Ella Sits Quietly

If you asked me as a youngin, I would have lied and said no. I don't believe in ghosts. It's rubbish. The spirit is what remains, yes. But only as a memory; shared or kept. Memories are your ghosts; right inside your tiny little head. Some are good and others not. You are frightened by a few, aren't you? It's not so hard to understand. We even talk to them, don't we? We laugh at ourselves for the nonsensical mutterings, be it in our cars or alone doing laundry; anywhere we are visited by a memory. 

I'll share a few memories with you. She was my life. She made breathing fun and exciting; like I couldn't wait for the next one. Ella.

When I met her, she was young and strong, her face and laughter lit up every room she entered. People wanted to be near her. She absently made you feel good; interesting and happy.  She didn't know she was beautiful and would deny it if you told her so; which I did every day. I asked her out countless times; begged would be okay; grovel might even apply once or twice. She would shrug and say "We'll see." I would feel my heart soar at the possibility. I wanted to hold her, even if just for a while.  At last she agreed and even then I didn't have her to myself, I had to share with friends.  It wasn't bad and I'm not complaining. She sat with me and we had quiet moments. I found myself giggling and smiling until my teeth were dry; my cheeks hurt.  When I left her off at her dorm, she took both my hands and looked right into my heart.  She took it from me and locked it away in hers.  I never felt so whole to be half of something so wonderful. I suddenly knew what the word forever was for.

When we married the word we heard most was; "Finally!" We didn't understand at first, but once explained to us, it was more endearing than imagined.  We were a perfect fit.  We enjoyed everything about each other.  I thought I loved her then. The years ahead would prove me absolutely wrong. Loving Ella was simply consuming and the one thing I wanted to always do.

Making love to her was like that "first time exhilaration" every time. I almost always fumbled with buttons on her blouse, trembling at the thought of her perfect breasts. I loved the taste of her skin; so sweet on my lips and tongue; and soft under my hands. She would take them and guide me, show me how to make her feel good.  Ella would close her eyes, whispering my name in the night and beg me make love to her. She would get lost in her passion and I relished watching every minute of her ecstasy. I loved how she bit her lip and smiled just before climaxing. I couldn't wait to feel the heat of her body and mine.  When she kissed and touched me, I never felt more loved, more manly, or desired.  I was all she wanted. Me.

Children came. Ella struggled with wanting to be a good mom which I found hilarious.  She couldn't be anything but. There was an insight, an ability to communicate and never give up; even when that seemed like the only option. She fought to keep them kids until the time was right; though it was often unpopular with our all-knowing teens. I was proud of her because I worked so much and had to be away. She took that blessing of a burden and succeeded with flying colors oftentimes alone.  Ella was amazing. I told her this countless times but she would offer a soft smile and wave it off "Perfectly flawed." she would say, rushing off to the next crisis, or doctor's appointment or rehearsal.

And during this not so simple life, she made mistakes. Don't get me wrong. We fought. Had some knock down drag outs. She could extrapolate a small problem in to a catastrophic event. She could turn a simple social misstep into a vengeful judgment of herself. She never forgot. It hindered her ability to forgive sometimes. And she beat herself up; her looks, her abilities, her very sense of self; allowing weaker people, who could only criticise, to influence her outlook... or is it in-look? This drove me insane. "They're only what they think of you" was her favorite line in a song but she couldn't follow that. It didn't matter. At the end of every day, I held her. I kissed her and told her I would love her tomorrow.

We were just celebrating the new beginning. Getting ready to marry our last child and expecting grand babies galore. We were giddy and proud.  Proud we had succeeded together; survived. Ella looked tired but satisfied. We still took walks and held hands.  She still wore me out in bed and she still loved nothing more than a good laugh. It cleansed her soul she always said. And every day I would tell her she was beautiful and I would love her tomorrow.     

When did the light begin to fade? I don't know, honestly. Worse still, I don't know why I didn't see it.  I know I missed her giggle more and more. I know that instead of the laugh lines she bragged about, she gazed sadly at the worry furrowing her brow. She moved less confidently but still never complained. No, Ella was too strong to complain or give worry to someone.  I wish just once she'd have been brave enough to be weak with me. I never knew she was ill, though I suspect she did. The diagnosis came a s a shock to only this half of our whole. I was devastated.  To put a timeline on the rest of our lives was crushing and unfair. We had made it through everything and were supposed to coast. It was why we never gave up or folded in.  We held on, believing the reward would be worth the work and now, they had just handed my wife, my best friend and love, a time limit on the fun she had worked so hard for, waited for. I cried for days and couldn't stand to not have her in my sight. I reached for her as if she might just blow away in the wind. I was afraid of being without her. 

I scolded God, hated Him in fact. And then when she introduced me to fragility and frailty, I scolded, hated even more. I slowed down to accommodate her less stable gait. She seemed to lose the desire to speak; laugh and for the first time, I realized she wasn't remembering. She didn't always reach for my hand and when she did, it was more for steadying not connection as it had always been. She looked through me sometimes. At last I heard the question I dreaded.  "Have we met?" Her voice was now unsure and small. 

"Yes, " I answered fighting back the tears. "I asked you out but you didn't answer me. Will you go out with me Ella?" 

She shrugged and said "We'll see."

 There were fewer smiles, less laughter. She died inside but her body refused to let go. I could not care for her anymore since she wandered and got lost or was frightened to be around things and people she didn't know; would never know again. I had to let strangers love my wife and watch from afar. My heart was crumbling.

But every day, I come. Every day I sit next to her and I relive our life. I share our memories; our ghosts, reminding her she is beautiful, that I will love her tomorrow and when I leave, I run as fast as my knobby old legs will carry me to our home a block away where I cry and beg for her to remember me once more. Smile for our life and our love. Laugh for our mistakes and our triumphs. But Ella sits quietly; a ghost. 


This one got me good. I cried most of the way through it so forgive my typos. One of my greatest fears is forgetting; the love, laughter and special times both good and bad that have made me who I am. I guess we all need a good cry once in a while. This was mine; a release of sorts for so many things going on in my tiny little world. Thanks for putting up with me and my snivels today. Pass the tissues please. Thank you for coming here and sharing. It's aways a pleasure to have you here.