Echoes of the Ghosts

My paternal grandma, whom I called “Bo”, due to my inability to say “Mable” reliably, was born on 4.27.22, a hundred years ago.

I awoke yesterday feeling not dread but a dull sensation I was forgetting something. A niggling burr within my posterior temporal lobe that I found myself probing throughout the day. Truly digging at, attempting to scratch a deep sensation with a robust finger, Never. Quite. Satisfying. The. Need. To. Terminate. The. Tingle.

Above, you'll see, in my grandma's own handwriting, her family history. Her mom & dad's birthdays, but not deaths. More to dissect from his lack of information in a future blog, but for now, I want to focus on the missing personal history of this woman born 6th in a family which lived in a 2.01 square mile town nestled in the Flint Hills of Kansas, Council Grove. Her history is not written down, but it is not lost.

Supposedly, smell & sound trigger strong emotional memories.

And even though I did not receive one scent from the food being presented on Top Chef tonight, the episode welled up many emotions within me as the chefs were to cook from their souls, and every one of them evoked the spirit of their female lineage.

One of the redeeming qualities of social media is the "memories" section. Especially now since I’ve learned how to block dates, people, pain, with a simple click of a box. This morning, a picture of myself, no more than two, legs asunder, white baby shoes which we now know impeded appropriate ambulation more than promoted, perched on Bo’s lap, as my Uncle Michael, resembling any number of eastern European refugees, sullen, bookend ears keeping his eyes from drooping farther, on the edge of a made bed, with the backdrop of peeling, smoke crusted wallpaper, poorly framing the image. And to further emphasize the time, a cigarette dangling from Grandma’s monkey-strong-grip, yet lamb-ear-soft left hand

The buzz in my lobe that I couldn’t reach was her. Whispering “never forget me. Never forget Michael”. I’m glad I couldn’t tease the ghost from her hiding place.

Recommend listening to Cloud Cult "Song from Oblivion" while reading this and thinking about your historical oblivion