Wednesday, September 10, 2008

Droubble: Coda


After a storied career as a prominent skeptic and debunker of paranormal claims, you can understand my chagrin at coming back after my death.

The worst of it, though, started about a week after my death. I wasn’t trying to make contact – at least, not in a conscious way. I was simply following her around, watching her, wanting to see how she was coping with my passing. Self-involved, but how else to fill the hours?

But as I followed her one day, she stopped abruptly, and as I passed through her, it seemed she’d felt it, that she had some idea it was me. From that day on, she became more and more convinced it was me she’d felt. You’d think this would be a solace, but it was like ashes in my mouth, watching my own wife come to believe in something as absurd (even if true) as my ghostly existence, on such little evidence as a chill down her spine, an intuitive hunch. As I helplessly watched her squander the royalties from my very books of skepticism on mediums and psychics, whatever love I’d ever felt for her withered to disgust.

But what to do but watch?

1 comment:

momfox said...

Thinking about your dad on this one? ;)