My First Halloween as a Ghost

           No one is more surprised than I am to be telling the story of my first (and only) Halloween as a ghost. I really did not expect to have this dubious honour until much, much later in (my past) life.

           I contracted COVID-19"Who knows where?" It may have happened at the “small neighbourhood gathering” of 20 people at school year end, or possibly in the grocery store in early July when someone behind me in line sneezed. I instinctively turned to say, “Bless you.’ I noticed that the person was not wearing a mask by their third sneeze. So, “Who knows?,” but I would put my money on this incident. Because I was relatively young and healthy, I figured “I got this.”

           COVID-19 sucks. This experience was a succession of one disheartening surprise after another. I thought that I was in the clear that first week after “the incident,” but after a few days of coughing, incredible headaches started on day 5. My family called an ambulance when they saw me struggling to breathe and I wake up in the hospital. I am surprised when the charge nurse came to tell me that she and the over-worked physician had assessed that my “tidal volume, (lung capacity) is lower than normal” and that they had decided that I had to be intubated on a ventilator “as a precautionary measure.”

The ventilator was uncomfortable. I never got used to it, and I had to learn a new vocabulary. One day I heard two of the nurses use the word “VAP,” as I was starting to wake from the sedation. My lungs were sorer than usual, if that was even possible, and I thought that there were discussing the latest smoking trend – vaping. I had never vaped, so I was curious. As I could not talk, I pantomimed writing. Nurse Cathy brought me a pad and a pen. It was all I could do to write "VAP?"

“You have contracted Ventilator Associated Pneumonia," replies Cathy.

The next acronym I heard whispered at my bedside was “VALI” – short for Ventilator Associated Lung Injury. I continued to weaken, developing pulmonary edema, and there were whispers about “pneumothorax” (lung collapse). The physician inserts a tube in my chest to drain the air between my chest wall and the collapsed lung. 

Late on evening 12 (or was it evening 13?) nurse Andrea offers me one last iPad call. I cannot believe it. I am so weak that it hurts to turn my head, and there is an elephant sitting on my chest; but my mind is still working. I am not ready to go, and I feel cheated. I hear my wife Mary, telling me between sobs that she loves me, while the kids - Louise and Tommy - are too distraught to talk. I (of course) cannot talk due to the ventilator. The call ends with our traditional family good-bye, “Bye, love you, see you.” Then I feel my fatigued body relaxing into the bed – or at least as much as you can with a tube down your throat and bed sores.

       I have no idea how much later it was, but I feel coldness creeping up my body, which I fight with all my might, but I am just too tired to keep my eyes open. Suddenly, I see a gentle, white light, and I feel an amazing sense of lightness. I feel myself lifting off the bed, as if there were threads being snapped. The choking feeling, which had been with me for two plus weeks is gone. The rawness in my throat from the ventilator is also gone.

           “Hallelujah, I have beaten the odds!” is my first thought. My second thought is,

           “I can’t wait to see the guys, crack open a cold one on the back deck, and tell my

story. It’ll be great!”

As I start to remember their faces, that pleasant thought is disrupted by a shimmering trio of people that seem to be floating in the upper corner of my ICU space. They are beckoning me to come with them.

           “What the hell,” I see my grandfather and grandmother.

           “Crazy man, they’ve been gone for over 20 years. Obviously too much Dilaudid.”

I think I had better speak to the nurse when my next dose is due. 

           My grandparents are standing by another figure in white who is gender indeterminate, but who appears to be their friend. This time they are more insistent,

“You must come RIGHT NOW!” I wave them away,

           “Later you guys, I’m fine,” I say, and they start to recede back into the ceiling – or wherever they came from. I hear “Last chance” just before they fade away completely. I rub my hands together.

           “Time to call that taxi, where are my clothes?” “What the hell?”  

My hands are translucent, and they are sliding through each other.

“This cannot be real! WTF!”

Suddenly, I am caught up between the ICU bed and the white glowing place that the spirit guides were pointing to - whatever that is. I look down.

           “Holy crap,” that looks like me on the bed! Call the nurse!”

Instantly I see the ICU nurses’ station. Joan, the cute one, is telling Mona, the shift supervisor, that my ventilator is to be sanitized and moved to Bed 4.

           “What the hell is happening here!?”

I figure that if I walk over to the nurses’ station, I can check myself out of the ICU and call that taxi to take me home. I tell Joan that “I want to surprise the family” – but Joan does not hear me!

           “I gotta get out of here!”

As soon as I have this thought I am standing in the driveway before my house.

           “Wow,” I reflect, “I don’t recall falling asleep in the taxi, I hope that I paid him.”

I think that I should start walking toward the front door as I hear my wife’s voice, and wham - I am immediately in the living room.

           “How did that happen?” quickly morphs into, “What the hell is going on?”

           My wife Mary is on the phone, calling people with a handkerchief in her hand. I hear her speaking in a muffled voice, as if she is speaking through water.

           “Yes, yes, he is out of his pain now,” I hear her say.

           “I feel great, but why can’t they see me?”

I see our kids, still Halloween age, being comforted by their Aunt, my sister Jill.

           “Jill, it’s me,” I say as I touch her shoulder. I get no response.

Louise, age 9 is crying softly while twisting the arm of her dragon costume round and round her wrist. I try to interrupt Jill with my good news again, but I note that my hand seems to be passing through her. Tommy, age 6 does not seem to know what is going on. He keeps banging his Star Wars light sabre against his leg repeatedly,

           “When is Daddy coming home Aunt Jill?” he asks. 

Jill gives Tommy a hug. “Daddy is not coming home honey,” she says as she gathers him up into her arms.

           “But he promised,” sobs Tommy, now starting to cry. 

           “Don’t cry, I am right here buddy!” I yell. I move over to hug him, and I pass right through him – just as I did with Jill.

           Feeling insulted that they do not notice me I go out into the hallway. The front door bangs, and my brother-in-law Bill rushes in. I move to get out of his way and joke,

           “Slow down bud, where’s the fire?”

I cannot get out of his way in time, but it does not seem to matter as he bowls right through me - yet I do not feel any pain from his lowered shoulder.

          “Something is very wrong here,” I mumble to myself, “no-one can see or hear me.”

           I think back to that last scene in the ICU, and immediately the ghostly trio reappears floating just below the chandelier.

    “You should have come with as soon as you felt your spirit lift off the bed," says the glowing Guide.

“Now you are stuck in limbo between Earthly life and the next life.”

          “Do you mean that I am dead?" I manage to stutter.

           “You never really die, John,” says the white-robed Guide. “However, you have

gotten out of synch with God’s plan, or if you wish - the Universe’s plan for you

when you stayed behind.”

Now I am getting angry. “Do you mean that I am a ghost!?”

           “We don’t use that term anymore John, but yes, you are caught between worlds.”

I think back to the campfire ghost stories of my childhood. Ghosts are creatures that wander the world looking for their killers, or family members, or try to replay their drowning, or heart attack or whatever.

           “Surely I am not one of those” I think. Before I even ask, the Guide replies,         

           “John today is October 30^th. Tomorrow is Halloween. You can remain here one

more night to watch your children celebrate Halloween.”

I am both stunned and thankful all in the same instant.

“What’s the catch?” I ask cynically. 

           “Your wife Mary is really scared John. It is not just grief, which is normal. She is

worried about making mortgage payments without your salary."

           “Shit,” I think, “I wish that I had taken out that extra life insurance now.”

           “We want you to come to her in a dream tonight to comfort her. Tell her that she

won’t have to sell the house – unless she wants to.”

          “How do you know that?” I stutter.

           “Trust us,” says the figure in white. 

“Why do you think that you were able to get here so quickly? When we saw that

you were not coming in the ICU, we knew you would come here first – which is a

sign of your love for them. Mary’s worry is for the children’s future, which is an

expression of her love for them – and for you.”

Then I start to lose it. “What do I do next?” I sob.

           “You can watch Mary try to make things as enjoyable as possible for the children.

She will be helped by your sister Jill, and by your brother-in-law Bill.”

I start to think, “Why bother?” and the answer comes (telepathically) before I even finish the thought.

           “Your presence among them, even though they will not be able to see or hear you -

will give them great comfort.”

           “Thanks,” I manage to sputter.

           “They won’t see you, but they will feel the warmth of your love.”

I nod.

           “You asked about the catch,” says the figure in white. He (or is it “It”?) adds:

           “Here’s the thing John. The day after Halloween is All Saints Day. You are now one

of them, that is - one of us. When the last hug is given at your door, you are

coming with us. We have to be in the next world before daybreak – and we have

so much to teach you on the way.”

           I spend the next day – or is it the next five seconds – in joyful anticipation of going trick-or- treating with the kids. It is hard to tell how long I was waiting as time does not seem to matter anymore. We arrive at the house as Mary is fastening the top snap of Louise’s dragon costume.

           “I think that this will be the last year for this costume,” says Mary, “at least for

you.”

Tommy looks up from twirling his light sabre with the green, fluorescent blade that can be turned on with the flick of a switch.

           “I do not want a girl’s costume Mommy,” he says, crossing his arms.

Jill tries to smooth the waters,

           “It’s a dragon Tommy, just like on Game of Thrones.”

Tommy is still not convinced. I go and stand behind his right ear.

           “Dragons can change their shapes just by thinking it buddy,” I whisper. Then I

add, “And we can change the name as well.”

Tommy’s frown eases and he asks his mother,

           “Can we change the name of the dragon then Mommy?”

Mary takes the cue, “Of course, honey,” and smiles gratefully at Jill.

“It was my idea,” I fume, and the white-robed Guide brings his fingertips to his lips pantomiming “shhh.”

        I go stand by Louise, who is now fiddling with her dragon eyepieces, trying to get them to line up with her glasses. Frustrated, she starts to cry, which she has not done in several years, unless it has been “a serious owie.” I try to give her a hug, and of course - my arms go right through her.

           “Oh yeah, they cannot see or hear me,” I shrug, and I whisper in her ear, “You are

the best dragon outside ‘Game of Thrones’.”

While we had never allowed Louise to watch a full episode due to the violence, she is certainly aware of the prevalence of dragons in the show. She brightens,

           “Can we go over to Amy’s house first? I know that she will like my costume.”

           “Yes dear,” says Mary, putting away a few pins in a tin on the kitchen table.

           “Let’s get our boots on and grab our treat bags.”

           Once out the door, we (the ghosts that is) follow at a respectful distance above and behind the neighbourhood trick-or treat group. I hear a few muffled comments:

“I am sorry about your Daddy” from the children; and,

“Let us know if there’s anything we can do,” as the adults hug Mary and Jill, and

gravely shake hands with Bill.

As the trek continues, I see this same scene repeated numerous times. I did not know all the neighbours, but Mary, who retired after Tommy was born, seems to know almost everyone. I feel a ghostly touch on my shoulder,

           “She’s going to be fine,” says the white-robed Guide. “It will be rough for the first

year or so as everyone redefines themselves and your family adjusts, but that is

to be expected in a loving family.”

I nod slowly, “I hope so.” 

           The Guide puts his arm around my shoulder, and somehow - my grandparents can do the same. Grandpa says,

           “John, remember how sad you were when I passed over?”

I nod glumly. It had been a rough introduction to my teen years, and I missed him so much that it felt as if my heart was literally breaking.

           “Well how long before we saw each other again?" adds Grandma, who had died six months after her husband.

           “It felt like forever,” I reply. They nod. Then I add,

“But now it seems like it was just a few minutes ago.”

         Then the Guide smiles, the most beautiful, compassionate smile I have ever seen. He seems to glow even deeper, and a feeling that could only be described as a pulse of love sweeps through my entire body – or whatever this new body-thing is called.

         “It will be the same for them John, and when their time comes, for their children

and grandchildren as well.”

For the first time since I passed over, I start to relax. The Guide continues,

           “You see John, you feel like you stand alone, but you are never really alone.”

The sound of the children laughing below starts to recede as they enter our driveway, and I notice my grandparents nodding with smiles glowing on their faces.

“I am ready now,” I say.