The summer of 1998 is one I will not forget.
Big Mac set a home run record in a St. Louis uniform and my cheap little apartment needed a complete air conditioning overhaul. It was also the time that my family and I lost my Mom. None of us are really sure what happened as she was in her car at the time on a narrow stretch of road surrounded by large, rolling hills on the north side and a steep incline to the south. The area is heavily wooded and my sister happened upon her car against a tree roughly ten feet from the actual road.(They shared the same house at the time) .
The report had listed the cause of death as cardiac failure but it really didn't matter to any of us that particular day. Once you lose your mother, everything is like dream or being submerged underwater for a long, long time. Just you and your thoughts. Sometimes that can be scarier than any ghost story ever told. There is a point to this and I guess I should get straight to it.
For the next couple days, we stayed at my sister's house in which she and my mom shared. My sister, twin brother, and myself had beds set up in the living room. I thought I'd never get to sleep, but situations such as these take a great deal out of you. I awoke suddenly in the early morning hours. I felt like it was close to four or five a.m. as I had no clock by side. Actually, I was jolted from my sleep because the wailing I heard was almost inhuman in nature. The voice had a somewhat muffled, yet amplified quality like it was a sound recorded on an old portable tape player. I figured since it came from the area of the couch that it was my sister crying. Never totally awake to begin with, I quickly slipped into sleep.
The next day she and I were talking and I mentioned to her how sorry I was that I didn't wake up and at least try to console her when I heard her crying. She looked shocked and replied, "You heard that too..?" My brother had no recollection of the event because he doesn't mess around when it comes to sleep. When he is down, he's gone. He and my other sister got a dose that day of a strange event, however.
They were in the kitchen where it connects with a little deck that leads out into the woods. Upon the patio table sat a vase of flowers. My Mom loved sunflowers. They were talking a bit of smack about my Dad because he'd been less than cool to her in her last days here when they claim the vase violently slammed down to the stained wood. They were separated from that table by about twelve feet and a sliding glass door. That vase also sat in the center of the table. I can't really pass judgement on that event because I wasn't there. But I know the cry that my sister and I heard the night after my mom died was probably her. It sounded very sad and when I think about it I feel cold and alone. I used to think that supernatural stories were all myths. I'm very much a realist but now I'm also a bit more open-minded to such things.