I was going through some crap on my desk (I know, you're shocked --- but hang with me here) and came across a single piece of paper with dot-matrix printing on it.  That stopped me in my tracks since I haven't had a dot-matrix printer in nearly twenty years.  I looked it over and saw why I saved it.  It is a short one-page story written by my mother, who died on July 11, 1999.  There is no date on it so there's no telling how long before she passed that it was written.  I thought it was rather touching and I've decided to share it with my good friends on MySpace.  Be aware that the two characters, Burton and Grace, are named after her parents; those were my grandparents' middle names.  That said, on with the story...

The Reunion, by Shirley Adams

Grace lay on the couch with a pillow under her head and could not help but wonder at the feelings of tiredness happening so often lately.  The sun was just past its zenith and the sidewalks noisy with children returning to school after lunch break.  Her gaze roamed the room, lighting on items special only to her.  There was the picture of the wooded area and the windmill.  No one else knew of the secret happening that took place beside the windmill.  The area had always been a popular picnic spot.  Her eyes moved to the glass slipper on the shelf.  It had been won at a carvinal and presented to her with a flourish and a wink.  She looked longest at the old afghan that had warmed a child on cold evenings.  She smiled as she drifted off.

After a time, Grace sat up, then stood.  How much better she felt.  The fatigue was gone and taken with it her depressed mood.  She went to the closet and took a favorite sweater off the shelf and slipped it around her shoulders.  Replacing the mood of depression was a strange mood of anticipation.  Something wonderful was about to happen.

Grace glanced around the room one last time before going outdoors.  She strode down the same sidewalk taken by the children.  There was a spring in her step and she heard the thrill of birds.  Past the school and into the park where the trees were changing to autumn colors.  Sitting on the bench, she waited.  Still there was the excitement and suspense of anticipation.  She didn't know why she waited there, but she did.  It just seemed right.

In the distance a figure appeared and came nearer.  The anticipation was very great now, but she was suddenly serene.  As the figure came closer she knew it was Burton, but still she sat.  He approached the bench and looked deeply into her eyes for a long, long moment.  Then he smiled and held out his hand.  She took the hand and rose to stand beside him.  "Burton," she said, "it has been so long."

"Yes, Grace," he replied, "but no longer.  We will go home now."

They walked in the park hand in hand, talking about their memories.  The picnic by the windmill where he had proposed so long ago; the carnival when he had won the glass slipper for her.  She told him that she had kept the glass slipper through the long years of her marriage to another man.  She told him of keeping the afghan that had been thrown over his body after the awful fight.  She told of wrapping it around their child after it came.  He smiled and they walked up the long hill into the clouds.  Grace then knew that marriages made in Heaven sometimes never make it to Earth, but she and Burton were now together forever.

Could my Mom write or what?

Cheers.

www.johnwadamsjr.com