From The Dead

The Visitor
I dropped in to see my Mom today. She's doing really well for eighty. She was busy making my favorite pie- sour cream raisin! I tried to help her, her arthritis makes it hard for her to roll the dough - she has to stop and rub her knuckles every so often.
My sister and daughter came along, too, and we all sat down to eat Mom's pie. My daughter Amanda, who is 17, looks exactly like me when I was her age. She and my mom and Amanda have always been close.
Now mom reaches over and strokes Amanda's long auburn hair. When we finish our pie Mom suggest we visit the cemetery.
"This is the anniversary, you remember, don't you?" she asks Amanda.
"Of course, Nana. Can I pick some flowers out of your garden to put on her site?"
"That's a wonderful idea, sweetie," and Mom pats her face.
We all make our way to the cemetery. It's just on the outskirts of our small town. At first the sun hid behind the clouds, throwing shadows across our path. But as we reached the gate, it burst through and lit up the narrow walkway in front of us. We find the grave and Amanda kneels down with the bouquet of gladiolas and sweet peas. She gently places the bunch of flowers on top of the stone.
"These were Mom's favorite, weren't they?" Amanda asks, glancing back at my Mom and sister.
"Yeah, kiddo, she loved them," says my sister, wiping a tear that's rolling down her cheek.
The date on the stone marks the day they found me- the day the Mountie knocked on Mom's door to say they located my broken body, dumped on a lonely back road, like a piece of trash, left for the coyotes to eat. After the police came I remember seeing my mother sink to the floor, my sister and daughter cradling her, that precious trio, clinging to each other, their tears meshing together to form rivulets flowing down their faces. I hugged them close to me then, and now I watch as they move slowly away from my grave, out the cemetery gate and back down the road. I'm not going to be following them because I know they're going to be alright without me. But I left a reminder of me on Mom's kitchen table. When they get back there, they'll find a single sweet pea. I'm not sure they'll understand- but that doesn't matter. I'm going to keep leaving hints that I've been around, and one day, I know they'll figure out it was me.