Sometimes I ask myself the question, "Do you believe in ghosts?" While ruminating, the issue that inevitably follows is Why? Not Why do you believe? but Why be a ghost? I mean, really. Stories fill us with images of translucent beings frequenting the same haunt day-in and day-out for years, sometimes centuries. Pardon my insensitivity, but wouldn't that get old? If there were someplace else to go, why wouldn't everyone head on over and leave the living to their business?

Perhaps because the dearly departed have not finished a little business of their own. At least, that seems to be a popular answer.

Ghost enthusiasts are often satisfied just to catch a glimpse of an ethereal creature. . . a snatch of film, a brief encounter. Owners of haunted houses strive to "live with" or "accept" the squatters if at all possible. Others seek an experience to cherish, something that might make them feel a connection with the world beyond.

That's kind of selfish when you think about it.

I've heard of ghost hunters who endeavor to help spirits complete their unfinished business in the hopes that they might move on, go towards the light, or just leave the living in peace. Now that's more like it. Should I ever be stuck between one world and another, it is nice to know that someone might actually care whether or not I spent centuries washing the same load of laundry on a daily basis.

Tongue and cheek aside, visiting these questions reminds me to live each day fully and tidy up the emotional litter I leave in my wake. Did I forget to listen to my friend when she needed me? Did I break my child's spirit in a moment of frustration? Did I write that story that's been on my mind for weeks?

Did I tell my husband that I love him?

Perhaps I forgot. I should tell him. It's such a simple gesture; it takes only a moment. And, honestly, doing so now would be far more fulfilling than folding his underwear for the next one hundred years.