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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link="#0563C1" vlink="#954F72"><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal>A Harmless Ghost Story<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Oct 17, 2021<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Marcia J. Wick<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Word Count: 614<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>With ease, my Dear Old Dad swallowed his final breath shortly before noon Monday, September 27, 2021, three weeks shy of his 97<sup>th</sup> birthday October 17. At 91, Mom preceded Dad to the grave four years earlier October 21, only four short days after making sure he got pie and ice cream for his birthday that year. Suddenly, the family had to shift from planning Dad’s party with pie to setting a funeral and burial date that wouldn’t collide with the anniversary of Dad’s birth or Mom’s death and funeral service.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>For Mom, we avoided gathering on Hallows Eve at the cemetery, even though it’s the vigil of a Holy Day. Instead, we buried Mom November 1, All Saints Day, her ashes intact in an urn as per Catholic requirement. Snow dusted the grass that morning, highlighting the precision square corners of the grave. Confused by dementia, Dad kept insisting on warm weather for his burial.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>Unfortunately, the forecast for Dad’s burial October 12 was for temperatures in the 40s with a “feels like” index of 32, low clouds, high winds, and snowy drizzle. The drizzle came early as the six siblings rode to the cemetery in the funeral home limo. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Mom’s not about to let Dad have a warm burial day,” we mused.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>It was eerie to see Mom’s grave reopened to receive my Dad’s casket, although Mom’s ashes were sealed in a cement vault. Second to arrive, Dad’s vault was placed on top of Mom’s. I couldn’t help but ponder the arrangement. To conserve land, married couples were buried one on top of the other, I assumed, rather than side-by-side like my parents had lain in their master bedroom for nearly 70 years. I had also assumed, being older, that Dad would be first in and reside on the bottom level. Now, his remains would remain stacked on top of hers for forever.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>As we arrived at the military cemetery, a picturesque setting at the base of the Colorado Rockies, the moisture tapered, the clouds lifted, and the high country sun warmed me sufficiently to shed the black overcoat that I’d inherited from Mom.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“I guess Mom decided to acquiesce,” I whispered to a sister.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>I envisioned Dad laid out in his casket, dressed in his well-worn teacher’s blazer, a pressed hankie stuffed in its pocket, his fingers secure on the brim of a ball cap embroidered with the United States Air Force logo. <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“You up there, Ed?” Mom would say.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Sorry to keep you waiting, dear,” Dad would reply.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“I thought you’d wait another three weeks to enjoy pie and ice cream on your birthday, but you couldn’t have expected me to hold off the snow for that long,” Mom might mutter.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“I tried to cross over once or twice sooner, but the kids just kept bringing me wonderful meals and, after a while, I lost the keys to the car and couldn’t find my way out of the house.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“I was afraid that would happen. You were getting forgetful when I left. I didn’t want to get stuck like you, lingering for years while the children cooked and cleaned up after me. No thanks. I got out when I could. I know it was rather abrupt and all, falling and hitting my head like that…”Mom would trail off.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Now that we’re together again, dear, could you conjure up a triple berry pie with French vanilla for my birthday, please?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal>“Oh, Ed. There’s no pie in store for you here. But just wait until Hallow’s Eve. You can go trick or treating with all the other old fools around here.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><i>Happy birthday, Dad! Mom’s watching over, I mean under, you now.<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class=MsoNormal><i><o:p> </o:p></i></p><p class=MsoNormal># # #<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div></body></html>