We see those who are gone, whom we thought would never leave; those whose passing proved never resolved — replaying scenes from our past, only now from different camera angles which perhaps only our imaginations could see. The mind will always give us a new director’s cut and bonus commentaries.

But, as a man with ageing parents, as I am, a man who has always been at odds with the approach of ending chapters, I know that we can also make premature ghosts of those who are still with us, and yet to leave — stepping ahead of time to selfishly imagine how we will feel without them. It’s a foolhardy exercise though, of course, that only wastes time in the present.

As there is nothing gained imagining a future where ghosts are real, even if they are welcomed and comforting, especially if we feel that they will guide us along that pot-holed road called life until a time when there are no more pictures, no more framing or bonus commentaries, until a director yells cut.

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