Preface

I suppose everyone has a story about a moment in life when something powerful and fleeting beyond reality or reason touched them, leaving an indelible impression on their souls.

One of those experiences with the unnatural happened in an amazing place, at an unlikely time ~ and exactly when needed the most.

Synopsis

 

How do you go on living after your worst nightmare comes true? When secrets of a lifetime are revealed? Maggie was born into a family with extraordinary powers. Now two of them are dead. She must go back in time to solve mysterious happenings before she is next. What she finds is explosive, a message she will not soon forget.

Alchemyst

Maggie parked the dusty car in front of a bookstore and tugged the mirror toward her. She shivered. Feeling a slight nip in the summer air, she closed her jacket.

Were the leaves turning color already? Nature steadied her nerves. Autumn colors...orange, brown, mellow red… like wine and sourdough bread.

She lowered the window to inhale deeply, imagining crisp air refreshing her lungs.

When the breath caught in her throat she choked, caught off guard by a stifling thought.Oh, God. I miss her. We were leaving on vacation in another week. Her suitcase was already packed. Why did you take her from me, God? Did she have to die? So horrible… and she's gone.

Maggie knew that if she stayed in that car recalling the trauma for a second longer she would start sobbing again. She swabbed at tears snaking a trail across her cheek, shrugging to clear her horror-stricken face.

The mirror reflected her trembling smile. It was halfway realistic, so she replaced the mirror, took a tissue, and trudged across the crowded parking lot with a notebook under her arm.

“Hi, everyone!” Maggie acknowledged each of her former colleagues with a thirsty sigh before tumbling into an empty seat by the table. “Sorry, Kai, I was a bit behind.”

They nodded, too distracted by a visitor interpreting their strengths with the ancient art of numerology to mind a late arrival. When their guest paused for a drink, JD leaned toward Maggie with a warm smile.

“Maggie, meet Sara.”

Maggie nodded, trying to look interested. Her life had undergone such radical change while working for JD. Dual stresses from a challenging new job assignment and a broken relationship with her fiancee were surreal for someone exploding onto the fancy new office scene with a broken heart. Hers was shaken until a curtain dropped, forcing her backstage to watch events unfold, while her fiancée sent tear-stained letters and chased others. It was he who courted, he who encouraged her to drop the protective walls. They separated so suddenly that her corral gate stood wide open. Nothing stopped the love from ebbing uselessly away.

At first she was devastated. An empty heart is a massive void to replenish. He had taken the part of her soul most easily adaptable to change, and spiritual death tugged dangerously on her heartstrings. During the worst of times she stayed afloat by repeated affirmation and her daughter's encouragement. Pleading didn't work. Losing her confidante was ungodly. "Lord," she begged, "Make this experience end."

Perhaps it worked. She wangled an invitation, took a leave, flew to a distant port, and reset her equilibrium. Eventually, tears dried and she returned with renewed magnetism. New men approached who were nothing like him, leaving her feeling slightly nauseous. She soon discovered that most of them wanted only to garden the long, sloping yard of her beautiful home with its blossoming flowers and shady, wooded pathways to the lake.

After the house sold she struggled to piece together life in a new location. Yet the all-consuming travel to manage seminars left her no energy for healing. Offsetting burnout meant finding time to resurrect her creative side. A few weeks before the early out began, a worse nightmare struck. She found her mother dead. She felt like she was crawling across an arid desert seeking shelter from a blazing heart tinged with horror.

Despite all that, she knew the choices were her own. And she dearly missed this wonderful friend across the table who was powerful enough to lead with humanity and human enough to quote features of the zodiac by heart. Rainbow-like acquiescence played across her features as sunshine careened into her eyes. She smiled back.

“Maggie, Sara is my friend and house guest from St. Joe Harbor on Lake Michigan,” smiled JD. "You might have heard about their growing metaphysical hotspot? Sara was giving us a rundown on… um… personal strategy.”

Maggie watched her friends turn to Sara and then imperceptibly shook her head. They had gathered to discuss business. Everything was beginning to feel backward and inside out because she didn’t believe in fortunetelling, numerology and psychic mechanics.

Simply put, once Maggie restored her life she refused to make it vulnerable to unknown forces by opening the back door. To put this another way: When she was little, and wandering vagrants begged food from her mother, she sent them to the back porch with tin plates that came back twisted. Maggie had no tin utensils, only a slightly cracked porcelain heart. Whatever consequences occurred accidentally she could deal with. But she would not purposely expose the deadbolt of her heart.

Even so, she knew something big was going to happen. Maggie felt it in every fiber of her body, mind, and soul.

Confusion

Crossing her arms with the same obstinacy she expressed in childhood, she wandered through her thoughts.

The others chatted on, oblivious to Maggie's quandary.

How mind-bending it was to Maggie, losing both parents so suddenly. Father’s demise a few weeks ago was as wrenching as Mother's. She had no answers, only frustration, anger, loss, mystery, and an unrequited desire for revenge that she firmly suppressed, knowing that any retribution she conjured up would be unholy... and pure guilty pleasure.

Suddenly, she felt that grinding heat again tearing at her insides, coiling her throat into a tight ball, thrusting its pointed sword at her eyes in an effort to escape. She closed her eyelids quickly and walked to the sandwich counter.

As she carried hot tea back to the table, she knew the time was ripe for soul searching. She'd had nightmares since returning from a cruise the previous week. Premonitions of danger spiraled through her dreams like burrowing owls, trying to enlighten but succeeding only in frightening her.

The windjammer cruise, on the other hand, was wonderful. It was a trip she would never have booked if she’d known Father’s vacation in Florida was his last, but one that profoundly magnified her existence.

But he had died without warning. The call came late at night. Her stepmother was desperate, uncertain. Before she flew to Florida, Maggie prayed, "Please Lord, don’t let it be too late. Give us one last argument over dinner. Let us say goodbye."

But when she arrived exhausted from three flights in twelve hours, he was gone. She found herself staggering through an alien, out-of-state hospital looking for the Chaplain’s office, stumbling along corridors blinded by shock and stunned disbelief, only to discover a sign on the door saying he was out to lunch.

It was all Maggie could do to prevent the anger bubbling through her veins from screaming bloody murder at the hospital that let him bleed to death, in an ordinary room, without even a properly working telephone.

She knew about the phone because she called him. He knew then his time was up. She heard the desperate concern in his voice. "The equipment malfunctioned, for Pete’s sake! What else here doesn't work?" It was inexcusable.

It wasn't her idea to remove life support. Four meetings between siblings, specialists, and spouse led to the only decision that made sense. Spending his lifetime as a powerful leader, Dad made it clear he did not want to become a vegetable.

The distancing feeling of anger anchored Maggie in place. She was a peaceful sprite, full of artistic expression and rich longing, feelings that were triggered in the private of a darkened theater, a shaded bedroom, a musical moment by the roaring fire. Privacy was out of the question. She kept the darker feelings at bay for home.

There were arrangements to help her grieving stepmother with. Younger siblings were a generation all their own who kept to themselves and flew home. During the long nights there was no one to talk to, there was only shock, gawking and empty, numbed by sleep deprivation. Serpentine grief could not flare its hooded head in that wild state of compression.

Fortunately, Maggie had a bevy of guardian angels. Her health improved at home and she was busy helping with the memorial.

A potentially dangerous situation was avoided with their help when her former fiancée asked to attend the public event. During the gathering he remained attentive and never left her side, telling family members he could not forget her. She was happy to have a tall, attractive companion at her side greeting prominent guests, and he applauded her speech.

But when the last moments drew to a close and he wanted to sequester with her in the privacy of an elevator, a young niece tugged her hand in the opposite direction. She resisted the temptation to descend into what might have become the gigolo's self-centered pit of slime, escaping with the remainder of her heart intact.

Furthermore, the barefoot cruise secured her moorings until she could regain some buoyancy.
Soon the public memorial was over. He was gone, Mom was gone, and Maggie was an orphan charged by Father to keep the widely spread family together. Before she knew it, she was flying back to the coast with friends, ready to embark and drift upon the sea.

How powerfully decompressed she felt, lying on a deck chair with a water bottle tucked between her knees. Caribbean sunshine fueled breezes that filled regal windjammer sails under stellar skies and vacuumed her soul of grief. Southern winds swept across the wave-tossed teak deck under her bare toes, waking her spiritually to the eternal quality of waves. At last she relaxed, attuned to the restless nature of the high seas on a tall ship.

Every night ended with entertainment. On the second night, the ship was under sail. Maggie was dancing Salsa barefoot on the rolling teak deck under a dense canopy of stars . For some reason she chose not to step off when the music ended. Off-duty crew members filed in. Dancing became nonstop, as partner after partner swept her around the deck and moved to the next guest. Then she realized that a tall, well-built young Caribbean dance partner did not leave. Only then did she look him in the eyes. They were dark and sincere. Their Salsa progressed naturally until they were unconsciously adding other dance movements as smoothly as the sea waggles its tide under the nose of the full moon. He sang lyrics to her and she was deeply touched.

Suddenly, she realized she was alone. Her friends had gone below! Their dance was heating to an excited fever pitch that felt dangerous beside the wild open sea. It was time to wish him a goodnight. Earlier, he had taken her aside to introduce himself as Bacchus, a college student and chef from the Caribbean coast of South America. He was only half her age. Maggie started downstairs; he coaxed her back.

With a steel resolve she didn't feel, Maggie insisted. But he caught her hand, drew her close, kissed her with a burning passion that captured the magic of the night. That was all it took to relight her fire. She felt such relentless beauty that it illuminated the darkness and brought her to her knees.

Despite the seduction of wind-tossed waves, moonlit dancing, and a lingering kiss from a sweet young Caribbean Chef, she rallied all her resources and ran, leaving behind not so much as a sliver of glass slipper. She wanted more...love that would last. Even so, she was sorry beyond belief when she reached her room, wishing she could have brought herself to stay in that dangerous place so alienated from the stiff, conservative confines of home.

The next morning, Bacchus caught Maggie returning to the ship from a straw market shopping spree. He begged her to meet him again that evening. After dinner the music began slowly, as they tried to reestablish their rhythm without the star-laden breeze. The watchful gaze of friends further weakened the magic, so they lowered the ship's sails to a bagpipe rendition of ‘Amazing Grace’ and slipped away in different directions, never to rediscover the magic of the night.

When Maggie returned home she acknowledged her deeply spiritual time in the Caribbean. Traveling alone in a crowd had swept her soul bare. She felt that portions of her heart remained behind, in very good hands. As soon as possible

, she vowed, "I will return."

Other recent ventures besides open seas carried her into a spiritual shadowland. Native American totems...had she forgotten those? Her sister shared cards from a “life path” array that revealed which spiritual animal guides walked with her after the painful injury that damageded muscles in her back. She recovered, after much exercise, and decided there had to be a bit of alchemy tucked in those cards.

Alchemy meant many things, really, but when used to symbolize spirituality, it was an analogy for personal transformation, purification, and perfection. This approach was often termed 'spiritual', 'esoteric', or 'internal' alchemy, to show the evolution from living in an imperfect state to a more healthy and everlasting state.

Did this mean she had to uncover multiple layers of meaning to decipher the real message? Previous wisdom from the cards already warned her to be aware of hidden changes around her and be ready for a quick response. That made her wonder if grandma was right about a subtle thread of native blood running through the family.

Sweetly and naïvely, she smiled to let her friends know she was still with them.

Then, another impromptu fortuneteller came to mind. This time it was a turbaned visitor from the Indian subcontinent who greeted her with a customary Middle Eastern hand kiss, and lingered to read her palm. The incident occurred at a time when she was pregnant with her first child. Caught up in a busy life, she didn’t take him seriously. In fact, she forgot.

Strangely enough, her life unfolded exactly as predicted. He said she would marry twice with painful endings, and fall in love again only to have her heart broken. Remembering that incident in the presence of someone who was mystically involved, like Sara, Maggie wondered if the endings she'd encountered had been a self-fulfilling prophecy. But wait…hadn't she forgotten the Easterner’s words until now?

Suddenly, she was no longer certain of her convictions. The mystic had also mentioned the current loose ends that gave her power over her next destiny. Was there something to this spiritual mumbo-jumbo?

Perhaps she ought to listen to the numerologist, after all. As she shifted her eyes to Sara, she sensed a swirl of energy over her head that felt both forceful and startling. She rocketed from her seat.

Revelations

“S’cuse me fellas!” she interrupted, “I think my mother‘s here… and she wants to say something.”

Shocked by her impulsive words, Maggie slumped in the chair. She slapped a precautionary palm across her lips. Oh no! What have I done? Movement swirled over my head, and words streamed from my mouth like it was now or never. My colleagues will think I’m… impractical. Oh, crap, it's my ex boss, too. And we’re sitting in a public restaurant!

Maggie had never felt so humiliated before. She had also not felt this much curiosity.

Her friends gaped, waiting for Sara’s reaction.

Maggie glanced at her beseechingly.

Activity paused in the coffee sho; it was if everyone expected something momentous to arrive.

To her credit, JD's guest listened with earnest concentration. She was oblivious of other surroundings. When she began speaking again, Sara talked haltingly for ten minutes without stopping,

At first Maggie’s suspicious nature was aroused. Did the stranger really speak her mother’s thoughts? No one else in the room knew these intimate details. These were secret topics. After listening intently for several seconds, she scrambled for paper. Her first notes were mere scribbles.

“She wants you to know there was no pain,” droned Sara, as conversationally as if she were reading a recipe for chocolate brownies. “She had an aneurysm, bleeding led to a stroke, and she woke up almost immediately on the other side. She also says that is unusual.”

“So that’s it.” Maggie began to cry. “Everyone at the scene said she had a...a heart attack b-but I knew that wasn’t right.”

“Oh, wait, there’s more…”

Clenching a handful of tissue, Maggie nodded to encourage Sara. She felt so confused. How could this woman be speaking for her mother? And yet, she believed that the information was coming straight from her mother.

“Sorry… this is coming in staccato bursts. She was… meticulous, tried to role model, act sophisticated. Was an urban girl who didn’t fit in with country neighbors or their wives. This winsome, attractive kid… from across the tracks… was not an interloper… proud of you. Had physical problems after losing a child. She was alone, far from the help of relatives, a superwoman before ‘supermoms’…”

“Go on,” insisted Maggie. Tears streamed from her eyes so fast now she hardly dared to lift them from the scrawling, sketchy notes she wrote on the back of a menu.

“She says your dad was… an extremely powerful thinker, explorer, workaholic. Came to Earth to be an authority…to create something unique…bonded with nature, people. He was a channel changer, wanted new all the time…lots of moves, toys…could light someone’s fire. Good instigator…knew what emotional power buttons to push…freedom issues, don’t chain-limit-stop me

, good mentor…inspiring. He was spiritually deep, wanted to help nature…woodland bison, plants. You hated to disappoint him. He was a pretty nice guy.”

“What do you mean?”

“Let me rephrase. She wants you to know why she let your father have the limelight and stood in his shadow when she wanted to earn a degree. It was so he could excel in his career.

"She gave you children crayons, coloring books, models, and other things to round out your education and teach you about the creative side of life, not just science and math. She’s terribly proud of you kids and your children.

“Oh, and another thing… she’s been spending time with a little blonde boy waiting to enter the world. Her spirit is still tired and sleeps a lot, going back and forth to check on each of you. But the old playfulness is starting to return, so watch out for surprises.”

“Will you ask a question?” Maggie astonished herself. “We’re missing someone. Is he happy?”

“She says ‘Yes’, he’s happy. E-Ethan? He’s musical, bright, college degree, medicine… a healer? Father, professor, teacher…doctor, books around him, something about a priest. Extraordinary! Must be a physician.”

When Sara finished, she closed the interaction and gave her back, saying Mother belonged not to us but to the Divine.

“Thanks, Sara!” Maggie thankfully set three pages of notes aside to translate later, hoping she hadn't ruined the luncheon for her friends.

Surprisingly, no one mentioned the incident and table chat was casual. She'd had no idea her coworkers were so spiritual.

“What’s your birthday, Maggie?” Sara asked before parting.

Without hesitation, she jotted down the date.

“Hmmm… You’re a peacemaker, aren’t you? Your strong feminine heart has an intuitive side. Looks like you’ll be challenged by relationships ‘til you die if you keep needing peace and harmony.”

Maggie nodded slightly but didn't smile. Oh, god. How disconcerting.

“Your destiny, on the other hand, is most high-powered. You were a shy child who interacted well when forced out of the countryside into the public eye. You’re a determined driver, creatively talented, persevering to overcome all obstacles.

"Strengths you possess are expressed in kindness and sympathy, which means you may be given heavy burdens. But your ability to face circumstances while working toward your goals and those of others increases your loving nature and blankets your life with good influences, lightening your load.”

“You have that part right, at least! It does lighten the task.” Maggie hadn't thought about these good influences in life before.

“Your vibration is known as the ‘Instant Manifester.’ Surrounded by money, you easily attract luck, success, and rewards for which others struggle. Unfortunately that subjects you to subtle jealousy. But your experiences result from your own efforts, and you have unlimited influence.

"Don't forget that your crystal clarity makes things real; you can make anything happen. Whatever you visualize comes into being quickly. So stay positive, Maggie.”

“I’ll say! Except for money and crystal clarity, anyway. Is this bad or good?”

“Sure... it's good. You can manifest millions. Focus is your main challenge, because you’re into so much.”

Maggie gulped. Focus was hard when you were running in ten different directions at once. She hadn't manifested anything nearly so great. “What about love?”

“Read the ‘Love Language’ book. It’s just been released in paperback.”

Maggie broke out a smile for the first time. “Thank you! This was an awesome gift. What about you? Does interpreting for others tire you?”

“Not at all. I enjoy what I do. These intuitive tidbits occur and I pass them on." Sara stretched her palms and grasped the table. "So what do you say, everyone? Is it time to say farewell till next time?”

With a round of hugs, they arranged to reunite a few weeks later, and paid their bills.

Sensory Overload

On the drive home, Maggie was nearing sensory overload and wanted to pour a relaxing bath in her little sanctuary.

Oddly enough, the first thing she noticed at home was an undeniably clean living room. ‘Clean’ and ‘Maggie’s house’ rarely occupied the same sentence. The only room not in a state of controlled chaos was Mother’s guest room.

Concentrating on domestic tasks was difficult because aftershocks occurring over the past few years made the horror hard to forget.

It was Maggie who discovered Mother’s body. One moment she’d expected her mother to open the door to her apartment laughing, with a coffee cup in her hand, and a heartbeat later Maggie plunged headfirst into the most surreal, barely comprehensible world of disbelief and remorse she had ever known.

Comfort came slowly. One thing that kept her grief alive was the sharing of near death experiences by friends. Without the right confidante, she was overwhelmed.

Ghastly Times Tabby

In an effort to understand her plight, Maggie jumped on her treadmill and ran like all of hell was after her while she glanced backward.

Father and Mother divorced when she was quite young. Well, to a small child, their separation seemed like divorce. His work required travel, so he hired Tabitha, a housekeeper living in the vicinity.

Unfortunately, poor Tabby had detestable habits. She chomped her food wickedly, refusing to close her gap-toothed mouth. On top of that, she cooked greasy meals and spewed a bantering chain of offensive backwoods grammar throughout the summer.

By fall, the vulgarity so irritated the children that they complained to Father, who in turn fired Tabby. Worse, the old lady curled up and died.

Guilt plagued Maggie. With increasing frequency she heard a grinding, tooth-on-bone, munching, crunching hullabaloo whenever she sat on the front steps watching occasional cars wind up and down the hilly country road. No one was ever there.

Complicating matters even further, in her dreams she saw the old housekeeper’s ghastly, distorted face draw ever nearer…until the papery, wrinkled skin touched her and the apparition whispered unintelligible words that muffled her screams.

“I… I’m…” was all she could make of the soft, breathless murmur.

Maggie always awoke drenched in sweat. When sunshine finally dispelled the paralyzing image, she breezed through school half-awake like an insubstantial zombie. Every subsequent dream amplified the whispering.

Finally, on the dawn of her eighteenth birthday, she understood.

When a midnight thunderstorm slashed great thrusts of lightning at her window the previous night, she’d drawn the curtains shut and slipped into a shallow sleep.

Instantly, the dream arose. Again the old woman whispered. Barely asleep this time, Maggie heard the phantom murmur, ”I’m… not…your…mother.”

Rumblings and Rootings

Indeed, Mother had popped in and out of her life like a jack-in-the-box, sharing irrational fears but otherwise offering essential comforts.

Oh, Maggie knew she was loved, all right. Mom only left because of the divorce. There was a more troublesome feeling that bothered her. What if mother died before Maggie was ready to live without her?

Right from the beginning, Mother was her entire world. Originally it was only symbiosis that linked the pair.

Father had been away serving the country since his marriage. With wartime security blocking the information flow to and from military bases, the new daddy was alienated from the bonding process of fatherhood.

He returned home to a precocious toddler. Such assertiveness was intolerable to a war-seasoned soldier. They loved each other, but his physical interventions and attempted control over her destroyed Maggie’s trust in him, making Mother and her lovely singing voice her immortal ally against disparaging criticism and assertions regarding her worth. A life without her had seemed rather pointless.

Reinvention

Now an adult with grown children, she took off her sweatband to sip crystal clear spring water and examine the intervening years.

Mom had been extremely intuitive. In fact, it was downright uncanny. She sang songs like Playmates, Three little Fishies, and A'Tiskit, A'Tasket

that were riveting and connected deeply to Maggie's younger self. Her mommy ears and eyes could delve into the corners of a far distant domicile when there was good reason.

Whenever Maggie worked too intensely or watched horror shows late at night, the phone rang. Mother’s voice came on the line. She always began, “Are you alright?”

“Sure thing, mom!” Whether it was true or not, the spell was broken and Maggie felt relaxed and sleepy. “Thanks for calling.”

LifeQuake

Then came that fateful summer weekend…

Maggie was too busy to call her mother about weekend plans. At first she didn’t worry, because Mom's little apartment was equipped with a pull cord to call for help in case of an emergency.

Everything centered on the radioactively hot last day of June.

Humid weather caused air conditioners to blow invisible mold spores. Soon, irritated sinuses plagued Maggie. After phoning work to arrange sick leave, she placed several calls to the apartment. There was no answer.

She phoned her sister. “Heard from Mom? Is she visiting?”

“No. Isn’t she with you?”

Maggie raced to the apartment complex and rode an elevator to the top. She grimaced at the stuffy lobby. Wasn’t the A/C working? Why was it not cooler indoors than out?

At the end of the corridor, she placed her ear against a door. Fans whizzed inside. Maggie balked. Perhaps Mom was out shopping? At any rate, she had one key and the lock needed two. With help, she roused bathrobe-clad Dismal Dan, the reluctant caretaker, and they entered together.

She knew instantly. Three fans circulated fetid air. Hoping against hope, she ran to the kitchen to check for thawing food.

Sargasso Sea of Troublesome No No's and Woe

Too late! Dan raced from the bedroom, flailing his arms at her as if pursued by demons. “Don’t enter,” he commanded.

“Oh, my god!” she gasped. “Go…just go do your thing!” She slumped against Mother’s soft new chair in her high heels, heavy purse dangling from her shoulder like a dead weight.

Grasping the cell phone, she redialed her sister but could not say anything. Finally she mumbled, “She...she’s…not…” The words broke abruptly in mid-sentence, as Maggie stared blankly at hundreds of thoughts clamoring for attention.

“Be right there, Sis!”

“Okay,” she mumbled, weak and reeling from shocking, heartfelt pain and muted screams of compelling horror trapped in her burning throat. The trauma was much too deep for tears.

She realized Sis was an hour away. About to faint, she dialed another number. Almost immediately her children were on their way.

Minutes later, volunteers took over.

When the medical examiner arrived, he rummaged drawers and peered in cupboards for five minutes. “Heart attack,” he muttered, and left.

Maggie had no strength to protest.

Freefall

Next day, the family met to discuss what came next. The verdict was “Cremate.”

After the funeral and graveside ash burial, Maggie could barely sleep or eat. Ambien materialized. On sleepless nights she wrote poetry, beginning with ‘Precious Flower’:

“Beautiful Babe!”
A photograph restorer said,
Presented with your wedding picture;
You looked forward to babies,
Not dying embers of dwindling stars
With a sun forgetting to shine.

Winsome Spirit,
Restore your magnificent image;
Pass on your luminous earthly aim
Weary booster, lovely angel,
Untangle your maze of woven disguise
Tell us how to tend this garden.

Poetry helped. Sudden passing was hard on those left, though, and the most helpful ideas were from a friend of the family who was also a licensed counselor.

“Do what I did,” Nickolas would say. “Talk to your mother like she’s still around.”

Then, pointing to a navigation wheel bearing the five stages of grief, he’d insist, “Maggie, my friend, don’ oscillate. Relax. Sadness is where th’ Devil c’n nab ya’. Don’t linger there. You don’t need t’be better, ya’ couldn’t have changed things, and ya’ won’t know why this happened!”

A Ready and Playful Spirit

Later that same evening as the coffee shop meeting with her friends, Maggie wondered if she would feel so unsettled if her parents had exchanged goodbyes with her before leaving. Their startling departures were distressing.

She realized then that she was like Father, who had happily remarried and moved into a new life. She was ready to move on.

Except, that is, for several untidy loose ends that remained even after encountering Sara.

Had Mom envisioned her demise? Visions of those who already passed weren’t unusual when dying. Had memories beckoned her beyond? Furthermore, was there anything left unsaid between them?

While she ruminated, Maggie carried a laundry basket toward the guest room where Mother had slept. It was also where the tired spirit had lingered three years earlier, long enough for her busy daughter to relax and sense her parting essence before winging away to rest.

Suddenly Maggie hesitated in the doorway clutching a bundle to her thudding chest.

“You’re here, aren’t you, Mom?” Clothes showered to her feet. Her heart fluttered, stopped, lurched forward, and started beating again as she reached out to steady herself.

Mom was back…not in eulogy this time, but in song. Vintage music played in the background. Maggie lowered herself to the floor and sat there covered in fabric, singing old melodies accompanied by her mother’s gifted voice.

Somehow, in that time of solitude and peaceful wisdom between this life and the next, her mother found what she lacked in life. She used that love now to etch Maggie’s soul.

As the playful spirit formulated this life-altering essence, Maggie danced around the room lost in the giddiness of childhood.

Then, halfway through singing “...a’tiskit, a’tasket, a little yellow basket, and on the way...,” she lost it. Three years of pent up tears overflowed, flushing away grief and longing. She sent sobbing goodbyes heavenward.

Alchemy

Soon after, there descended an ordinary sort of emptiness  ~ a void too often refilled with turmoil.

Then, SMASH! A thunderstorm rocked the house with the vicious kind of fury that foreshadows a momentous event. Lightning sizzled. Curtains blew open. A naked windowpane appeared.

Maggie froze in wonder at an image etched in the glass. What alchemyst had painted this incredible image?

Backlit in the window through which her mother had once gazed outdoors blazed a remarkably holographic photographic image!

Etched into glass in all her glory by some unknown electrostatic process, a radiant young woman beamed back at Maggie. She recognized her mother from an old portrait. Her pride was evident. She was slim and fashionably dressed, wearing a pearl-studded olive suit accented with a triple strand pearl necklace and the flattering hairstyle of a fashionable generation.

Standing off to one side at a short distance back was her father, as a tall, handsome young soldier dressed in the military greens of the Army Air Force. Father had dipped his head in greeting, and was now smiling at Maggie from under a russet leather visor that shaded his intense blue eyes. A winged aviation badge fastened to his Isenberg olive wool officer’s hat provided a visual reminder of his tactical force assignment with the USAAF air sea rescue squadron and her feelings shifted from lifelong respect to outright admiration.

Smiling back, she saluted their independent spirits.

Almost immediately, the storm cell moved east. The curtains began to close. Maggie’s sorrow subsided, permanently replaced with the inexplicable beauty of AWE.

I'd love to hear how your life has been touched by near misses and awesome events.

Would you leave me a short comment?
(End of book or bottom of book page below, submit)
Pressing the "heart" will save.

CactusRose
cactusrose.wordpress.com,
www.facebook.com/CactusRose.Author


"Then summer fades and passes and October comes. We'll smell smoke then, and feel an unexpected sharpness, a thrill of nervousness, swift elation, a sense of sadness and departure."

…Thomas Wolfe

Impressum

Texte: All rights reserved InternationalCopyright©CactusRose2012
Tag der Veröffentlichung: 07.01.2012

Alle Rechte vorbehalten

Widmung:
Commemorating the lives of parents who are now our guardian angels