My Year of Talking to the Dead
My first contact with my mother since her death
Nothing illustrated the loss and finality of my mother’s death as the moment I squeezed her hand and she didn’t squeeze back. She’d always grasp my hand in hers. I knew that death was the end of it, of love, of the person I loved best and most in that moment.
There was the time in my bedroom when I felt a forceful breeze hit my face, but something could have explained that, even if it was just my imagination.
SEANCE MAY OF 2010
I meant to write with your last submission that this is wonderful and a very different flow from you. I love the topic and I am so happy you are enjoying the writing.