dear Meghan," she whispered with a thick voice. "My dear child. How I have longed for this moment, how I have longed and prayed to once again see you." Her body was shaking, my stomach cramping trying to restrain myself from bursting, from crying. I knew if I let it go I would never be able to stop again.
"I've missed you too, Mom."
She caressed my cheek gently while the tears rolled over her cheeks. "You have no idea how your dad and I have been searching for you. For years and years we have been waiting for you to come home. Some days I just sit on the porch and wait. The loss has been hard on your dad. He's not ... well he's not quite himself. He's been depressed and been drinking. It's like he can't snap out of it again, like it's holding him down." She paused and gazed upon me. Then her eyes seemed shocked once again. "You're ... you're ...?" She looked at me searching for some kind of explanation.
I nodded slowly. "Yes, Mom. I'm dead."
She sucked in air in shock and started hyperventilating. "Does that mean ...?"
"Yes, Mom. I have left Earth, but I have gone to a better place. A place that is so much fun. A place where you get to fly and walk on rainbows and ..."
"So she did do it?" my mother asked.
"Who?"
"That woman. That horrible woman who claimed she had killed you. She did do it?"
I smiled, and then nodded again. "Yes. Rosey did kill me, but I have come to understand why. She wasn't well Mom."
"I don't understand."
"It's all in the past now Mom. I have come here to give you and Dad peace of mind. You have struggled for too long searching for me, trying to find out what happened to me. I'm here to tell you that I am well. I am very happy now." I glanced down at my growing stomach. My mother's eyes followed mine. She stepped backwards with another gasp.
"Oh my!" she exclaimed. Then she stared into my eyes. "How?"
"I'm married," I said. "I found a guy and we are married now and we are going to have a child in a few months."
My mother stared at me in disbelief. "I'm going to be a grandmother?" She said with a shaking voice.
I wiped tears from my eyes while nodding. "Yes, I guess you are."
My mother suddenly turned pale. She held a hand to her head. "I need to sit down."
"Of course."
My mother went towards the bed and sat on it. She put her hands on her knees and sat rocking back and forth for a few seconds.
I still had the drawing in my hand. My mother looked at me. I floated closer and showed her it. She smiled when she looked at it.
"You made that one when you were about five," she said. "It was the first one you made of you and him."
"Him?" I asked.
"Don't you remember him?"
I looked at the drawing again. It wasn't very detailed. "No. I don't think so."
My mother sighed deeply. "He was your best friend in the whole entire world. Imaginary, of course. None of us could see him, but boy how you loved him."
"And he could fly?" I asked.
My mother chuckled lightly. "Yes. You wanted to be able to fly like him so every Sunday you and your dad rehearsed your flying. You would climb the garbage can outside and jump from it. Your dad would encourage you to 'flap those arms' and then catch you in the air before you hit the ground." My mother laughed at the sweet memory.
"I don't remember that," I said.
"That's too bad. It's one of your dad's favorite memories."
I looked at the drawing once again. I put a finger on the floating imaginary friend next to me. How come I couldn't remember making him up? Was it because I was too young?
"How long did I have this friend?" I asked.
"Oh my. He was with us for years and years. You made him up around the time when your dad almost died from that burst appendix, do you remember that? He was in the hospital for days and we didn't know if he would live or die. The doctors had no hope, they told us. It had burst inside of him and he was going to die a slow and very painful death now. But you never gave up hope. One day when we had visited your dad in the
"I've missed you too, Mom."
She caressed my cheek gently while the tears rolled over her cheeks. "You have no idea how your dad and I have been searching for you. For years and years we have been waiting for you to come home. Some days I just sit on the porch and wait. The loss has been hard on your dad. He's not ... well he's not quite himself. He's been depressed and been drinking. It's like he can't snap out of it again, like it's holding him down." She paused and gazed upon me. Then her eyes seemed shocked once again. "You're ... you're ...?" She looked at me searching for some kind of explanation.
I nodded slowly. "Yes, Mom. I'm dead."
She sucked in air in shock and started hyperventilating. "Does that mean ...?"
"Yes, Mom. I have left Earth, but I have gone to a better place. A place that is so much fun. A place where you get to fly and walk on rainbows and ..."
"So she did do it?" my mother asked.
"Who?"
"That woman. That horrible woman who claimed she had killed you. She did do it?"
I smiled, and then nodded again. "Yes. Rosey did kill me, but I have come to understand why. She wasn't well Mom."
"I don't understand."
"It's all in the past now Mom. I have come here to give you and Dad peace of mind. You have struggled for too long searching for me, trying to find out what happened to me. I'm here to tell you that I am well. I am very happy now." I glanced down at my growing stomach. My mother's eyes followed mine. She stepped backwards with another gasp.
"Oh my!" she exclaimed. Then she stared into my eyes. "How?"
"I'm married," I said. "I found a guy and we are married now and we are going to have a child in a few months."
My mother stared at me in disbelief. "I'm going to be a grandmother?" She said with a shaking voice.
I wiped tears from my eyes while nodding. "Yes, I guess you are."
My mother suddenly turned pale. She held a hand to her head. "I need to sit down."
"Of course."
My mother went towards the bed and sat on it. She put her hands on her knees and sat rocking back and forth for a few seconds.
I still had the drawing in my hand. My mother looked at me. I floated closer and showed her it. She smiled when she looked at it.
"You made that one when you were about five," she said. "It was the first one you made of you and him."
"Him?" I asked.
"Don't you remember him?"
I looked at the drawing again. It wasn't very detailed. "No. I don't think so."
My mother sighed deeply. "He was your best friend in the whole entire world. Imaginary, of course. None of us could see him, but boy how you loved him."
"And he could fly?" I asked.
My mother chuckled lightly. "Yes. You wanted to be able to fly like him so every Sunday you and your dad rehearsed your flying. You would climb the garbage can outside and jump from it. Your dad would encourage you to 'flap those arms' and then catch you in the air before you hit the ground." My mother laughed at the sweet memory.
"I don't remember that," I said.
"That's too bad. It's one of your dad's favorite memories."
I looked at the drawing once again. I put a finger on the floating imaginary friend next to me. How come I couldn't remember making him up? Was it because I was too young?
"How long did I have this friend?" I asked.
"Oh my. He was with us for years and years. You made him up around the time when your dad almost died from that burst appendix, do you remember that? He was in the hospital for days and we didn't know if he would live or die. The doctors had no hope, they told us. It had burst inside of him and he was going to die a slow and very painful death now. But you never gave up hope. One day when we had visited your dad in the
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