Living with the Ghost of my daughter's Other Mama
is like walking through the home of a friend...
when she's not there.
I hear her voice echoing.
I see her silhouette walking the halls.
I see her fingerprints on everything I touch.
She is very much present.
Not threatening - not troubling - not antagonistic...
but present nonetheless.
I need to live with her Ghost graciously.
Because my daughter will need to be taught to do the same.
Teach me, God. I feel haunted sometimes by this sweet smothering. But I am wary of dismissing it.