More Ghosts

It was fourteen years ago last month, August of 2005.  Clare was just starting eighth grade, and we were at my Aunt Fran’s 84^th birthday party.  Frannie was the baby in her family, eight years younger than my mother.  I was just happy that my daughter had a great-aunt she could appreciate, and did.

The party was at my aunt’s house on the Southwest Side, with people filling the backyard to tell family stories, share food and sing that most joyous of songs, Happy Birthday; may the dear Lord bless you.  I know my aunt and my daughter would have kissed both at the start and end of the party because that’s the kind of family we are.  And, because that’s the kind of father I was and it being Sunday with school the next day, we didn’t stay late.

The phone rang not long after we got back home.  It was the coach for a travel team Clare had tried out for.  When they posted the various team rosters, Clare’s name wasn’t included.  But it was all Coach’s bad, apparently.  He said Clare had in fact made the team, it was a numbers’ thing, whatever that meant, and would she like to come play for him?  We’ll see, said my wife.

The phone rang again not a minute after that strange conversation had ended.  It was another travel coach telling Clare she had made his team.  Our thirteen-year old  was so thrilled she didn’t even know she’d made a 16u team.  And all our lives changed from that moment on.

My Aunt Fran died last week, a few weeks after her 98^th birthday.  Clare took Friday off for the funeral, and we went hitting at the batting cages later in the afternoon.  A life ends, life goes on, changed yet unchangeable.