Like most women of a certain age, I live with ghosts. Ghosts of dear friends, ghosts of favorite pets, ghosts of dear departed family members. When I'm at the lake, I visit with them often. I see Finnigan catching a Kong in the lake, and Gordie taking his last swim. I see Jennette, too, in the chair next to me having a cocktail or a morning smoothie. It's here where I am most at peace, with the waves lapping or the thunder clapping. It's a place to think, to ruminate, to wonder what could have been. For the most part, the endings were sad but expected; there's no need or want to be angry. We each have so many heartbeats, so many tears in us. As humans, the only thing that keeps us sane is our ability to move on. But there is one ghost who lives with me who won't be put in the nice memory box, and that is the ghost of my cousin Ashley Simpson who disappeared in April two years ago in the wilds of Salmon Arm, British Columbia. Ashley left with barely a trac...
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