Loves Ghost

Tucked away amongst orchards and vineyards, is an out of the way rural cemetery. There is no sign post, just a small dirt parking area for about a dozen cars. I’m sure those buried here were born and raised in the area. The area is dotted with small farms, with people growing wheat, potatoes and sugar beet. The dates on many headstones go back to the 1860’s. I would guess, that there are no more then 100 graves, scattered between oak trees here and there. Some graves didn’t have headstones, but were just mounds of earth. Many of the stones had fallen or been tipped over, some were so overgrown with moss you could no longer read the names.

I had been coming to this place for about a year now, when time permitted, to mow the grounds, and keep the parking area clean, so it would show passer-by’s and people who came to visit the little stone church, that someone still cared. It would be nice to believe that those folks buried here would also feel they were not forgotten as well. There were three weathered wooden benches within the cemetery, and after my work was done, I decided I would try to do some writing.

I have found this to be a wonderfully peaceful place to write and contemplate. Just an occasional car would pass by. I could hear it approaching long before I would look up and see them pass. On that particular morning, as I turned and walked to one of the benches, I saw a woman waiting by the fence. She was a strikingly beautiful woman in her 50’s, with radiant shoulder length red hair and deep blue eyes. She was wearing a blue chiffon dress.

I didn’t see any other car near by, so I assumed she had been dropped off by a friend, or had walked down the road to get here. She had a warm, gentle, yet shy smile as she waved hi to me, and I waved back. I carried on walking, with pad and pen in hand, and approached the wrought iron gate, as I said, “Good morning”. Gently she pushed one side of the gate open, and I thanked her. “I didn’t expect to find anyone here today, my name is Tim, and I enjoy coming here for the peace and quiet to do my writing”. She told me her name was Sally, and that she hadn’t been waiting long.

As we both made small talk, walking past many headstones, she asked me if someone here was a family member…and I told her no. “I stop by now and then to keep the lawns looking nice and to write”… and she nodded. She looked down and saw the pad of paper I was holding, and smiled. Autumn was here, and the trees were swaying, caught in the golden rays of sunshine. To me, they looked like angels descending from heaven.

When we reached the bench I was walking towards, I stopped and sat down and offered her a seat as well. She politely smiled and shook her head no. “I won’t take up much more of your time Tim; I know how important your writing is to you”. Her comment caught me off guard, and I sensed something in her voice that I couldn’t put my finger on. I sensed the tone of sadness. Thinking she must also be cold, but she didn’t say.

“I often stop at the gate, especially on this day”, she whispered, and as I looked up, I saw a tear roll down her cheek. At that moment, she reached out her hand, and offered it to me as she asked; would you walk with me for a few minutes, Tim”? I replied yes, and sat my pad and pen down. Hand in hand we walked past headstones of every shape and size, but none were new.

In a few minutes, we reached a tall headstone in the shape of an angel. I knew someone had gone to great time and detail, to make someone’s resting place a special one. Sally looked first at the angel, then turned and looked into my eyes. There were tears rolling down her cheeks, As she looked down to the base of the headstone, my eyes looked down too, I saw the name “Sally”, in large letters, followed by a small dedication from the one who loved her in life, and in death. It was dedicated by her husband Steven.

When she looked up into my eyes, a glow appeared around her, as she sadly told me, that this was where she was placed to rest. She was still holding my hand, and I could feel the warmth of her skin. “For more years then I can recall, I have waited down at the gate, hoping that Steven would come to see me”…and she took a deep breath. “He must have passed away too, he must have…. He could never have stayed away”… and her tears started to flow freely.

I have read your stories Tim, as you wrote them, I have cried when the final line was penned. You have a gift, a gift of compassion, of empathy for those who have died. Each of us have a story left to share, but our voices have been silenced. At least for me, you share what we cannot whisper… and that is a source of great comfort to me, Tim”. It was at that moment, that she let go of my hand, and touched her headstone, as she turned and whispered, “Good-bye”. She slowly disappeared.

She left me with more to ponder on, then the tears being wiped from my eyes as I returned to the wooden bench, where my pen and paper sat. Sally had instilled in me, another reminder, that love and sadness are both powerful lights that shine within our souls, in life and in death.

That was three years ago, I have never seen Sally again, and although I have tried to find Steven for her I have been unsuccessful.

I think Sally knew he had moved on in his life, but I hope and believe he still remembers the special love they shared together.