There’s a ghost in my kitchen, and I get that he’s meant to represent grief, but he’s scaring my dog and I need him to leave.
“Hey,” I say to Grief Ghost. “If you’re here for Laura Hoffman, she’s actually my landlord; she doesn’t live here. She lives on a ranch in Temecula. Much nicer to haunt.” Grief Ghost doesn’t budge. I don’t have time for this; I have to take Pancake to the vet for her cytopoint injection or she’ll start dragging her butt on the couch.
When I get back, he’s still here.
“The thing is,” I say to Grief Ghost. “I actually am not grieving anymore? I haven’t been for a while. But I promise l cried and talked about it in therapy and, like, dealt with it, so I’m thinking maybe you’re like a year late?” Grief Ghost ignores me and opens the fridge.
I google “how to get rid of a ghost that’s a metaphor” and get some answers from the AI summary at the top. I light a bunch of white candles. I pour salt on the floor and make sure Pancake doesn’t eat it. I simultaneously play YouTube videos of like twelve different religions’ prayers just to cover all my bases. Grief Ghost eats my Lucky Charms while tracing the maze on the back of the box with a spectral finger.
I lock myself in the bathroom and call Laura at her ranch in Temecula and ask if she’s ever had a Grief Ghost here before. “Like a Babadook?” She asks. I tell her I haven’t seen The Babadook. “You should watch it, I know everyone says it, but it’s really good,” she says. “At the end of the movie - I know you haven’t seen it but it came out over a decade ago, so - they keep the Babadook in their basement and feed it worms and stuff and it represents, like, tending to their grief in the longterm. Maybe see if he’ll chill in a closet.”
When I get back to the kitchen, Grief Ghost is gone, and there are Lucky Charms everywhere.
I don’t see Grief Ghost for a few days, so I think the coast is clear to have a friend over. Chelsea and I are half-watching The Lizzie McGuire Movie and half insta stalking the new girlfriend of the now-ex-husband of a girl I haven’t seen since middle school, when Chelsea goes, “holy shit, is that a ghost in your kitchen?”
“Yeah,” I say. “He’s a grief metaphor.”
“Very A24,” says Chelsea. “I thought you weren’t grieving anymore?”
“I’m not,” I say. “He showed up late, I guess.”
“Maybe he’s, like, trying to teach you how to incorporate grief into your life,” she suggests. “Hey, Grief Ghost! Want to come watch a movie with us?”
I can hear the sound of Grief Ghost trying to figure out the stand mixer. At least someone’s using it.
Grief Ghost is uninterested in incorporating into my life. For the next few weeks, he sits in my kitchen and completely cleans out my cabinet. He even makes his way through all the canned goods I bought during the pandemic and then forgot to eat. It’s sort of Slimer-coded, but it’s not fun and gross, it’s frustrating, and it’s starting to get expensive.
When Grief Ghost leaves again, I decide to backtrack through the things I did to work through my grief in the first place. I spend time in nature. I buy a guided shadow work journal from TikTok shop and even use it a few times. I see a reiki healer. I let a balloon go in my backyard, and free it when it gets caught in a tree. The anniversary comes and goes, and I wouldn’t even have known except my photos app shows it as a memory. I’m honestly fine. And no sign of Grief Ghost.
I’m really feeling pretty good by the time Grief Ghost comes back. I’m making a post-Pilates protein shake and when I reach for the most important ingredient (Nutella), it’s empty. I look up at Grief Ghost, who is spooning it out of the jar, and I mean like a BIG spoon, like a serving spoon. I ask him to at least stick around until Halloween so I can use him as a cool decoration, but he’s out by October 11th (which I remember because it’s the Lohan twins’ birthday in The Parent Trap).
I have not been able to figure out the rules of Grief Ghost. Sometimes he’s gone for weeks at a time. Sometimes I hear Pancake barking in the kitchen and know I’m gonna have to do a Costco run or Grief Ghost is gonna finish off my frozen potstickers. Grief Ghost is frustratingly untidy, both as a house guest and a metaphor, but all things considered he isn’t that much of a bother. Sometimes I even miss him, just a little, when I realize he’s gone. Just a little.
