"... it’s other ghosts
that haunt me
disquieting my days
loss lingers
in dark corners
seldom visited
but always present ..."
I’ve been thinking a lot lately about transition. I believe most people go through a number of transitions in their lives. Such periods are often represented by something significant, a talisman of sorts, that will forever remind you of that time. It might be a wedding ring, a piece of furniture, a house or car key, a favourite item of clothing. These objects come to represent something beyond how they began; they signify not only an event in time, but all the growth that led up to and followed it.
Such objects are usually tangible, and we often carry them with us, long after the event they signify. I still wear a ring that a friend gave me on my 21st, during what was a significant turning point in my life. I look at it now and think about how far we’ve both come, the journeys we’ve made, the decisions taken, the experiences shared. She lives in Australia, and we haven’t seen each other for decades, but our bond remains strong.
A couple of experiences recently have reminded me that much of what captures our imagination is intangible. I’ve just read Hilary Mantel’s memoir, Giving Up the Ghost, written before she took the world by storm with her incredible Wolf Hall trilogy. Her story prompted me to reflect on ghosts from my past. At the same time, I went to see the film adaptation of Maggie O’Farrell’s beautiful book, Hamnet, which explores the loss of a child and the different ways we grieve.
To many, they may appear completely unrelated, but to me they explored similar themes and I could certainly relate to both. I love that art, in all its forms, can do this: fire up our imagination and ignite memories long buried. It’s why I chose my by-line connection through creativity. It’s why I write: to connect to self and to others.
There’s a moment when I finish a book, or a film, when it feels appropriate to sit in silence. I need a minute or two, having reached the end of the story, to weigh up its impact. If it’s a particularly good book or film, the impact will linger for days, if not weeks. I carry it with me, an intangible talisman, to help navigate and articulate my own experience.
Sadly, at the end of Hamnet, people around me stirred within seconds of the credits starting, which almost broke the spell, but not quite. Both experiences prompted this week’s poem. When I showed it to my husband, he observed that perhaps I’m too preoccupied with death. But I don’t think this is a poem about death at all. I completely accept that each person will interpret a poem in their own way; that’s the joy of poetry don’t you think? What I took from both the book and the film was the thought that we all carry ghosts of some kind within us. It’s how we learn to live with those ghosts that shapes much of our lives. That might be the memory of a loved one who has died, but as outlined above, I believe ghosts may derive from many sources.
It prompted me to think about my choices, leading me down one path rather than another. All choices have consequences, good, bad or indifferent. I could spend a lot of time and energy reviewing those choices, perhaps regretting the fact that I missed out on the roads not taken. Regrets could literally haunt me. I’m sure we’ve all met people who have lived their lives in regret; people who never seem happy and who resent the happiness of others.
I don’t want to live my life that way. People may feel a certain loyalty to the ghosts they carry. But letting go doesn’t have to mean abandonment, it’s simply readjustment. The love you feel for a lost loved one will always remain. That’s healthy. The regret you feel for a choice not made is perhaps not so healthy. It can be liberating to give up the ghost; if it weighs you down perhaps it’s time to let it go.
fi wynne writes 