| Biographical Non-Fiction posted January 23, 2022 |
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A contact from the other side
Last Goodbye or First Hello
by Annmuma
~Supernatural Story-not horror Contest Winner
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Seven a.m. January 11, 2003. Still dark, no chill in the air, a Texas winter day that would burn into my memory and end a difficult week.
This story begins in 1977 when my husband and I began a Spoon Collection. We had a few spoons, but the collection became an official hobby with a spoon rack purchased in Denver. As we traveled, we chose spoons to memorialize each experience. Our U.S. travels had spoons to display with those from birding trips around the world.
Spoon collecting rules included size, rack-fit and the unbreakable rule: No spoon displayed unless we chose it personally while visiting the spot. More spoon racks, varying capacities, were added and graced the walls in our house.
In January, 2002, Ronnie and I left Dallas in our Alfa Gold Fifth Wheel and came home in mid-November. Many December hours were devoted to our spoons and racks. A Christmas gift from our kids was an anniversary trip to Australia. We imagined collecting spoons to commemorate new memories made.
On January 4, 2003, as Ron and I returned from a weekend of Shreveport casino fun, we talked non-stop about any and everything; dying, along with what comes next, became front and center for a few minutes. Talking about death was not macabre but, on this night, it seemed more serious, not scary, interestingly serious. During the conversation, we made a pact between the two of us: Whichever of us landed on the other side first would contact the one left behind with some concrete sign easily read by the survivor.
We were healthy people planning to live many more years, but life consists of surprises, twists and turns. Two days later, Ronnie died while we walked in a nearby park. A heart attack is on the death certificate.
Seven days later: My brother and I sat in our kitchen, reviewing the eulogy he would provide later that day. My sister-in-law and niece were in the living room, talking and drinking coffee. I fought through a fog of disbelief. Ronnie and I enjoyed every day we had and I felt incapable of life without him. I remembered a day in Deadwood when we became separated. As I searched, running from building to building, I almost panicked. Though I felt foolish, I couldn’t disguise my intense relief at seeing him. He understood and held me for a minute; he did chuckle a bit!
That same horror and terror multiplied by a million times devoured my spirit as I faced losing him; life would never be the same. At my lowest point, something hit the floor in the living room. My niece called out. “Aunt Olevia, a spoon fell.”
Chill bumps covered my arms as I picked up the fallen spoon, marking our visit years ago to Tombstone, Arizona. Soundlessly, I heard Ronnie clearly. “Ann, I have crossed. The tombstone of my life has been set. We will now travel on a different plane.”
Becky said, “Look. Another spoon is moving!”
It was swinging; I climbed on a chair to read it. Australia? How could that be? We had not visited Australia. Australia was our planned 2003 trip. Again, Ronnie spoke to me. “Australia is not in our future.”
I experienced a peace I had not known that week and that peace got me through that day and many days since. I have received other contacts, but none clearer than the first hello.
The Spoon Collection hangs in my house. The memory lives in my mind.
Seven a.m. January 11, 2003. Still dark, no chill in the air, a Texas winter day that would burn into my memory and end a difficult week.
This story begins in 1977 when my husband and I began a Spoon Collection. We had a few spoons, but the collection became an official hobby with a spoon rack purchased in Denver. As we traveled, we chose spoons to memorialize each experience. Our U.S. travels had spoons to display with those from birding trips around the world.
Spoon collecting rules included size, rack-fit and the unbreakable rule: No spoon displayed unless we chose it personally while visiting the spot. More spoon racks, varying capacities, were added and graced the walls in our house.
In January, 2002, Ronnie and I left Dallas in our Alfa Gold Fifth Wheel and came home in mid-November. Many December hours were devoted to our spoons and racks. A Christmas gift from our kids was an anniversary trip to Australia. We imagined collecting spoons to commemorate new memories made.
On January 4, 2003, as Ron and I returned from a weekend of Shreveport casino fun, we talked non-stop about any and everything; dying, along with what comes next, became front and center for a few minutes. Talking about death was not macabre but, on this night, it seemed more serious, not scary, interestingly serious. During the conversation, we made a pact between the two of us: Whichever of us landed on the other side first would contact the one left behind with some concrete sign easily read by the survivor.
We were healthy people planning to live many more years, but life consists of surprises, twists and turns. Two days later, Ronnie died while we walked in a nearby park. A heart attack is on the death certificate.
Seven days later: My brother and I sat in our kitchen, reviewing the eulogy he would provide later that day. My sister-in-law and niece were in the living room, talking and drinking coffee. I fought through a fog of disbelief. Ronnie and I enjoyed every day we had and I felt incapable of life without him. I remembered a day in Deadwood when we became separated. As I searched, running from building to building, I almost panicked. Though I felt foolish, I couldn’t disguise my intense relief at seeing him. He understood and held me for a minute; he did chuckle a bit!
That same horror and terror multiplied by a million times devoured my spirit as I faced losing him; life would never be the same. At my lowest point, something hit the floor in the living room. My niece called out. “Aunt Olevia, a spoon fell.”
Chill bumps covered my arms as I picked up the fallen spoon, marking our visit years ago to Tombstone, Arizona. Soundlessly, I heard Ronnie clearly. “Ann, I have crossed. The tombstone of my life has been set. We will now travel on a different plane.”
Becky said, “Look. Another spoon is moving!”
It was swinging; I climbed on a chair to read it. Australia? How could that be? We had not visited Australia. Australia was our planned 2003 trip. Again, Ronnie spoke to me. “Australia is not in our future.”
I experienced a peace I had not known that week and that peace got me through that day and many days since. I have received other contacts, but none clearer than the first hello.
The Spoon Collection hangs in my house. The memory lives in my mind.
This story begins in 1977 when my husband and I began a Spoon Collection. We had a few spoons, but the collection became an official hobby with a spoon rack purchased in Denver. As we traveled, we chose spoons to memorialize each experience. Our U.S. travels had spoons to display with those from birding trips around the world.
Spoon collecting rules included size, rack-fit and the unbreakable rule: No spoon displayed unless we chose it personally while visiting the spot. More spoon racks, varying capacities, were added and graced the walls in our house.
In January, 2002, Ronnie and I left Dallas in our Alfa Gold Fifth Wheel and came home in mid-November. Many December hours were devoted to our spoons and racks. A Christmas gift from our kids was an anniversary trip to Australia. We imagined collecting spoons to commemorate new memories made.
On January 4, 2003, as Ron and I returned from a weekend of Shreveport casino fun, we talked non-stop about any and everything; dying, along with what comes next, became front and center for a few minutes. Talking about death was not macabre but, on this night, it seemed more serious, not scary, interestingly serious. During the conversation, we made a pact between the two of us: Whichever of us landed on the other side first would contact the one left behind with some concrete sign easily read by the survivor.
We were healthy people planning to live many more years, but life consists of surprises, twists and turns. Two days later, Ronnie died while we walked in a nearby park. A heart attack is on the death certificate.
Seven days later: My brother and I sat in our kitchen, reviewing the eulogy he would provide later that day. My sister-in-law and niece were in the living room, talking and drinking coffee. I fought through a fog of disbelief. Ronnie and I enjoyed every day we had and I felt incapable of life without him. I remembered a day in Deadwood when we became separated. As I searched, running from building to building, I almost panicked. Though I felt foolish, I couldn’t disguise my intense relief at seeing him. He understood and held me for a minute; he did chuckle a bit!
That same horror and terror multiplied by a million times devoured my spirit as I faced losing him; life would never be the same. At my lowest point, something hit the floor in the living room. My niece called out. “Aunt Olevia, a spoon fell.”
Chill bumps covered my arms as I picked up the fallen spoon, marking our visit years ago to Tombstone, Arizona. Soundlessly, I heard Ronnie clearly. “Ann, I have crossed. The tombstone of my life has been set. We will now travel on a different plane.”
Becky said, “Look. Another spoon is moving!”
It was swinging; I climbed on a chair to read it. Australia? How could that be? We had not visited Australia. Australia was our planned 2003 trip. Again, Ronnie spoke to me. “Australia is not in our future.”
I experienced a peace I had not known that week and that peace got me through that day and many days since. I have received other contacts, but none clearer than the first hello.
The Spoon Collection hangs in my house. The memory lives in my mind.
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Writing Prompt Supernatural Story - not horror fiction. No vulgar words, sexual terms, murder, gory story, or profanity Must be about Humans encountering ghosts/spirits--no animals included Minimum of 550-and maximum of 600 words No writing, animation, or music on the one picture Black font |
~Supernatural Story-not horror Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
#12 January 2022 |
This is a true story. And those goose bumps returned to my arms as I wrote this story. 585 words.
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