Ghosts of Blogger’s Past I

“You cannot help but learn more as you take this world into your hands. Take it up reverently, for it’s an old piece of clay with millions of thumbprints on it.”

[John Updike]

When I started blogging here, less than a week ago, I read through the “Are you new here?” instructions on the top right corner of my screen. I don’t know about you, but I am not a computer whizz. Yes, I get a hang of computer programs rather sooner than later and once halfway adept I can work my way around them, but I have to read instructions and I have to play around with it first.

So obviously, except for the general ABC on posting I was really interested in getting blog traffic (shocking isn’t it). The funny thing is, not so much because I want people to indulge in my fine and eloquent writing (yeah right), but rather because I knew I had to get out there and be seen to meet the other motherless daughters I am looking for.

One of the first things the instructions tell you (and if you are a blogger yourself you obviously already know this) is to use their search engine and read up on other blogs.

Unfortunately, I think I am running a little late. Most to all the blogs I found keying in “mother”, “motherless”, “motherless daughter”, “dead mother” seem to have been abandoned somewhere between 2007 – 2009. Reading through the comments from a couple of years ago almost feels like wandering through one of those old western ghost towns (I’m actually not to sure those really exist, but that’s how they were portrayed in the old western movies I watched as a child).

However, just because their creators (for whatever reason) have given up on them doesn’t mean they are worthless. Well yes, granted, I can’t really get in touch with these women because the phone line has been disconnected so to speak, but I can still pick up on some of their thoughts and feelings: It’s really kind of like listening to ghosts of blogger’s past.

Two of those have really hit home for very different reasons and I feel it’s only right for me to cite them here.

The first of them (and the one I want to talk about in this post) is Jen. In her post: “Happy Birthday, Kate” she shared her thoughts on selling her childhood house. She said: “Yet the ghosts have never moved on.”

Sometimes it can be eery to see your own thoughts in writing. That’s especially true, when it wasn’t you who spelled them out. When I read Jen’s post, I thought about my father’s move about 7 years ago (maybe 6, maybe 8 – I am not good a keeping track of time). I felt that she had somehow read my mind or tapped onto my feelings in a strange way.

Up until then he had still lived in the same appartement that he had lived in with my mother when she died. The bathroom she died in was my bathroom. This must sound creepy to anybody else, but to me it was comforting. Her ghost, to me, had never moved on.

Moving day was rough. Jen said in her post that it felt like she was losing her mother all over again. I couldn’t agree more. I wasn’t able to partake in the general buzz and excitement of that day. I remember sitting on the dirty floor in the empty kitchen while everybody was outside trying to find words to say goodbye. I didn’t have any.

I walked outside and saw that my mother’s coffee mug (blue with cream “Mama” logo) that had always been stored away in the depths of the kitchen cabinet had been thrown out with every thing else. The mug was chipped and a long crack ran through “Mama”. My father was leaving everything behind. For him separating from the past was vital to face a fresh future and I don’t begrudge him that.

The only problem was that I was trying to keep the past alive, because that is all I had to connect with her. A shared bathroom, some old clothes and a Mama-coffee-mug.

Even though Jen may be long gone it is comforting to know, that her ghost also is still here – Thank you!

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