FOUR

To those who say “You can sleep when you’re dead,” it’s not true. Being dead is exhausting. A spirit has no faculties for sleep. The best I could do to rest was to watch my mother sleep. I was so comforted to be near her just as I was in life. She calmed me. I hovered around her room but noticed, when I did, her sleep would be disturbed. So I chose to go into her wardrobe and wait there until morning. But things happen in the night. Just as every child suspects. From under my mother’s bed I heard a crackling sound like lightning just before a strike. The sound moved low across the floor and then a shape emerged in front of the wardrobe. Moving and enlarging like a giant storm front, with sparks of electric arcs within the massive form. Instead of a billowy shape in was jagged with dark static throughout. My instinct was to hide at the lowest and furthest end of the wardrobe. But the electrical form entered in through the small crack in the door adjusting its size as it trickled in to find me. When it made contact with me I heard countless human voices saying things in anger, threatening each other, hurtful words, insults, all from disembodied sources. Then my own voice emerged from the masses. I was screaming at my husband to “get the hell away from me.” Things I said in anger or careless arrogance were played back to me. The insulting, mean and unsympathetic words I had spoken were all contained within this being. I was forced to listen to every cruel thing I had ever said. I tried to escape but this being kept pace with me and would not give me reprieve until I had heard every last word. In the morning, it expanded to the size of the room, blocking out all light and the last thing it made me listen to before it went away was, “I will be better off dead.” Those were the words I used in the morning before we went to the beach. I had said them under my breath in the privacy of our laundry room as I folded the beach towels. But Clara, our housekeeper, walked in and heard those words. She just crossed herself and briskly walked away from me.

~

When my mother awoke she grabbed the tissue box as her tears welled. I could tell she could hardly bare the grief she was feeling. Being almost 78, she had her health issues and she certainly could have done without the stress of losing her only child. She couldn’t make the phone calls as she had planned. She called her best friend, Cheryl, instead. Cheryl and her grieved all day with Cheryl running tea up to my mother on the hour and contacting everyone on my mother’s phone list. It was just too much for Mom. She needed help getting through and Cheryl was her rock. It was time to go back to David and May especially after my night with the dark static being. How could I make up for things now. The burden of death was becoming harder to bare than the burden of life. I felt so heavily afflicted by my own words; words which seemed to be recorded for all time. Words I could not take back, nor could I apologize for. David was in bed with May beside him. They were both pretending to still be asleep because they couldn’t face the reality of their new lives. May had her teddy bear from when she was a baby with her. David must have gotten it out of her baby-box to comfort her during the night. Nana Nettle was up and had decided to start the phone calls which needed to be made and Clara was making breakfast. Clara wore a sprig of rosemary on her lapel, it was so understated no one would notice. But I noticed because it had the power to keep me out of the kitchen. As Clara cooked, I spied on her from the dining room. The sprig emanated a warm glow of pulsating light and it filled the kitchen. It was a hazy-light which contained an odor I found, in my present state, to be repellent. Like the salt, Clara had found another way to keep me out of her vicinity. I had never noticed these behaviors before. I maybe wouldn’t have noticed the salt ritual because I never entered her room, but I would have noticed the rosemary sprig if she had worn it before my death. I loved rosemary and I would have commented on how fragrant it was. I could only conclude two things from her behavior. Either she was a very superstitious woman who was just taking precautions because there had been a death in the family or she knew I was here. I decided I would attempt to communicate with Clara but I didn’t know how. I knew when I was at my mother’s house I had knocked over a lamp, but my energy was too low now from the nights events. I was feeling very weak. Maybe the rosemary was having more of an affect on me than I realized. As I contemplated ways to try and reach out to Clara and how to get past her herbal force field our cat Misty walked into the dinning room. She jumped up on the table, sat on her back legs and lifted her front paws up as if she was trying to catch a butterfly. But there were no butterflies in the room there was only me. Misty could see me. Her claws were retracted and just the soft puffs of her paws reached into the air trying to catch me. I shot away from her. Was she going to try to lick me or eat me, I wondered. Misty followed me around the room, her tail low and slowly moving from side to side as she tracked my movements. When I would come low she would stretch a paw up and when I would zip away she would hunch down, only moving her eyes as she stalked me. I began to feel weak again and a waft of rosemary sickened me as Clara’s wet wash rag flicked Misty in the behind. She flew out of the dining room hissing and ran through her cat door. I could barely move as Clara seemingly peered into the very air as if looking for something out of place then she went back into the kitchen. May, David and Nana sat at the kitchen table in silence as Clara moved around them skillfully sliding eggs onto their plates. From the dining room I could see there was toast with marmalade and jam, orange juice, apple juice and a selection of baked goods from the French bakery down the street. Clara had made a special trip early in the morning to get the pastries for my family. She was not a very intrusive woman nor did she speak much, but she always new just how to add the right touch to a meal or to the house in order to bring a little bit of cheer. From a flower arrangement to having the sheets scented with lavender she always made our home feel special. Now, I was starting to understand her more. She was much more complicated than I had given her credit for. David sat drinking his coffee and letting the eggs and toast chill on his plate. He hadn’t showered and he was still in his pajamas. May looked a little neater as she was one to use a bath to soothe her and Nana Nettle looked beautiful. She had her hair done up in a bun with its silver streaks acting as highlights against the jet black backdrop of her hair. She wore a turquoise silk blouse with the color up, a pearl necklace with a matching set of earrings. She was elegant even in the worst of circumstances. I could overhear their conversation in the kitchen. May wanted to speak about me as if I were still alive. “When mom comes back will we be able to go to the beach again?” She asked. David and Nana were taken aback by the question. “May, dear,” Nana said gently, “Your mother is…” David cut her off. “May, mommy’s not coming home.” David let the words trail into the air as if he knew what should be said but didn’t believe it himself. He took a sip of coffee and as he put the cup down his hand was shaking. “Mommy is coming home!” May declared and then left the table to go to her room. “You better get on top of that, David,” Nana directed when May was out of earshot. “She’s got to come to terms with this as soon as possible.” “Give her time mom, give her time.” “David a tragedy like this can scar a child…” Nana adjusted her pearls and lay her hand on top of David’s jittery hand. “I know mother, but just for today let her think what she has to to get through. I promise you, we will deal with it if it persists.” Nana picked at the croissant on her plate and contemplated the compassion David was extending to his daughter. “Just for today.” she said as she placed a dollop of marmalade on her plate. Then the table fell silent with their own private thoughts. Clara cleared the table and left them with the morning newspaper. “An obituary has to be written David and we have to start the funeral arrangements.” Nana stated. David rose from the table, dropped the paper on his placemat, looked lovingly at his mother and excused himself. He was not ready to deal with such realities. The inconveniences associated with death. Grieving for him was hard enough. He walked away from the table leaving Nana Nettle alone with Clara and retreated to his bed. He didn’t even check on May on the way. David couldn’t function and to see an unusually optimistic man be brought to this state was excruciatingly painful to me. I watched him as he curled up into a ball and put a pillow over his head. He called out my name several times and then fell asleep. I went into May’s room. She had set up a tea table with a bear and a doll with an empty seat for me. Hanging from my chair was the necklace I had left for her on the beach. She hadn’t played tea in years and the conversation she was holding with her guests was uplifting and pleasant until she turned to my chair. She told my chair I was not allowed to have any more tea and the rest of the cookies were for the other guests. She sternly removed the tea cup from my setting and told my chair until I learned how to behave, I would have to watch and learn etiquette from teddy bear and doll. I didn’t know how my child was going to learn how to survive my absence, but I knew her pretending I was coming back and tea parties were just the beginning of her individual coping. She played tea for an hour or so, scolding my chair and then returning to pleasant conversation with her other guests. When she was finishing up she allowed my chair one more sip of tea and then packed up. The bear and the doll were put back on the window seat and the tea set and chairs pushed to the corner of the room. She placed my chair facing the wall, the gold necklace swaying, and demanded I stay there until she said so. I was in some sort of time out. She was very angry with me. A mother can find multiple ways to respond to situations with with their child. My guilt was intensifying, yet I was somehow proud of May. Even though she didn’t know why or how I left, she had the right to be angry. No matter what Nana Nettle had to say about it, I thought May was being very brave.

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