When I woke up, there was maybe one second where I believed my mom was still alive. That I'd hear her singing under her breath as she got dressed or trying to avoid the creaks in the floor of the kitchen downstairs (without success). I'd experienced that same second every morning for the past six months, but it was not morning now. It was the kind of dark that told me dawn was far away. I picked up my phone. No messages. 3:03 AM.
The familiar murmur of the tv in the room next to mine told me my dad was awake. He didn't sleep much these days and I didn't blame him. His room must be full of that thick, horrible emptiness that lived inside my chest too. I hadn't gone into that room since the night my dad woke me up with a look on his face so awful that I began to cry before he'd even said a word.
She'd been sick for quite a while before then. An infection that had seemed small and trivial took root in her body and ravaged her immune system until she could no longer move without pain. Until she could no longer breathe without coughing these horrible, wracking coughs. By then I'd started falling asleep listening to my music because every time I heard her cough like that, I was struck by the horror that came with knowing I couldn't save her. And if you know what that feels like, you know it's impossible to sleep.
I didn't listen to music anymore. I didn't do much of anything. Getting to school was like pulling myself out of quicksand. Trying to keep up friendships felt like treading on water with no hope of finding solid ground. So I kept to myself. I went to school, I tried to make sure my dad was ok, and I slept as much as I possibly could.
Sleeping was what I wanted to be doing when I woke up at 3:03 AM. But I was wide awake. Maybe for the first time in months. And I knew I couldn't fall back asleep because I know without a doubt that I wasn't alone in my room. I knew because I felt warm breath in my ear as a gentle voice whispered, "Follow me."
Most people wouldn't listen to a disembodied voice they heard at night. Most people would run. Instead I felt my heart plummet into my stomach and tears prickle my eyes. Because that was the voice of my mother. And as my eyes adjusted to the darkness of my room, I saw nothing, but inhaled sharply when a soft hand clasped mine and slowly pulled me up from my bed.
As that hand, clasped so tightly in mine, led me down the stairs and to the door to the backyard, I told myself that this was a dream. I told myself that this was like the countless visions I'd had of my mom being back. Of her being ok. And I prayed to the God I wasn't sure I believed in that He would let me stay asleep if it was.
My mom. My mom was magic. When she held me in her arms I knew somehow that the world wasn't as dangerous as I'd thought and that all the bad things I'd done were forgiven. My mom was kind. She saw people for what they were and gave them second chances anyway. She always seemed to be able to find every lonely soul and make them feel wanted. My mom wasn't a submissive woman. She was stubborn and quick to get angry at injustice. She was fierce in the face of her sickness and loved more intensely than I thought possible. She was human. And she was my best friend.
Maybe it makes me foolish, but I would have followed my mother's voice to the ends of earth. Instead, the hand I felt and could not see let go of mine when we reached the big tree she'd loved so much. She used to sit on a beach towel under that tree and read all afternoon. She used to push me on that old swing that hung from its branches. It was fitting that she'd lead me here, but all was silent.
I stood under that tree and waited for something, anything, to happen. And just as the voices in my head began to tell me that I'd finally gone crazy with grief, I felt that hand on my shoulder and turned around, only to feel the tears stream down my face.
There she was. Faint and almost transparent, but radiant like the sun, full of life. She took silent steps forward and took my hand, her eyes full of that deep, unwavering love that I hadn't seen since she'd passed.
Her hands brushed away my tears and I swear I smelled the lotion she put on every high before bed. And then she bent her head towards me and whispered in my ear.
"Baby girl, I don't have enough time to tell you how much I love you. But I do have enough time to say this. I watch over you every day and I see you drift from place to place without purpose. I watch you look at the world around you without joy. And I see you build walls around your heart that could take years
to tear down. I need you to know this..."
She pulled back and her eyes shone with the brightest passion I've ever seen.
" My love. Never forget; you are alive and you have too beautiful of a life to live to wander around as if you were dead. Let me be the ghost."
