Strange that he should be so much more with me now I knew he was truly gone. But perhaps it was not strange at all. My dead outnumbered my living—as becomes true for each of us in time. The dead become ever closer companions as we grow old ourselves and nearer eternity. And afterlife or no, they live on in us. Perhaps that is why it seems we have ghosts. Because we carry them in ourselves.
Ruocchio’s writing is so good.
