When my boys were young, I used to tell them that if they ever acquired super powers they could tell me and I’d keep their secret. I mostly knew that would never happen, but what mom doesn’t hope her kids will be the ones imbued with the ability to fly or see through walls?
As they got older, my teasing turned to serious conversations that they could always tell me anything or do anything and I would love them unconditionally. I always wanted my children to know that they could be who they wanted to be and live life on their terms without fear of reprisal.
As it happens, on the last day I spent with Christopher, I told him that there’s literally nothing he or his brothers could ever do that would make me turn away from them.
“You guys could rob a bank and I’d visit you every day in jail. But hey, let’s not test that theory,” I joked.
I sometimes wonder if that made it easier for Christopher to take his life. He knew I wouldn’t hold it against him. I don’t.
In the months since it happened, I’ve spent a lot of time talking to the memory of him when no one else is around. Truth be told, I’ve spent hours begging him to come back to me or asking him to let me take his place.
I’ve also told Christopher over and over that while I don’t understand specifically why he did this (he didn’t leave a note), I understand conceptually. I loathe it and I would literally give my life to bring him back, but looking at the days leading up to it I can see exactly the circumstances that led to his decision.
I’ve also told Christopher that if he’s going to be stubborn about it and not come back to me, then the least he could do is haunt me. I’d love it.
My mother’s side of the family believes in ghosts and can regale you with dozens of stories of the ghosts that have messed with them or outright lived with them over the years. You can laugh and say ghosts don’t exist, I don’t care. We’ve seen enough between the bunch of us to believe something is going on. If we’re wrong, no harm done. If we aren’t, then good for us.
So has Christopher haunted me yet? I don’t think so. I’m careful to not read into things or look for proof of him hovering nearby where none exists. In fact, I’m so careful to not overreact to explainable things that if he is haunting me, he must be getting really annoyed at my resistance to noticing.
Anyway, on bad days I sit on the floor and beg Christopher to give me a sign that he’s still with me. I plead for him to come back and share the rest of my life in some form or another because I can’t live without him. On good days, I goof around with him in a one-sided conversation as if he can hear me.
Call it what you will, wishful thinking or the residual effects of trauma, but I’ve heard his voice a few times since January. I’ve heard him gently say, “mom” as if to not startle me. I really hope it is him beginning to haunt me. To haunt the haunted.