Do You Still Laugh? Do You Still Sing?, Melinda Augustina [best thriller novels to read txt] 📗

for death I do remember they said there would be times like this.

If only Mother and Daddy had saved some of their energy for themselves instead of giving it all to us. . .

If only I had paid attention to my instincts when I could sense you were not feeling well . . .

If only I’d known what it was all about when I could feel your energy in my body . . .

If only I had gotten sneakier and more insistent upon the things I wanted to do for you . . .


There is no “bouncing back” from this one. It is a long road that I have no interest in speeding up. I can feel the ignorance that shoots up every once in a while and says, “Come on now - let’s go back to the real world, back to work - back to life . . .” I see the inaccuracy, ignorance and foolishness of such a thought. There is no going back.

M.


Mother,

How very strange. At night now I get scared. Every sound seems to be something of danger. Every shadow is someone lurking in the dark. What causes that? I don’t recall being scared like that before now.

I read that when you are vulnerable, you’re vulnerable to higher powers of goodness as well as darker powers of destruction.

I don’t care much for that system.

My chest feels tight with fear.

M.


Mother,

When I returned to Dallas I slept soundly the first night and then in the morning - I don’t recognize anything. I walk into my living room and I do not know where I am. The colors are so bright – not bright, really – more like all white. Light upon light upon light. The tiniest of sounds are so very loud. I can hear everything happening for what seems like miles.

I don’t recognize the furniture, I don’t know what these things are on the desk - I don’t know what the papers are - or the markings on the paper. Everything looks like mush or something. What is all of this? I don’t know why I am here or even where I am. Is this how babies see when they are first born?

Everything sort of glows - there are no hard edges - only softness folding into softness and at the same time I am


confused by this and have no idea what is happening, another part of my intelligence realizes - I think I am being shown something. Something about how the world works. Something about how we work with different currents of nature to create every piece of matter in our lives. I have a funny feeling that if I were to simply walk out of here right now, all of this would disappear and I could go anywhere and dream up anything I wanted. And if I was clear in my intent, then it would appear. What a wild experience.

And I say to myself, “If you are observing the point of creation - what do you want to create?” I don’t know. I don’t know anything about anything that I am seeing and I wonder is this you seeing my world from wherever you are now and wondering what am I doing?


After several days like this, the furniture slowly begins to have hard edges again and I begin to recognize things. Some of it I like and some of it I don’t like. It’s all just stuff.

I can feel the mind again trying to pull me out of the softness and the magic back to “the world” or whatever - and it appears this will be the fight of my life - to cultivate and perpetuate the softness.


M.


Mother,

There is a little fear that things will go back to “normal.” I hear it in everyone’s voices already.

Life sort of sweeps people up and I wonder - can they still feel you? For a small while today everything felt flat and ordinary and I thought oh God - it’s back. Where is the lightness, where is the glow?

And then, I heard some music and my energy moved, and then I cried a little; and the crying moved my energy and I could feel your love again.

When I play the Puccini I can feel you - there are many ways to stay connected - thank you.

M.


Mother,

Stop me if I’ve already told you this. (ha, ha, ha). I went to see a psychic one day and I asked her about Daddy. And mostly I wanted to know if he was happy.

The psychic laughed and said yes, he’s happy. Later when the session was over she asked me what he did while he was alive. I told her he owned a hydraulics business. She said, “Well, he’s singing and dancing up a storm, now!”

Isn’t that funny? I always suspected he was a showman.
Love, M.

Anger


Mother,

Well, today I am angry. Angry indeed. Angry that denial was such a good friend of yours. Angry that we didn’t take better care of you. Angry that I didn’t insist upon the things I wanted to do for you. Angry that you were stuck in anger about Daddy’s death. Angry that I couldn’t see that before now. Angry that life is designed with separations. Angry that life will go on and people might forget you or some people never even know you.

The boys fixed the faucets in the gold bathroom the other day. Why didn’t they do that for you when you were alive?

They had the carpets cleaned - why didn’t we do that for you while you were alive?

Why wouldn’t you walk for exercise?


Why couldn’t we produce your songs while you were still here and have some fun with it?

Why aren’t you here to go through the photos with us and tell us more of the stories? You left too early.

I wonder how much of illness is simply a lack of love.

I know you wanted to be with Daddy, I know you had lived a long and beautiful life, and my hunch is we did not care for you and tend to you the way Daddy did. We did not love you the way Daddy did.

I am so confused. Nothing makes sense.

M.


Mother,

When I mentioned to a client of mine that I had seen things that didn’t seem like you were yourself, but never said anything about them, she said it was probably best that I hadn’t interfered.

Being an expert at interfering I certainly did NOT know what she meant by that. She said to have interfered earlier may have caused more problems or more suffering. Being completely thick in the head on this subject, I said, “Huh?” (How embarrassing.) She said to interfere earlier, perhaps they would have found an illness or a problem and then in the “fixing” of it would have caused more suffering with the same ending. Oh.


When she said that, I felt a little more ease. Daddy suffered for such a long time - I would not wish that on anyone. You always said you wanted to go fast - voila!

M.


Mother,

So, here comes Mother’s day and I see that all anyone really needs to learn in their life is where to put the love. The Love is pouring forth from the children and they need to be shown where to put their love. If not, it gets all jammed up inside and they grow up to design ugly buildings and forget to put in the parks.

How does it get so complicated? I’m laughing with you now. We are so silly.

M.

While on a return trip to my Mother’s house about one month later, I wrote this on a piece of paper without a heading to make it a letter.


My heart looks for you everywhere - when I arrive at the airport, when I enter your house. Looking in the dining room I see Regina and for a second - my heart thinks she is you.

My mind imagines that our grief over losing you is greater than your grief over losing your mother and I know that is not true. I’m embarrassed at how little we knew about how to assist you through that experience.


Mother,

It is a beautiful morning! This is the kind of morning that I would have written you a note for no apparent reason. A note thanking you for your love and attention and just for giving me life.
I hear your voice almost every day. Sometimes it’s coming out of my mouth - and sometimes it’s just in the air.

Do you still laugh?

Do you still sing?

I wonder about that.

The chorale is doing a concert for you next spring - I wonder if they will play your songs, too.

Just thought I’d let you know I still love you.

M.


One year later…

Acceptance


Dear Mother,

It’s April 3, 2000. Almost one year since you’ve been gone. I guess today is one year from the day you took ill.

Seven days ago I woke up and felt that everything was going to be OK – that I will have everything I desire and it all seems completely achievable.

In the past I would set about to DO something but this time I sensed things were moving without me – and I was simply riding a wave. That was cool.

My car was in the shop and people would show up at just the right moment to take me wherever I needed to go. Isn’t that funny?

I love you and I miss you. I feel you at different times. As I wrote I love you on the paper, the sun came out and shined right on my cheek. Was that you? Things like that happen all the time.


When I unpacked the boxes that came from your house, there was a knock at my door. When I opened the door – no one was there. Strange. Then I heard the knock again while opening the front door, realized it was a knock at the French doors in the bedroom. So I looked – and there was a female redbird banging her head against the glass of my French door. It was the strangest sight! Was that you? Were you checking on your tea cups?

Then, there was another female redbird that came and knocked on the French doors