Coming Home to a Place I've Never Been
The death of Maggie’s mother at the hands of a drunk driver lands Maggie at a cemetery, where she watches a stranger’s tender affection at the graveside. Who is this man? How is he connected to her mother’s past? It will take determination, courage, and a huge streak of curiosity to propel Maggie to uncover the pieces of her past—and forge a new path she never expected.
Age Rating: 16+
Chapter 1
I despise funerals. Especially in the sweltering heat of summer in the South.
And since it was my mother lying lifeless in that casket, I hated this funeral even more.
She died unexpectedly. A distracted sales rep, they said, recklessly texting while behind the wheel of a luxury-size SUV.
In her carelessness, the driver crossed the dividing line into oncoming traffic and slammed into my mom’s car head-on, going 60 mph in afternoon traffic in Nashville, where we had both called home.
The impact sent my mom’s car careening into a draining ditch, where it flipped three times and landed on the roof. My mom never had a chance.
In the funeral crowd, faces nothing but a blur, I watched strangers who spanned ages and stages of life, somehow touched by my mother’s compassion and generous spirit. Unfamiliar voices whispered quietly, and I found myself trying to guess which mourner would faint from the heat first.
Not that my morbid mind game didn’t have precedent.
My mind wandered back to another scorching summer two years ago when I attended the funeral of an elderly neighbor from my condo complex. The pallbearers, old as the man they were mourning, struggled to carry the casket up the hillside to the burial plot.
As the men stopped at the gravesite to put the casket on the platform, one of the men passed out under the oppressive heat.
Unfortunately, he was a little too close to the grave, and when he fainted, he fell into the grave. The shift in weight caught the other pallbearers off-balance, and one of them lost his grip, lurching the casket downward and sideways, lodging it catawampus into the side of the hole, tilted at an angle.
It was the first funeral I’d ever attended that required an ambulance, a fire truck and two cranes.
Faces I recognized from my mother's professional life mingled among the mourners. Her dedication as a nurse had left a lasting impact on many, her kindness etched into their memories.
She had been at the same clinic for more than half her career, so she had become a familiar, calming presence for many of the patients she cared for.
After the last few stragglers walked up to the awning, the pallbearers carried the coffin from the hearse and I followed mechanically, lost in shock and anguish.
I sat down in the chair of honor as the sole representative of the family. My best friend Kim sat next to me.
I sat in a numb daze as the minister read Psalm 23, one of the few Scriptures I remembered from my childhood. A few more comments from the preacher, and a final prayer officially ended the service.
After the amen, I found myself bombarded by well-meaning but awkward condolences.
People offered their sympathies, but really, what can you say to someone who just lost her only living relative? What could they offer me that would bring any meaning to a death like this?
I stood at the graveside afterward, not wanting to say goodbye and uncertain of what to do next. The funeral director gently approached, suggesting that we return to the funeral home.
I nodded absently and he placed his hand under my elbow to steady me as Kim and I walked back down the hill to the car.
As I turned back toward the hillside one last time, a mysterious figure emerged from behind a cluster of trees.
I didn't recognize him, but he mirrored the sea of mourners in his somber attire. Holding a single yellow daisy, he ambled toward the casket with reverence.
When he reached the graveside, he leaned over and kissed the casket gently as he placed the flower on top. Then he stood upright, turned around, and retreated back to the trees, vanishing in their shadows.
