Ghosts
I can see her. I did see her, but you never did. I wish you could. She was beautiful, tiny, filled with strengths I never knew existed. She had the darkest violet eyes, and the smallest mouth unless she was smiling. Then it consumed her face, and it was radiant. I remember going into her bedroom before school, after she had left for work, and I could smell her perfume still. I tried once after she was gone to spray it in the air, to catch her essence in a quick breath. Of course it isn't the same without those traces of facial lotion and hair spray, deodorant, lip stick. Cigarette smoke. That aroma no longer exists, because she is no longer here to create it.
But I remember, and I dream it sometimes.
I see her kissing the cat, whom she called "Kittywuss", and I remember that I'd pet him after and her fragrance would linger in his fur. He always smelled like vanilla and lip stick, and I think he loved it as much as I did. Then I remember the last photograph she ever took. I was laying with her in bed, and the cat always took naps with me. Mom would laugh at the way he'd lay down facing me, put his paw on my shoulder, and nuzzle his face into mine. He crawled up beside me and assumed the position, and she sat up and snapped a picture. I remember her telling me about the dream she had of Jesus, that he walked with her and told her that everything would turn out just fine in the end. She said she was still afraid.
I sang Amazing Grace to her in the hospital, all of the verses I could remember over and over again. They said no one knew if people in comas were aware of sounds, but if I stopped singing she would gasp and groan a little. I knew she was listening. And I know she was listening when all of her children came to tell her that it was okay to go, that it was her time, and that we would be fine.
It has almost been five years. We are fine, but nothing greater than that. We are all very separate now. Even though my sister Stacy is Jewish, she still has Christmas at her house like mom had, for the rest of us and I suspect for herself as well. That amazes me. I and my little sister are both agnostic, my older sister is Jewish, and though my eldest sister and brother were both Christian, I suspect they have lost faith in God. Those things don't matter, though. We decorate the tree, we cook the feast, we open the presents and we share stories that have been shared for years. She is there with us, and we are together regardless of our beliefs.
I am impressed with the amount of resilience we all possess. Though we are far from healed, we are no longer broken.