I keep some ratty old books at my cabin; it's been rough getting the mice to stop eating them, but so far they haven't gobbled anything more than edges of the pages.
One of my treasures is a book of poetry my mom picked up years ago at a garage sale and finally gave me, because I was always looking through it. It has no cover. It's filled with the kind of poems I love (with rhyme and meter). It was published in the 1930's.
But there's this really special thing about it: the ghost of an unhappy woman named Doris inhabits its pages. She made notes alongside some of her favorite rhymes that give me a feel for who she was/is.
I puzzle over her notes beside the poem above.
She wasn't totally thrilled with the town of Altadena, California, where it seems she lived.
As Doris grew older, she wondered just how much her children loved her.
And she realized a person can die in spirit without the body dying.
So, did she find heaven, or hell, as a bride?
She missed her mom.
She grew tired, at times, of living.
She believed, through it all, in the love of God.