FOR ONE MORE DAY
Chapter One
Now, when I say I saw my dead mother, I mean just that. I saw her. She was
standing by the dugout, wearing a lavender jacket, holding her pocketbook. She
didn't say a word. She just looked at me.
I tried to lift myself in her direction then fell back, a bolt of pain
shooting through my muscles. My brain wanted to shout her name, but there was no
sound from my throat.
I lowered my head and put my palms together. I pushed hard again, and this
time I lifted myself halfway off the ground. I looked up.
She was gone.
I don't expect you to go with me here. It's crazy, I know. You don't see dead
people. You don't get visits. You don't fall off of a water tower, miraculously
alive despite your best attempt to kill yourself, and see your dearly departed
mother holding her pocketbook on the third-base line.
I have given it all the thought that you are probably giving it right now; a
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