Everyday Afterlife

Echoes of a Shell

I awake to a voice, distant and faint, an echo bouncing back from the void. He's young, new, and terribly confused; the freshly deceased nearly always are, unless they had expected to die soon. At first, I think the voice belongs to my husband but that can't be true. Dean is away, working in Western Australia. He will be back home to Tassie this afternoon. I must get this house clean before then.

"Do you know me?" the voice queries.

No, I don't.

I direct my thoughts to the poor young man instead of speaking, taking care not to wake my baby girl beside me.

"Have you ever seen me before?"

No.

"What is this place?"

This is my house. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you but you've just died.

I struggle to find the words to console him, and he drifts away in search of his soul's solace. I will not be getting back to sleep, so I lay there until the sun rises hours later. My daughter, Grace, wakes with the sun, needing to be both changed and fed. I feel like I haven't rested at all. I've struggled to be truly comfortable for months now. I think the discomfort began with COVID-19 and escalated with news of the war.

I sit to watch the morning news and then the regulars float on in. My grandmother, Anne, and both of Dean's grandfathers: Sir and Archie. Anne wears a white nightgown and black moccasin slippers on her tiny feet. Her hair is black and curly, and her brown eyes are set behind rimless glasses. Anne looks much younger than the day she died. She chooses to present herself in the beauty of her youth. I hope I look half as splendid in my afterlife. Sir is tall, dark, and very handsome – much like my husband. Sir is from the Pacific Islands and wears slim jeans, a white singlet, and a broad smile. Like Anne, he also appears in the prime of youth, about age 25, although he died aged 62. Archie though, is a sombre fellow sporting Blundstone boots, blue jeans ripped and worn from hard work, a black and grey flannelette shirt rolled up to the elbows, and a white cap with a faded logo. He doesn't always look as young as Sir and Anne; Archie appears closer to his death-age of 59, and I think the manner of his death plays a part in that. A purple V-shaped bruise is still visible above the collar of his shirt.

The regulars like to keep tabs on the family and make sure they're all okay. Anne says she hasn't seen my dad or Pop yet, who died three years ago. Neither she nor I have encountered them, but she's heard through the ghost-vine that they're coping well enough. Sir tells me Nanna is still recovering from a cold, though he's mostly concerned about her mental health as she seems more confused and irritable than usual. Archie doesn't say much except that Gran is doing okay, although she speaks to his empty chair in the evenings and sleeps on a recliner in the lounge room due to her backaches.

My home, in Burnie's outer suburbs, is a dark green timber-clad three-bedroom house, with a large overgrown garden. The area is almost rural, but I still have neighbours within shouting distance on either side. My rabbit and guinea pigs need their breakfasts, so I fill their bowls with grains and salad and place them in their hutches. Afterwards, I get enough time to feed myself. I slap a strip of bacon in a pan and crack two eggs into a pair of silicon rings. A few minutes later Anthony Bourdain appears beside the stove and peers over the pan, "Your eggs are done". He's gone before I can say anything. I wish he had lingered and told me where he had been or where he was headed. I met Anthony in late 2019 while watching an old episode of No Reservations. He told me, "I hated the travel, but I loved the work." I plate up my meal and proceed to the couch. As usual, Grace begs for portions of my breakfast while her cartoons play on ABC Kids.

Oh! so much to do today and so little energy to get it done! It saps lifeforce, communing with the dead, and I am constantly hunting for top-ups. This could be a quick fix like a Red Bull, glucose tablets, maybe a banana if I'm feeling healthy, or a hot shower, and I often find myself sitting with my animals to recuperate and gather my thoughts.