Inward Musings Turn to Outward Action

Dave R. (present-day thoughts of a ghost)

What makes a life? Is it moments in time that defines who you are or what lessons you are working on?

It’s true for me. Despite myself returning to life to help Mercury, I cannot remember every moment. Its the moments between the fights, the fun, the deeply intense moments of emotion or empowerment. Part of me must have left with the body I once had died.

Mercury has photo albums and books of letters about her past. I have but a few trinkets to remind me; tintypes, pieces of small tin, gold coin, maps, and a biography from a traveler, And yet, despite myself I yearn for more but know that my time is past. I am here to gain a better understanding of who I was and to help Mercury grow in her strength to conquer her fears in this lifetime.

With her one mentor and love of her life gone, and family estranged or far away, she is without. I am all she has as the darkness tries to envelop her. The other selves can help as well, and do sometimes.

Perhaps we can show her the heroine she truly is so she can succeed in what we have failed to do. And in so doing give up this seemingly never-ending circle of life and death and rebirth; waking up to the truth.


Mercury Rose (present day)

I have been meditating and mulling over these things for weeks while my body heals and I figure out my next move…a thought has occurred to me recently; that I have been living too much in my head and its now time for action. We all have to go and transform to truly experience life and all it has to offer us;  but I have been too much inward.

Talking to my family reconnected me with the whole of myself; as well as validated what I should be working on.

I have a plan now, and will implement it in the hopes of moving forward with Echo and Karmic Outlaw.. and then move on with my life into something new. A new life for a new me.

@Wickedlydrivenmedia 2/2018

Echo: A Diary Entry # 6: Bleeding into Dreams

7a7272ab993f49e8f94029eb296fdd0bI am in incredible pain at the moment.. and have been since last night. I haven’t done anything strange, not that I know of.. in fact it was a rather normal week of work and friendships; split by the occasional odd dream of another time and place.

But no heavy lifting, no packing, or horses whipping their reins out of my hands to take off, as my Tennessee Walker is want to do from time to time..

No, this pain was new, but at the same time, familiar.

I was sleeping last night when it came, hitting me like a rifle shot to my hip, and sending me reeling. When I fell asleep I slept in batches, waking up to watch for movement in the dark night on a hill.

Which again, strange.. as I was sleeping in a comfy queen size bed with two cats piled up nearby and warm heat drifting in from the vent, making a cocoon for me to slumber in.. ah the modern living of our current time frame.

But thats not where I was.. in another reality I was stuck on some god forsaken mesa, dusty, and snake infested. We had come far, ridden ’til our horses were nearly dead, splitting up earlier with the others of the botched job to make it harder for the law to follow.

Flashes of a train, dark iron and confusion fill my brain, but still the constant pain brings me back to the present.. or what I think is the present.

A rifle shot in the distance and I roll in agony, uprooting the cats that are sleeping and snoring up to this point, so that I can get my hand on the, what I am quite sure is.., a gunshot wound. Fresh warm blood can be felt underneath my palm and my shirt.. I grit my teeth and try to sit up and instead of feeling pillows I feel dirt and sand.. not a good sign.

I sit up and in the distance I don’t see my room, but the horizon line as the moon shines down… and far down in a wash I can barely make out a horse and rider.

Ed, my cohort this go round, is visibly panicking, checking his led and setting up for a fight.

I’m calm, this was meant to be in some way. And I knew this was a possibility. Quite frankly Ed’s fear is oozing self doubt; part of the problem on the job. I grip the wall I’m against and get up, pain shockwaves through me and I stumble at first, before I’m able to steady myself. Without a word I head around the corner of the cliff and hide comfortably in the dark of an overhang.

The cats, at this point, have turned their kind eyes and are watching me on the bed, wondering if I will ever settle again so they can sleep. I’m flailing around I guess, and half wonder if I’ll have to clean the sheets of this sandy rock I’m on tomorrow morning…

Reality bleeding into unreality… or vice versa. At this point I’m not sure which.

I settle down and check my gun.. and then sip some whiskey, to take the edge off. I can hear Ed whisper calling me now.. but I don’t answer him. In his desperation he can get us both killed.

The exertion of the move and in the middle of the pain, somewhere I fall asleep.

Lovely soft pillows greet my head and I sigh, hoping this strange night is done… but as I settle into the blankets I hear Ed yelp and go silent.. then low voices and they are coming my way.

I reach for my gun but as I do all I feel is soft mattress and no, dirt.. but where the hell…

Suddenly I feel the lost gun under my fingers of my left hand as my right arm is wrenched back and I’m in a battle with a dark figure who hisses at me to stop. I make contact with some part of him but its too damn dark and I’m at the disadvantage.

And instead of a cool pillow I feel cold steel barrel at my temple. I freeze and right before I go down to eat dirt, my arm is wrenched again, shooting pain up through my tendon.

My hands are tied behind me and nearly black out as the pain from my side doesn’t quite yield to the new positioning. Thats when the dark figure notices and quickly rolls me over, curses and then I’m out… swimming in a sea to my pillows my annoyed cats.. a respite, however brief.

I wake up in the morning to a sore side, and a wrenched arm that hurts all day.. but thankful at least for now, no sand in the sheets.
No wonder I need sleeping pills..

(written in cooperation with Sophia B. & DR.)   Wickedlydrivenmedia@2017

Echo Diary #5 (Bleeding Into Each Other, Dave R. & Mercury Rose)

7a7272ab993f49e8f94029eb296fdd0b(Please read the previous Diaries prior to reading this excerpt, especially #3 for context)

Dave’s Strange Dream, Trinidad, Colorado 1878

I had the strangest dream last night. I had come into town for some grub and a little fun. I had been hanging out in the hills covering the railway men with fire power, but I needed a break. I ate at a saloon that had some pretty hefty steaks. Disappointed in not seeing a card game going on I spent some time with a girl, and came out of her room some time later. There still wasn’t a decent card game to be had and I was feeling a bit bored and tired from the trail. So I headed to the opium tents the Chinese had set up nearby.

What I had always loved about the Chinese was the way the made me feel welcome; and without whispering a word they escorted me into a smokey, dimly lit tent. The man beckoned me through drapery surrounding a nice bed with silk pillows, and presented the smoking pipe as he set it up for me. I took my boots and hat off and hung my rig nearby, and reclined in comfort. When the first smokey puff hit my lungs I smiled, as I could feel its affects almost immediately and knew I would rest well.

What I could not imagine was the dream I would have. Sure, I had wanted to find a card game, but this was a bit ridiculous… I dreamt I was in a cabin in the woods and several men, dressed very oddly (weird colors, blue jeans with new buttons I had never seen, strange colors on their shirts and other worldly hats and glasses), were playing poker. They were drinking out of strange colored tin cans and it smelled like beer. The light above them was a gas mechanism I had seen plenty of times at saloons and hotels. The stove in the room also looked familiar. But the rest? Very strange. There was a large glass window that the table was set up against and there were giant white and tan moths banging themselves against it to get at the light.

The game itself looked friendly, but as I approached the host he smiled my way lovingly, then wrapped his long arms around my waist. Stunned, I looked down at myself and realized I wasn’t me.. I was a teenage girl, dressed with a lacy top, jeans and little pink weird spongy like shoes on my feet. I immediately backed away from ‘Daddy’s’ hand and all the men, right into ‘Mom’ who turned around and tried to hug me. She was also wearing pants, and she said something to me. I tried to respond and got out the words “I just wanted to play.” All the men laughed. That was when Mom said something I didn’t catch and led me to another room with a very soft couch, and given a book to read. I woke up the next day without a hangover, feeling rested and good.. but the dream still haunted me. Side note: I did have a whiskey and played cards the following day, cleaned house. Doc would of been proud.
June 1983, High Sierra Mountains, California

We were spending another summer in the Sierra’s again, and it was a wonderful time in my youth. I loved it up here. and other then that strange experience climbing the rocks and find that horseman shooting at me, life was pretty straight forward and normal. My Mom had chalked it up to my creative imagination and lumped it in with the finding of faeries in the dell. But knew something had happened, and it had changed me; at this point though I was unsure in what way.

We would regularly get together for pot lucks with the other cabin families and I helped Mom make pies and salads to go with everything else. This time we were hosting it at our cabin and things went smoothly. We had a delicious meal and even enjoyed the company as we caught up with each others lives during the rest of the year.

After dinner a few of the men stayed and played some poker. I watched them for awhile from the stairs, before coming down and over to the table. My Mom was finishing up putting things away behind us. My Dad wrapped his arms around my waist and asked me what I needed. For some reason just then I didn’t want him touching me and pulled away, straight into Mom. And then, even though I didn’t want to play cards, I suddenly heard myself asking “can I play?” knowing deep down that if I did play I would beat them all. They laughed at my request of course, and my Mom took me into the other room, mentioning to me to let the men have their fun, and handed me my book..

The oddest thing though, was when I fell asleep while reading and dreamt I had an old Chinese man helping me off a bed with red silk pillows..

By Sophia Bungay, inspired by D.R. Copyright @Wickedlydrivenmedia August 2017

Buried: Echo Diary #4 (Dave R. & Mercury Rose)


September 1880, Lincoln County New Mexico:

I had left the bigger towns of the Northern territory and had made it to the deep crystalline white sands of the desert. I was heading to a place I knew I could ease up for a few days, take stock of the situation and decide what the plan was. I was in some trouble, but in had some worse scrapes before. Maybe it was time to head to new territory; I had friends to the west where the red desert lay, that would gladly welcome a gun for hire like me, to deal with their little legal problem.

I continued past the white desert into the foothills and into a canyon where the air came from the South and you could feel the humidity. As I reached the ridge I slowed my horse to a trot. It was the middle of the night and the occasional creek of my saddle and a horse shoe scraping on stone didn’t wake the homesteads I passed.
The moon greeted me from behind the clouds as I passed over the babbling creek and turned the bay up into the forest. I paused at the top of a ridge and sighed. This place had become home and I relished the peace that surrounded me now. The crusted old oak was still there and I had to smile as I dismounted then, letting my only trusted companion now graze and rest.
Taking my gloves off I felt the old wood against my fingers I kneeled down, feeling my way along the tree. There in between the exposed roots I began to dig. I would make quick work of it and get to what I was after.
Once it was done I took a long draw from my flask and leaned against the trunk of the old oak, looking at the moon and contemplating the long ride ahead.
April 1982, Lincoln County New Mexico

Anxious preteen stuck in the back of a family car as the parents decided which roadroadtrip would be the most exciting to get to our destination. I ignored them for the most part, concentrating on my music blaring into my ears from my walkman that held my sanity.
The dull lifeless desert I had started to loathe had given way to white sparkly sand. That’s when it began. I recognized this place, this white beauty under a deep blue sky. It felt as if I was in the Sierra’s again and all that I was, and all that I knew of me, was remembering something old in my memory again. The recollection came greeting me and the preteen wants and desires melted away.
As the car I was in drove through a canyon I knew more and more. Memory came flooding back, tree lines and rocks looked familiar and the creek we passed over made my heart race as I knew it was there before I even heard it. My parents were delighted I cared about the trip now as I started asking questions they could not answer, about where we were, and handed me the map.
I poured over it and saw a ridge that went up from where we were now. As the car stopped and my family got involved in looking at land to buy, I started to explore. The air seemed somehow more humid here and inviting. I worked my way up a hill and came to what looked like a deer trail. I could still hear my parents discussing things and so wasn’t that far from them.. so I kept going, working my senses and feeling things I hadn’t felt in a very long time. I was no longer Rose… I was someone who felt home here, who knew exactly where to go.
I topped a ridge and walked down a small rise and found an old oak tree. The thing had seen better days, but looked familiar. So familiar I closed my eyes to get my bearings as a sea of dizziness flooded my body. I leaned against the tree to get a grip and felt a charred line on the trunk, probably from a lightning strike. I slumped down and sat in the dirt and strange thoughts entered my mind that were not my own. Of gunfights, camaraderie, and whiskey? Strange as a pre-teen I had thought of such things except in the old westerns my Dad would watch sometimes. Then memories of the man shooting at me at the rocks in Sierras came to my mind. Was that not a dream, or was I just hallucinating now.
For some reason I knew I had to dig, and feeling between the roots of the old oak I did just that, digging until my fingers hit the softer, cold earth on my fingers. I was about to give up on this odd fruitless quest, when my hands felt something hard. Digging around it I was able to pull it loose. It was caked with dirt and hard to distinguish.
Deciding this odd adventure had to end I took this odd relic and worked my way back down the ridge. Dusting myself off so my family wouldn’t suspect I found a creek and washed my hands and then took out my clod of dirt discovery.. As I washed it off in the cold water.. to my amazement it was an old coin. I nearly dropped it in the creek from surprise but managed to keep a hold of it, my hands shaking, not from the snow melt water, but what lay in my hand. I now had proof, of … something; that maybe my strange dreams and illusions were not dreams at all.

(Written by S.M.Bungay, inspired by events and D.R.)

Copyright @2017 Wickedlydrivenmedia

Bright Lights: Echo Diary Entry #1 (Mercury Rose & Anna)

7a7272ab993f49e8f94029eb296fdd0bMercury Rose, April 1973:

Downtown  Los Angeles, California

This will be my side of the story, so I thought I should start at the beginning. This is an epic tale and I don’t want to confuse anyone.

My name is Mercury Rose, but everyone just calls me MR or Rose for short. My parents tended to hang out with an artful crowd, and in there revelry that they would have a daughter who would have their creative genius I was gifted that moniker. I kind of like it, especially since its one of a kind.
Anyway, in 1973, and both my parents were artists, and from time to time, would dress me up in fancy clothes and take me to art openings. I loved being in the middle of all the creative energy and vibrant alive art that I would absorb at these instances. I was fortunate to have these experiences and see the beauty dripping off canvas and clay, taking it all in my young head for future use of my own creative life.

This particular evening it was raining and my Mom and I were driving down to an art show, meeting with my Dad there. She was quietly driving and her sophisticated perfume comforted me and let me know that this night would be special. I was focussed on the water dripping off the glass by my seat and watching the lights of traffic and dizzying high buildings melt into the moisture before my very eyes.

We were in little Tokyo, in Los Angeles and I loved the slick black buildings that looked almost too slick against the night sky, the red signs of oriental writing, and the traffic. All of it made it seem surreal to me. Looking back on it now it was something out of ‘Blade Runner’ without the ruin and grime. Some shiny advertisements playing against the night sky and the rain, the soaking wet rain.
And it was at this point that I was consumed with an overwhelming knowing that I had seen this before. I had been here, but not as a child, but as a grown up. The cars had looked different and the buildings weren’t as slick.. but I remember distinctly running through the rain on these very streets and trying not to get soaked; getting into another kind of car and the rain pounding on the black metal as the rain melted the lights through the window pane in front of me.. just as they were doing now….

I tried to bite my tongue, knowing how that sounded, and wondering what my Mother would think. But she was a lovely intelligent woman who knew things that at that point I could barely guess at. I also was three, and didn’t know the word for it. But it came to my head… it sounded right, although I had never said such a long word before..

“Mom…?” I asked, hesitant, looking at her, questioning… and then down at my hands.

“Yes hon, what is it?” she asked.

I knew I had to.. it was my truth… “I believe in reincarnation.” There.. it was out, that strange true word. I didn’t dare look at her and instead went back to watching the steady rain slide through the lights on my window.
She raised her brow and looked at me. “Well, Mercury.. that is wonderful. Your my little Buddhist.”
I turned to her and she was smiling. And I asked her what that was.. The picture she painted for me was one of orange robed monks in a far away place that studied a different religion from ours; one that consisted of souls coming back as different people in many lives.

I was intrigued, and at the same time, completely comforted that 1. I hadn’t lost my mind at 3, the word I had used, surprise surprise, was a real one, with a real meaning.., and that my Mom understood me. She seemed intrigued to, but by that time we had arrived at the art opening and didn’t have time to go into it further.

When we went through the entry way and into the gallery she introduced me as her ‘little Buddhist’ and the adults would just look down at me and smile, thinking it was charming, if not a little strange. But this was the art scene.. the mundane world had no place in it and many of these creative people knew deeper meanings to things then I knew that time.. So it was accepted, and I was more charming then my cute curls and sassy dress could of made me..


Echo: Diary Entry #1

Anna, April 1923: Los Angeles, California

I was late.. and I knew I was late. I had specifically come to this western city on the Pacific coast for a big break in the industry. My man, the guy I cuddle with most nights when I’m back in Chicago.. he had this brilliant idea for me to come out here; even set up this dancing gig at a friends club. I knew I could dance and entertain; but I also knew the danger he was in back home, and why he had put me on the train to come out here.

And now, instead of a sunny beachside town I had been expecting, I was drenched in my black dress and heels, running to a slick black Ford that was sent to pick me up. I had seen the driver on the other side of the crowd in front of the hotel and had to run down to the corner in order to get in, my heels squeaking with water.

I pulled the door shut, pulled the wet strands of my hair back and smiled at him. He seemed nice.. and introduced himself through the din of the rain hitting the roof of the car, as one of the owners of the club. He seemed honest and familiar to me, though I couldn’t recall it at the time. Told me he was my boyfriends pal from way back, when he lived in Chicago to.

He did look me up and down like a wolf after a rabbit, but then smiled again, winked at me.. and we were off. Despite that, I felt safe for the moment, as I had dealt with worse back home; and had the means to protect myself if it came to that. I mentioned I would have to dry off a little when we got to our destination. He said it was not a problem and made it seem like it wasn’t. I turned to look out at the city and the lights were a blur through the glass, turning into a mosaic painting of some kind.. I smiled, as it seemed so familiar..

Inspired by A. Written by Sophia Bungay April2017

Little Laura ( a short story)

Little Laura by Sophia Bungay


I like to spend time in the garden when I can. The red and yellow rose bushes, the tulips and carnations give off such heady aroma I can feel it throughout me. It helps me keep contact with the earthly world around me. It helps keep me here, which I am grateful for.

I was spending time there today, enjoying the sunlight playing off the stone and marble tombstones as it filtered through the weeping willow trees covered in Spanish moss, when she came, on schedule, to visit me. As she came through the gate and up through the path that wound through the garden I knew it was her, recognized her from my knowing in my heart and my memories. And though the years have taken a toll on her she is still recognizable to me as my Mother.

I sat on the edge of the angel fountain as I watched her. She is always so full of sorrow when she visits me and the rest of us that have left her, that I hurt for her. To watch her suffer and not know that we are here is painful and too much for the others to bear. So they have gone on while I remain. I cannot leave now, not yet, when I see my Mother all alone in the world and still searching for the meaning of death. Maybe it is because I was so young when I left her.

I watched her as she paused in the garden, sadness and longing written on her face as she walked towards me, deep in thought. I know she misses us and oh how I long to reach out to her and feel her pull me close to her as she used to do. Or perhaps, this time, I would be the one, wrapping her in my childlike arms and take away her pain with a kiss to her forehead. She used to do that for me, when I skinned my knee on the sidewalk in front of our house, trying to keep up with my older sisters and the games they would play.

I often wonder about that; what it would be like when I finally am seen by her, when she has left the earthly world of the physical and joined me here. I think of it constantly because that is why I am here, watching, and waiting.

She moved out of the garden and away from me, up the path to the Mausoleum. I watched her disappear from sight around the corner and then followed her. I hate it that she suffers so silently, not letting anyone alive know her pain. They all think she is so strong, elegant, stoic. If they only knew the truth of it. That she cries herself to sleep at night when her house is too quiet around her; that she hides her grief and sadness from them so she doesn’t worry them. But I know differently. I know the truth.

As I reached her she was in the mausoleum, surrounded by brown swirled marble that are the crypts for departed loved ones. She diligently moved from one crypt to the other as she read the gold lettering of the names to herself, perhaps trying to contact us. But I am the only one there, watching as she touches the gold lettering of my sister’s name so delicately with her frail hand, as if to reach out and caress my sister, or the memories of her, and the love that is still very much alive and well.

She stopped as tears welled up in her eyes and travelled down her soft white cheeks and she wiped them away with a trembling hand.

“Mommy, I’m here.” I whispered in her ear but I know she cannot hear me. It hurts that she can’t. I long to have her respond and know that I’m here. Oh and to feel her hands on me once again as I fall into her arms. Oh God, a Mother’s love. So rapt in love and in the ultimate treasure is that it is like when you die and you’re lost and confused and your guardian angel takes you in his embrace, white feathered wings wrapping around you in love and comfort and you know all is right with the world… but I digress.

I watched as my Mother wiped the tears away and unwrapped the bundle that was in her arms. She delicately folded back the tissue to reveal flowers, white roses, which she started to put in each little vase that is on our crypts below our names. She said our names out loud as she gave each one of us our flowers.

“Ann, I miss you how your daughter has grown… You would be proud.” she said as she places a flower in my sister’s vase. “Oswald Paul, my beloved husband, I miss you.” she murmured as she placed one for him next to his name.

“Lynn… Oh love, if you knew what the world was like without you… So cold… Your family is strong though and we miss you.” she said as she placed a white rose in my recently deceased sister’s vase.

Lynn’s lettering is still fresh on the marble and glints of its newness. It has only been five years. She left me soon after coming here. Told me of her life and the cancer that took her from her family. She told me I should come too, that there are things we should be doing as souls, as a part of heaven. But I refused. “My Momma needs me.” I said. My older sister just smiled and shook her head and told me she would be waiting for me with the others. And then she had disappeared. So I am resolved to at least wait on my own for Mommy. I must wait for her. She used to take me shopping and I would hold on to her with my little hand on her skirts as we ascended into the shops full of bustling women, busy at their own things. Maybe that is what I’m waiting for. To take her skirt in my little hand and go up to heaven with her.

My sister had left me then, but soon after her family had come to say goodbye, tears filled their eyes as they had wept and her daughter had fallen to her knees in shock. I had watched on, wishing I could help, but knowing they couldn’t see or hear me, and knowing I wasn’t the one they wanted anyway. They wanted her back. Once, the daughter came around to my crypt, just as my Mother does, and had reached out and touched the lettering. I had yearned to talk to her then. She seemed so sad that we had never met.

Mommy stopped in front of my crypt, my name spelled out and beautiful, but cold as the bronze it is made of. I ached to hold her and moved towards her, my small feet not touching the marble floor as I approached and reached out for her.

“Do not cry Mommy. I’m here. Your little Laura is here.” I said as she placed a small budding white rose in my vase. “Mommy, please hear me. I’m right here! I have never left. I’m still here. I know I was taken young. The boat the party was on, seized in a wave, tossing me overboard, out of your love and into the cold lake, who’s undertow took me from you and our family forever… But Mommy, it’s not forever. It’s just until you come here. Then we can be together and we can go to heaven. Mommy… ” I started to cry, unable to control what I felt, tears and memories. She stared at my name for longer than usual. Had she felt my presence or heard me? Did my words ring true in her ears?

My guardian angel is watching over me, I know. He had tried to convince me that this was useless, this waiting for her and living in the past, not moving on towards the white light or going on towards what heaven is and possibly my soul’s future. I tried to make him understand that it was because I love Mommy so, and I’ve never gone anywhere without her, so why should I start now. So, now he watches and waits, knowing that I am suffering pain where I should suffer no more, because I chose to stay here, and wait for her.

So, as I was crying, I could feel his eyes on me and I turned to look at where he might be; but he had decided to remain hidden. I turned back to Mommy and couldn’t help myself. I clutched onto her skirt, my little hands gripping the flowered fabric in my little fist as I looked up at her. I can imagine the warmth of her and the smell of her sweet perfume as she sweeps me up in her arms. I am so swept up in her, in her movements, in the feelings that I can feel and the longing coming from her, that I do not notice that I was not alone anymore.

“Little Laura, oh sweety… how I miss you,” Momma whispered as she touched the cold marble wall. I cry harder now, tears flowing down my cheeks. At least, I can imagine tears for her and I.

 “Mommy…” I cry through my tears that well up within me. She looked around then, like she heard something. I am almost startled by this movement and pull away from her as she looked down at her skirt, touching where my fist had just been. Did she feel me there, clutching onto her like I used to? She stared at the skirt for a moment and brushes it out, thinking. An overwhelming sense of loss and memories rushed from her as she stared down at the corner that I had just held.

“She remembers me doing this,” I breathed to myself. As I start to lose my sense of balance and want to rush into her arms and ask her to see me and love me, a warm, loving hand is placed on my small shoulder. I looked up and see my Father standing there, smiling down at me. I hugged him and he embraced me in his big arms and I forgot, just for the moment, that we are deceased.

“Daddy?” I asked in a small voice. He simply smiled, and hugged me tighter. I looked up at him with huge eyes, filled with love for him. And he returned that look, loving me fully and caring how I felt. Knowing that I needed him, he came here to hold me and comfort me. Happy again from his presence I released him from my grip and he held my hand in his as we turn to look at our dear Mommy, his wife. He watched her, almost longing to touch her too, but doesn’t. I know a little of how he felt.

“She will be with us soon Laura.” he whispered to me and smiles again. “When the time is right.”

We watched her brush off her skirt and put the thought of me being there now behind her, or at least in the back of her mind. She looked up at all of our names, golden and brilliant in the sun, and smiles, as a single tear runs down her cheek.

“I love you all and my life is better having known you.” she said, silently, almost to herself.

She then picked up the tissue that had held our roses which had fallen to the ground, and folded it carefully, thinking of us. We felt the love emanating out of her thoughts and I gripped onto my Father’s hand as I close my eyes and let the love wash over me in waves. My Father watched his wife as she poured her love and longing out to us and as I opened my eyes again he reached for her. Before the angels can stop him or I can question it, he touched her white hair, very delicately.

“Marie.. We are here and with you… If I could only show you how much you are missed and loved.” he whispered to her from our side of death. In death he is as regal as he ever was in his prime and still very much the gentleman.

She sighed deeply then, folding the tissue even smaller as she tries to put off leaving. She is not looking at us, but at our names and than answers him, or seems to.

“I love you all… And miss you Oswald… More then words can express. The old house is so quiet now with all of you gone. It isn’t the same anymore. We had our time though, this I know. There has to be a reason why I am still here.” she said, choking on the words and tears ran down her cheeks. She sighed as she got ahold of herself again.

“Its almost as if when I come here I can feel you near…” she said, crumbled the tissue in her hand and walked slowly away from us, down the hall of the mausoleum.

I watched my Father stare after her, wanting so much to reach out to her, and I could feel his yearning. I squeezed his hand to make sure he knows I understand how he feels and we walked, two ghostly specters, out of the marble building and into the garden.

We watched her move past the rose bushes, fully in bloom and stop at the fountain. As we caught up to her and reached the fountain she moved on towards the gates and out to the street. We watched her disappear through the gate and into the mundane world outside and we collectively sighed. I looked up at Daddy and he smiled at me.

“Will you come home now?” he asked in a most loving tone. But I just shook my head in answer. He knows what I want to do, knows what is in my heart, and knows I won’t give up waiting. He smiled and nodded, and then hugged me once more before disappearing.

I am alone in the garden now. And I sit on the edge of the fountain and stare at the roses and carnations and the Spanish moss clinging to the weeping willow tree. It stretches out in the breeze and reaches for something. For me? For our kind? For the angels on high or the ghosts that are waiting for their Mommies to come home and join them? Perhaps…