowing the house would soon belong to another family. We were so fortunate that both my parents were able to die at home, surrounded by the family who loved them. When my dad died, it ended an era of my life. I’m fortunate to have photos of our good times there. Even better are the memories that I carry in my heart.