One day I just got sick of it. I got tired of Mom being gone, and just wanted her to come back already.
Enough's enough, Mom. Time to come home.
I was in the kitchen feeling adamant. OK, you died, and we all handled it, but, really now. Come back. We won't tell anybody. It can be our little secret.
Then I did what I always do. I scribble every thought I have on pads of paper. There was a mini-legal pad on the kitchen counter. I grabbed a pen from the old-world mug I got from Mom's house. There are sailing boats painted on it and, in gold, the words "Remember Me."
I didn't know it would be so long, I wrote. Enough already, Mom. Come back!
As I punctuated my request with a hearty exclamation point, the pen broke into a million pieces. I mean this. This perfectly solid plastic ballpoint pen shattered into shards on my note.
What do you think happened there? You think Mom was answering me? You think she was saying No?
I worried about this for awhile. I didn't think she'd be so harsh with me. She'd let me know what she was thinking, but never with a lightning bolt.
I think she was saying, I'm still here. If I have to get your attention by breaking your pen, then I will do it. I am not coming back to that bed, I am not coming back in a body.
I am gone in one incarnation, so why don't we explore the magic of the next?
D.G. Fulford is the author of , written with her mother Phyllis Greene. She is also the co-founder of . You can find her at .
Photo credit: Marcia Smilack