Your Mother is Not a Recliner

I don't see my wife anymore
Because she's dead

She died

She's gone

Since that's happened
My daughter

My grown daughter
My grown adult daughter
Who was not raised
To believe in mumbo jumbo
Fortune tellers, seances
Ouija boards
Ghosts
Goblins
Or the Afterlife

We ran a very practical household
My wife and I

So when Carol told me
That she was 'seeing' her mother
Two months after she died
I was sympathetic
Because I know people deal with death
In their own ways
But then a year went by
And I was still hearing
About all the places
My wife was appearing

Carol said--'Dad, while I was at the supermarket a fly landed on my shoulder.  I think it was Mom.'

I said, 'Carol, your mother hated bugs.  If she was reincarnated as a fly, then God has a very sick sense of humor.'

Carol said--'Dad, there was a rainbow today.  I think it was Mom.'

I said, 'Carol, your mother was colorblind.  And she didn't appreciate irony.  Now come pick up the hedge trimmers I borrowed from your husband.'

Carol said--'Dad, I heard Mom's favorite song today on the radio.  It was her speaking to me.'

I said, 'Carol, your mother's favorite song was "Bohemian Rhapsody" and you were listening to a classic rock station.  I think it's safe to say you had a one in three chance of hearing it.'

Carol didn't give up
She's stubborn
Like her mother

She tried convincing me that she saw my wife
In pumpkins
Recliners
Kitchen counters
And wheat bagels

She thought my wife was speaking to her
Through answers on gameshows
In magazine articles
And once, on a billboard
Advertising the new 'Oh So Smooth' Frostie
At Binky's

It was, apparently, very important to Carol
That my wife's death
Was simply another chapter
In her life

She said that to me once

She said--

'Dad, Mom's death was just another chapter.'

I said, 'Carol, your mother's life had many chapters.  I would hope that none of them involved her being stuck in a frozen beverage.'

I could tell that my daughter was getting a little discouraged
By my lack of enthusiasm

We were talking on the phone
And she said--

'Dad, how can you be okay with thinking she's just dead?'

'Because,' I said, 'She is just dead.'

Then she hung up on me

I waited a day
Then I called her back

'Carol,' I said, 'I'm not trying to make fun of you.  I know the past year has been difficult.  But we all handle our grief in different ways.'

The truth is
I'm sort of proud
Of the fact
That my wife led the life she did
And then went peacefully in the night

It was sort of like a good movie
All the years we had together

I'm sorry it's over
But I can still replay
The best parts
In my mind

'And,' I said to Carol, 'If I really feel the urge to see her in a physical sense, I have photos.  Lots of photos.  Scrapbooks that range from our honeymoon to the time I got my hand stuck in the drain and we had to call the fire department.'

'Plus,' I said, 'I can look at you.'

And I can
Because Carol looks just like her mother

'But,' I said, 'I'm pretty sure your mother is not a recliner.'

If anything
My wife would have been
A dining room table

She always had a way
Of bringing her family
Together