Conversations with those who are not

Though it may not seem so, those who are no longer with us are still present, every single day. We notice how traits of their character become ingrained in our own personalities or appear in those of our children, which is even more profoundly unsettling. Not to mention the shock we experience the day the image reflected back at us in the mirror seems all too familiar, and a friend confirms it by saying in a low voice, impressed as if they'd seen a shadow pass by, "You look just like your father..."

We hear them in their own voices and words, uttering a warning or a ready sentence. Even now, we've been tempted to call them with news that would surely make them happy. We compare ourselves to what they were doing at our age. And, of course, we know the outbursts they would unleash when certain individuals appeared in the news, because a person is defined by their inclinations, their phobias, and their unwavering values.

Every now and then, a letter arrives addressed to him, and it's funny to think that the administration considers him still alive. That is, unless he gives us a job that complicates our lives. His digital footprint is a lottery.

Our inner dialogue is, at times, a dialogue with the dead. We would like to undo misunderstandings, apologize, or claim a posthumous reason that was unjustly denied us. It is not a useless dialogue. All those words that would do us good if those who are dead could hear them, we can say to those who are alive.