Winter Passing
remembered the words she had spoken so long ago. Forgiveness. Surrender. Come into my heart. But somewhere along the way, the words merged into her being and became a hidden part of her life. Hearing her mother talk about God left a strange sensation within her. How many times had she heard Grandma speak in such a way? My prayers are surrounding you, Darby. God’s not finished with you yet . Darby had heard her mother say religious words a few times prior to Grandma’s death, but not like God was part of her daily life.
    The dishes were finished without further talk. Mother stacked the clean cake pans and casserole dishes, then set them in a box to return to friends and family. Darby decided now was the time to ask. The questions had waited long enough.
    “Mom, Grandma Celia told me some things before she died. She wanted me to do something.” Darby watched her mother stop and turn toward her.
    “I know. Grandma and I discussed it before you came down. I guess today is the day. I’ll call Fred to see if he’s available. He said he’d like to make a house call to go over the will since Grandma was such a good friend. And I have the key.”
    “To the safe?”
    “Yes.” Carole patted Darby’s hand. “I wish Maureen could have come back for the reading, but this will have to do. Could I have until this afternoon?”
    “Okay, this afternoon.”
    Darby paced the house. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now.
    She wandered the rooms of the home she’d spent much of her life in. Little had changed on the surface—Grandma and Mother’s Victorian decor remained the same, and Maureen’s room still had a Bryan Adams poster on the wall, though it was currently the sewing room. Darby’s room had been converted into neat guest quarters with her same violet-and-white comforter. Everything looked normal, like any other house on rural Poplar Way. But now it felt different. How could such a normal appearance hold so many hidden secrets? Darby knew that, like specters, the ghostly questions had been lurking, waiting to be answered.
    Unable to stand the thoughts any longer, Darby knew where to go. Through all the busyness of the funeral and company, she had veered away from saying good-bye to Grandma. Now it was time.
    In the back shed she found the clippers and walked straight to the neglected flower garden. Grandma had designed the garden in a circular path with her favorite bush in the very center. Darby stood before the rosebush and cut the best flower the autumn bloom had given. She stripped away the lower leaves and left their remnants on the ground as she walked toward her car.
    The gate to the cemetery driveway was closed when Darby arrived. She parked and went through the walk-in entrance.
    Grandma’s grave was easy to find. The plot she had chosen years ago rested beneath one of the few great oak trees.
    Darby stared at the mound of green sod with fresh, black dirt along the edges. It seemed unreal that her grandmother rested somewhere beneath that plot of earth. The fingers that had caressed her cheek since childhood now were cold and dead. How long until flesh returned to the earth? That thought pricked a chill from her scalp down her back. Not Grandma, not my Grandma Celia. But death was as natural as birth, right? The body was just a shell for a spirit that would live on. Next came heaven, angels, God. For Grandma’s sake, Darby willed it to be true, truer than life. But heaven was so distant and far away as she stood there, staring at the place where soon only a headstone would mark an entire life.
    Celia Rachel Müller. Beloved Grandmother and Mother.
    The woman she loved so deeply would be another name among the long rows of granite stones, in just another cemetery, in just another place.
    I hope there’s more after this life.
    Darby knelt in the grass to feel closer. The cold dampness pressed round, wet circles through her pants and around her knees. She scooted forward to run her finger along the dirt

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