The darkness is suffocating.


No, it’s not the darkness, it’s the earth. Soil covers me from head to toe. I can’t move. I open my mouth to scream only to have it filled with dirt.

I gag, I fight, I struggle but nothing I do is of use. Death is nigh for I cannot breathe.

But death never comes.

I have no need of air, and as my panic fades realization comes. I feel no pain.

My fingers dig into the earth above me. It’s difficult, but they find purchase over time and I make progress. The dirt shifts and I claw my way up, up, up.

My hand punches free into the air. I drag myself upward, out of the earth into the moonlit night. I’m in a graveyard, which doesn’t surprise me. But something is missing. I expected something else. Someone.

“Mom?”

I turn to face the boy. No more than thirteen years old. Dirt and tears stain his cheeks. A dark tome lies at his feet next to a tree. He blinks and rubs his eyes.

“Mom, is it really you? Did it work?”

I don’t know what to tell him. I open my mouth and clumps of dirt fall out.

His eyes widen, but he doesn’t flinch or scream. He just stares at me, unsure. Am I real? A hallucination? Is he still dreaming?

I can feel all these questions in his heart. And more.

He’s afraid. Hopeful. Wracked with grief. Terrified of what he’s done. Thrilled that it worked.

“Who are you?” My voice grates against my raw throat and the dry earth between my tongue and teeth.

Fresh tears stream down his face.

Pain of a different sort.

Disappointment. Failure.

“You aren’t her, are you?”

The bond between us is strong. He called me back from beyond the grave. He is my master, in a way. But there’s more.

His heart is open. His emotions, his memories become my own.

Warm nights, cuddling under blankets. Soft kisses on the head before bed. Smiles and laughter in the mornings. Tears and hugs in the hospital.

I see myself in his mind’s eye. The way I used to be. Glowing with life. A symbol of strength and security. And later, a constant reminder of mortality. An ever-weakening body that he knew would not be there forever.

I look down at myself. My torn white dress, smudges of black earth all over. My skeletal hands, pale in the moonlight and surely paler than those of anyone living.

I am not this boy’s mother. I’m not who he remembers. I’m a body. That’s all.

But I can feel his need, his ache for me to be what he meant to bring back. If I could cry, I would. For him. For who I used to be.

He’s still looking at me expectantly. Waiting for me to confirm his fears. To tell him the truth.

“Sweetheart? Oh, my sweet boy.” I open my arms and he doesn’t hesitate. He runs, buries his head in my chest and wraps his arms around me. He doesn’t care about the dirt or the smell. All he wants is for me to be his mother.

I can do that.

For him.

I can be her for a little while.

“Mom. Oh, Momma! I’ve missed you so much.” He sobs, letting all of his fears and worries go. His tears seep into my dress. They are his grief, his pain, his sorrow. He squeezes me with all his might, his anger, his frustration.

I hold him. That’s what I’m there for.

I let him cry. I let him free himself of all of his pent-up emotions.

He’s been keeping them in for far too long. While his mother was sick at home, when she was in the hospital, on the morning she was gone, at the funeral.

I know all of this and more as his heart lies bare in front of me. Our bond lets me inside, and I feel everything he wouldn’t let out. He had built a dam, showed a strong front, but all that did in the end was make him numb.

The floodgates have been opened and it’s all coming out and I am here to keep him upright as it does.

After a while, his sobbing subsides. His grip remains tight, but I feel something shift within him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

“What for?” I cradle him and wrap my hand around the back of his head, pulling him close.

“For this. For bringing you back. I shouldn’t have meddled with the way of things. But … I found this book. And I needed you. I wanted to see you again.”

“Don’t worry about that. My sweet, sweet boy. I wanted to see you again, too.” The words came naturally. It’s what she would have said.

“But you can’t stay with me, can you?” He pulls back to look in my eyes.

I smile and shake my head.

No, I can’t stay. I can’t pretend forever.

“Then it’s goodbye again?” He sniffs, wipes tears from his face.

“Whenever you’re ready.” I kiss his forehead. “This time, when I go, it’ll be your choice.”

“But I don’t want you to go.” New tears well up.

“Of course not, honey. Nobody ever wants to lose those they love. But you can do this. You can go on without me. When you're ready, just let me go. Let me rest.”

He hugs me again, tighter than before, but only for a short time. He holds on and I feel through him, his eyes are closed. I shut my own.

“I love you, Mom.”

“I love you, too.”

I sigh with relief. My job is done.

He finally lets her go.

And I turn to dust.