I stand there frozen by the vast amounts of pale grey light
flowing around my body. She stands there before me, seeming to emenate from
this light that comes towards me. Gazing softly, she steps forward slowly; she
wears a beautiful gown of black, soft and fluttering as if there were a breeze
about. Her hair is just as I remembered it to be, soft brown curls, short and
finely groomed. I cannot speak, nor move. The essence of her spirit fills me
with emotion; I start to cry. As she comes closer, she opens her arms to me
and embraces me with a loving gentleness that only a grandmother possesses.
"You must be strong," she tells me. Her voice is light and with the same good
old southern style.
"You must be strong for Amanda's sake. And for your mother. I know you don't
like her much, but she needs you more than you realize."
She starts to let go of me.
"I love you, Christina Ann," she whispers as she makes her fleet. I try to go
after her, but my feet will not move.
"Don't go," I call out.
She does not hear me. Then the light is gone.
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work and property of Kristen A. Rae. These writings are not to be distributed,
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