Read Online The Awakening: A Sisterhood of Spirits Novel by Yvonne Heidt - Free Book Online
Authors: Yvonne Heidt
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as if to a faraway place and a different time. “His temperature started to climb in the middle of the night, and I woke up my father. We couldn’t get out, and the nearest hospital was forty miles away on impassable roads. While my parents frantically tried to dig out the truck, my son died in my arms.” Tears ran silently down her face. “I felt his little soul leave me.”
Fresh grief spilled over her, and then Mrs. Singer straightened. “No one here knows about Keith but me. It was before I met my husband. Oh, he knows about my son; he just wasn’t part of my life then, or any part of the pain that you go through when you lose a child.” Her eyes almost looked fierce. “You tell yourself that you’ll die too. After all, how could someone walk around feeling like a knife is living in your heart and not drop dead from the pain? You think you’ll die, pray for it even, but you don’t. You wake up, you eat when someone forces you to, and you go to bed. Eventually, you add chores and other activities to your day, but it’s never the same, not ever.” She stopped and her eyes snapped back to Sunny’s. “Oh my God. Was that actually Keith? ‘I’m okay here. I’ll be seeing you’?”
Sunny nodded and rubbed at the knot in her stomach. “I believe so.”
Mrs. Singer got up, pushing her chair back. “I need some water.”
Sunny stared at her back. “He has a message for you.”
“A message? From my baby boy?” The eagerness in her voice broke Sunny’s heart a little more.
Sunny nodded again. Here goes, she thought. “He appeared briefly and he was holding the hand of a small little girl wearing pigtails and indicated she was his sister. He walked forward with her.” She let that sink in for a moment. “He says he’s happy and showed me pink paint and rollers. At first, I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but then he showed me a crib.”
Mrs. Singer slapped the table in shock. “I just found out this morning! Not two hours before you got here. How could you? Never mind.” Her face paled.
Sunny watched the disbelief race across her features, and then finally, hope transformed Mrs. Singer’s face, and she relaxed a little. Then she went on. “He says he didn’t mean to scare you and he wants you to be happy. He flexed his little muscle when he brought the little girl forward, a sign for big brotherly love. He says he is always with you.”
“A little girl?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Not much, but an older gentleman came up behind him and lifted him onto his shoulders. They were both laughing and then they disappeared.”
“My grandfather. He always did that to me, lifted me up like that.” Mrs. Singer smiled softly. “He always smelled of peppermint and tobacco.”
The air shifted in the kitchen and Sunny felt the heavy grief in the room recede. She knew that Mrs. Singer would shed more tears, but she hoped they would be more of a healing nature.
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Sometimes, Sunny didn’t know where to put all the emotion after a heavy session like this one. She felt overloaded and wrung out. But she did know that she helped this grieving woman, and that’s what her gift was all about. She closed the laptop and stowed it in the leather case. “Do you want the recording?”
Mrs. Singer considered the question for a moment. “No,” she said slowly and pointed to her heart. “It’s right here. Thank you again.”
They walked out to Sunny’s car. After she was buckled in, Mrs. Singer leaned in the open window and giggled. “Pink paint? I think I’ll go and buy a gallon to sit in the middle of the kitchen table with my husband’s favorite dinner.”
“That’s sounds wonderful. Good luck to you.” She let herself be embraced and poured as much positive energy as possible into the hug before heading home.
Sunny got caught up in the shipyard traffic in Gorst, but it didn’t bother
Fresh grief spilled over her, and then Mrs. Singer straightened. “No one here knows about Keith but me. It was before I met my husband. Oh, he knows about my son; he just wasn’t part of my life then, or any part of the pain that you go through when you lose a child.” Her eyes almost looked fierce. “You tell yourself that you’ll die too. After all, how could someone walk around feeling like a knife is living in your heart and not drop dead from the pain? You think you’ll die, pray for it even, but you don’t. You wake up, you eat when someone forces you to, and you go to bed. Eventually, you add chores and other activities to your day, but it’s never the same, not ever.” She stopped and her eyes snapped back to Sunny’s. “Oh my God. Was that actually Keith? ‘I’m okay here. I’ll be seeing you’?”
Sunny nodded and rubbed at the knot in her stomach. “I believe so.”
Mrs. Singer got up, pushing her chair back. “I need some water.”
Sunny stared at her back. “He has a message for you.”
“A message? From my baby boy?” The eagerness in her voice broke Sunny’s heart a little more.
Sunny nodded again. Here goes, she thought. “He appeared briefly and he was holding the hand of a small little girl wearing pigtails and indicated she was his sister. He walked forward with her.” She let that sink in for a moment. “He says he’s happy and showed me pink paint and rollers. At first, I wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but then he showed me a crib.”
Mrs. Singer slapped the table in shock. “I just found out this morning! Not two hours before you got here. How could you? Never mind.” Her face paled.
Sunny watched the disbelief race across her features, and then finally, hope transformed Mrs. Singer’s face, and she relaxed a little. Then she went on. “He says he didn’t mean to scare you and he wants you to be happy. He flexed his little muscle when he brought the little girl forward, a sign for big brotherly love. He says he is always with you.”
“A little girl?”
“Yes.”
“Did he say anything else?”
“Not much, but an older gentleman came up behind him and lifted him onto his shoulders. They were both laughing and then they disappeared.”
“My grandfather. He always did that to me, lifted me up like that.” Mrs. Singer smiled softly. “He always smelled of peppermint and tobacco.”
The air shifted in the kitchen and Sunny felt the heavy grief in the room recede. She knew that Mrs. Singer would shed more tears, but she hoped they would be more of a healing nature.
“Thank you,” she said. “I don’t know how to thank you.”
“My pleasure.” Sometimes, Sunny didn’t know where to put all the emotion after a heavy session like this one. She felt overloaded and wrung out. But she did know that she helped this grieving woman, and that’s what her gift was all about. She closed the laptop and stowed it in the leather case. “Do you want the recording?”
Mrs. Singer considered the question for a moment. “No,” she said slowly and pointed to her heart. “It’s right here. Thank you again.”
They walked out to Sunny’s car. After she was buckled in, Mrs. Singer leaned in the open window and giggled. “Pink paint? I think I’ll go and buy a gallon to sit in the middle of the kitchen table with my husband’s favorite dinner.”
“That’s sounds wonderful. Good luck to you.” She let herself be embraced and poured as much positive energy as possible into the hug before heading home.
Sunny got caught up in the shipyard traffic in Gorst, but it didn’t bother
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