The Artistic Ghosts

I’m hanging out with my Mum and my ghost Dad, whose energy seems to follow her around the state. She hasn’t been down to Melbourne in a while, as my brother now lives in my spare room in the attic. He has gone coastal and is looking after some hens, dogs and a whatnot, while housesitting for a friend.

So Mum is here, and my ghost dad, and we are doing things. This is a good sign for all involved. After Dad’s death and my brother’s cancer, we were all grounded in fear. There were no good times, just grief and daily visits to Xanadu HQ.

There is a quote by the poet Robert Frost that sums up everything I feel after the storm has settled.

“In three words I can sum up everything I’ve learned about life: it goes on.”

So it does. We have had a delicious lunch with old friends, and Mum caught up with her close girlfriends.

Then yesterday we went to the National Gallery to view Catherine the Great’s paintings, which was very kind of her to offer, and then Mum and I shared an almond croissant at the cafe and talked about how much Dad would have loved the exhibition.

My dad used to tell me his name spelt backwards was Russian – “Retep Retsrof”, thus he may or may not have been a sleeper spy for the KGB. I just  think he read too many John Le Carre books but either way, he was wandering with us in spirit through Catherine’s collection.

Mum also did all my washing, which was super nice of her and now she’s gone, taking my Dad with her back up the highway.

So life, it goes on. Let it happen, let it happen, let it be.

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