A Surprise From the Dead

I drove home alone that night, the smell of flowers and formaldehyde clinging to my black dress. My fingers tapped absentmindedly against the wheel as I thought about the day’s events. Faces of family and friends blurred together with tears and expressions of sympathy. I thought about my Dad; he had never looked so small sitting there without my Mom. Worries about my Dad living alone filter through my mind as I pull into my driveway to find a man stepping out of a delivery van. I turned off my car and stepped out just as the man was reaching me.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“Are you Laurie Paul?” He asks back, checking a slip.

“Yes, but I didn’t order anything.”

“Someone sent you this through our courier service,” He holds a clipboard and pen out to me. “I just need you to sign.”

Unsure, I take the pen and sign for the package. The man hands it to me and I am surprised by the weight of it. Without looking at the box, I walk to my front door as the man drives away. I drop my purse by the door and slip out of my stiff, black heels, and I walk into the kitchen. Placing the package on the island, I look at it for the first time. Written across the brown paper is my name in a handwriting I would recognize anywhere: my mother’s. I feel my throat tighten as I realize this is the last thing I will ever receive from her, and I wonder why she chose to deliver it this way. I carefully open the paper, preserving her handwriting, to find a letter taped to another item wrapped in brown paper. I lift the letter off the top and open it. I start to read it, but I barely make it past the first word before my eye start blurring with tears. Clutching the letter to my chest as my knees give out, I sit on the floor and lean back against the wall.

In a wave of sobs, all the emotions that I had held back through the day rushed out of me. Alone in my house, I truly mourned my mother for the first time. Holding the last thing she would ever write hit home that my Mom was truly gone. I would never be able to call her on my tough days to get her advice. I am no longer able to hug her tight when I’m feeling broken. I’ll never see her smile again. My Mom is the toughest person I know. As the cancer took over her lungs, she knew it was her time. She turned down the chemo because she wanted to face her fate head on. Her death was by no means a surprise, but it was no easier to accept after having watched her suffer but push through the pain for months. I should have known she would prepare something like this package knowing she didn’t have much longer to live. Lifting my head, I looked at the brown package on the counter through blurry eyes and slowly stood to open it. I fold back the paper to reveal a thick, leather bound album. I opened the letter over the cover and begin to read again.

My Dearest Laurie,

I hope you don’t find my delivery of this gift to be inappropriate or in poor taste, but I knew you should receive it after the funeral and not before. I am thankful for your extra support these last few months, and I am grateful for your respect of my choice to let my body ride out this illness. You have always been a caring, thoughtful young woman, and I’d like to think you learned some of it from me, but you learned most of it yourself. You are a kinder, more understanding, and gentler woman than I could ever be. As I was thinking about what I would leave behind when I passed, I was glad that you were the best thing. I am so proud of the woman you have become, and I love seeing your passions and drive. You will accomplish big things, and I hope you’ll think of me when you do; I’ll be watching and cheering you on! Building this album brought me a lot of joy these last few months as I was able to go through treasured memories and watch you grow all over again. I hope this album means as much to you as it does to me, and I hope you will treasure it. Keep it close, and you’ll be keeping me close.

Love you always,

Mom

I wipe a tear from my cheek and set the letter to the side. I don’t know what she was meaning when she said I learned most if it myself. I always tried to be just like my Mom. I guess we see better traits in other than what we see in ourselves. Opening the cover, I am greeted with a picture of me and my Mom in the hospital bed when I was born. Her smile is wide and bright as she looks down at my red, wrinkly face. As I flip through the pages, I am greeted with images from my childhood paired with personal notes from my Mom. I’m too emotional to read them all now, but I know I’ll enjoy reading them later. I flip one page and am confused by what I find. Instead of pictures and notes like I expected to find, all I see is an envelope with a date. The date is my birthday in a few months. The next few pages are stuffed with envelopes labeled with date for birthdays, Christmases, and some other important days for the next five years. My eyes well up anew as I realize the effort my mother put into this gift. She made it so that she could be a part of my life for a little longer. I had letters to look forward to now, new words of encouragement from my loving Mom. Although she may not be here physically, she will be with me in spirit. My mother is the most selfless person I know where even at the end of her time, she was thinking about me and leaving me something special.

I brush the tears from my cheek again and whisper, “thank you, Mom. I love you,” into the silent house.