I feel the ghosts beginning to stir.

Daylight dwindles, warm air dissipates, leaves drop off and die

and in comes the cool breath of grandma, grandpa and great aunt nell.

Twelve years ago november is when my great aunt nell died. 

Childless, alone and living far from anyone while in her 90's--she started calling me long distance to frantically tell me her childhood stories.  I'd write as fast as I could as she told me about her favorite aunt blanche who loved to laugh and dance, her 12 year old cousin who died after the neighbor with TB spit on him, and her own goofy absent-minded mother who one time went to work wearing a slip but no skirt.

There was also a secret that she hovered around, something about her father, that I will never know.

Aunt nell's visits are very subtle, but I feel her here often.  Oh, she is wonderful.  I call on both her and my beloved grandma when I need comfort.  

The day before Valentine's, twenty four years ago, my grandma died in the hospital after visiting hours were over and everyone had left.

Any time my grandma makes even the briefest appearance in one of my dreams, I am absolutely consumed by love, surrounded by love, filled with the knowing that I am loved. 

 October is when her husband, my grandpa, died just five years ago in the nursing home.  He had been quite a character:  funny, lots of friends, always drinking, always getting into some kind of trouble.

Our family followed the hearse in the funeral home limo, past houses with Halloween displays, skeleton hands reaching up through the ground.  My mom and I laughed at those hands as we rode in the limo.  We share a love of the macabre.  I love that about my family, the way we laugh at the darkness, even when sad.

Grandpa hangs out in my dreams now too.  One time he entered the room wearing a clown wig and bright red nose.  Still a character, although his humor in life had been much drier.

September is when the mother of my daughter penny's best friend died, just two years ago.

She was a serious woman, even before she was sick, and her dying had been a long, slow process.  She left behind three young children.

A few days before, I had held her hand, listened as she reviewed her life from start to finish and said goodbye.

Then my daughter held her hand as they whispered a few things to each other and also said goodbye. 

She comes into our home now when penny's friend comes over to play. Hovering, worrying, hovering, worrying.  I have to look away.

A month after she died, I was startled to see her family put up their Halloween decorations, including a skeleton hand reaching up from the ground.  They didn't laugh at that irony, I'm pretty sure.

September is when penny's father died, seven years ago.

A newly recovering drug addict with a still addicted wife, four kids, a heart condition and a lifetime of regret

he ate spaghetti for lunch, and then a sandwich, and then another sandwich and then he laid down, turned blue and died.

The chaos!  Screaming, yelling, police, ambulance, wailing, crying.  Little penny carried the flashbacks in with her suitcase when she came to live with me.

Her father visits me often now, tells me little things about his daughter I didn't know.  Then I curse his soul for the disastrous mess he left behind

and he thanks me for cleaning up, cleaning up, constantly cleaning up after him.  He thanks me with a heartfelt hug and I forgive him, for awhile.

Fall is my absolute favorite time of year.  No longer veiled by the sun and heat of summer, the ghosts emerge with their pleasant chill.   They help me to relax and cozy up to the living.  They whisper "it is what it is" and "you might as well sit back and enjoy the ride."  

They remind me to laugh at what passes for scary in this temporary world.