I Ran Over a Ghost Today

I decorate—it’s just what I do.

When the kids were little, they always had a crazy little holiday wonderland in our home. I hung rubber bats from the ceiling at Halloween. We had 4-foot singing Santas at Christmas.

Holidays were family time, and I loved every one of them.

We would add a new tradition each year and keep the ones that stuck.

One of them was hiding a pickle on the tree. Whoever found it got to open the first present.

The kids loved it.

They would barrel down the hall or up the stairs, knocking into each other and anything in their way, laughing the whole time.

One year, they knocked over the tree.

Bryant, with his great wit, said,

“Well I guess this will help with getting the tree put away before New Year’s.”

I wanted to clobber him.

Putting up decorations was fun—exciting.

Taking them down always felt gloomy, like we had to wait a whole year for that feeling to come back.

That Christmas has played in my head since Bryant left me.

I haven’t decorated since Halloween.

He died November 7th.

There’s still a purple and black spooky tree outside my window.

I ran over a ghost today.

I sat there crying about it.

He was actually pretty awesome—metal, with orange bulbs for eyes that lit up when the batteries were fresh. You could see him glowing from the car as you pulled up to the house.

I don’t know why I haven’t taken anything down.

Or why running over a ghost matters so much…

when I’m not decorating anymore anyway.