Trying to get things done before the rain that never came (at least not yet in New Orleans), I'd hit my major spots: bank; post-office; and, Canseco's to be sure I was stocked up on milk for my coffee through the weekend. I usually park my bike on the light pole closest to the corner, so I can whip around-go the wrong way down Maurepas to be able to go the "right" way over Lopez and on home down Ponce de Leon. That route takes me past this Little Free Library on the corner of Maurepas and Lopez.
I was very close to finishing my latest stash with The Artist's Wife, by Max Phillips. My glasses were tucked away in my backpack and my gallon of milk was in my right hand, so I debated about stopping. It would be nice to find something that caught my interest and could carry me over until I could make another trip to see Eric and my very special "Marion the Librarian" for more books.
I stopped. I put my milk down and laid caution to the reading wind...one of the books jumped out at me. The cover reminded me of my lastest sepia- colored pressed flower project, so I held it at arms length and read the first couple of lines on the back cover:
"When her children's school is set ablaze, Grace runs into the burning building to rescue her teenage daughter, Jenny. In the aftermath, badly injured, Grace learns the police have identified the arsonist, but they have blamed the wrong person."
I threw Afterwards, by Rosamund Lupton into my newly repaired bike basket and headed out thinking: "I enjoy a good cop story. This should tide me over."
I got that, and so much more.
I've been telling my friends that during times of loss the boundaries are blurred to the point that those we've lost who have crossed over move so much easier between the heres and theres. It's a time when the "everywheres" blend. I glory in the visitors and synchronicity of these times. Mom's passing has opened those portals even further for me. The messages from Afterwards came through loud and clear, even if it takes a hammer to my head to see what is right before my eyes.
I'd moved right past the "mother-daughter" connection, to loving a good cop story. Without giving the whole story and its ending away, Gracie and her daughter Jenny who are both severely injured and in comas leave their bodies. They are able to be present, but unseen to their family, loved ones, and other characters. You can imagine where this can go. Lupton, through her characters, is profound; and touched my heart and soul with:
p. 376-"I hold his hand. I walk into his dreams and I tell him how special he is;"
p. 380-"You told me once that the last of the senses to go is hearing. But, you're wrong. The last of the senses to go is love;" and,
p. 383-...My soul is being born. I am a sliver thin light, diamond sharp that can slip through gaps in the world we know. I will come into your dreams and speak soft words when you think of me. There is no happy ever after-but there is an afterwards. This isn't our ending."
A special thanks to my Mom and all of my gang who have crossed over for the push you made to Afterwards. And...
Love is forever.
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