Ghost Writer

OMG! I Was Writing My Future And Didn’t Even Notice!

FORMAT ALERT! Before I tell you about the ghost, let me say I’m not including numbers on the posts anymore because the subject matter changes here, right now, from 40 posts about my novel ‘The Potluck’ to posts that are about “writing…my future” in a more generic sense.

O.K. here’s the ghost story that came true: In 2006 I wrote a one-act play entitled ‘Midsummer Nights’ Spell: A Play on Words.’ It featured a story “based on actual events,” as they like to say in the movie business, which means some of it really happened and some of it is made up. Indeed, the play was a fictionalized account of my son’s wedding in July, 2006, and all the crazy stuff that happened that midsummer weekend from them missing their honeymoon flight to me having a house full of relatives airing their disagreements with each other, most of this occurring while they (the relatives) played the board game Upwords. My mother was central to the plot as she was a champion of word games both on the board and off. When I wrote what is now Act 1, it was, of course, about something that had already happened in the past.

After my mother died in 2010, I wrote Act 2, based on a real-life repeat of the relationship dramas in Act 1. However, this time the departure I made from fact was to have my mother present at the funeral preparations in the guise of a ghost. Bottom line of Act 2 is that Mom floats in mainly to make observations about how she could have done better at loving us all–me especially, obviously, since this is my story.

Since I wrote Act 2, my mother has actually “knocked three times” on my metaphorical ceiling, but each time I discredited its significance. But before the knocks, something else also happened to increase the dammed up anger I was feeling toward her. A couple of months after her death, a high school classmate informed me that a few weeks before Mom died he had gone to visit a friend in the nursing home where my mother was living and had stopped in to talk with her as well. She told him–and her phrasing is important–she wished she could have “been there more” for me. Why, I asked myself and anyone else who would listen, did she tell him and not me?!!

Shortly after I wrote Act 2, a friend, who happens to be rather psychic, was chatting with me about something normal…can’t remember what…when she suddenly stopped in mid-sentence and said, “Your mom is here and wants you to know she wishes she could have been there more for you.” “Too bad,” I responded. “She should have told me that when when she was alive.”

At Christmas a year ago, a different psychic friend (yes, I do have lots of those!) did the same thing–stopped mid-sentence and said those same words, and my hard-hearted response was the same.

So time went on; meanwhile my knees were killing me. The pain had started back in late 2010 and nothing the doctors did helped, nor did any of the alternative methods I sought out. Then, this past December (2013), I went to a meeting of Women Changing the World–which I believe I have mentioned in an earlier post–and one of the participants told me I was holding anger at my mother in my knees. Immediately another attendee invited me to sit on her lap so she could rock me as I processed that information. As she rocked, she said in a voice that was not hers, “I am so sorry I could not have been there more for you. I love you so much!”

Maybe you have chills running up and down your spine just as I did in that moment when I recognized the voice as that of my mother. This time–three years after Mom died–I really got it, and my knees have been fine ever since.

The End
or maybe
The Beginning?

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