Chapter One

The Restlessness Begins

Can you tell me where Martha Amanda Ward Smith is buried?" Had I ever spoken her whole name out loud? 

"Who?" 

"She's my mother; she was buried here in 1961. Martha Ward Smith." The attendant came back with a map on which he'd circled her grave and marked it with a yellow highlighter. I walked to the car feeling as if I'd just come from AAA with a map to a distant destination. How tacky: a map to my mother's grave. My eyes were already damp, my heart pregnant with embarrassment and anticipation.

    Within two minutes, our car arrived at the designated spot. My wife, Darlene, and I walked to her grave. With my arm around Darlene, I looked down at the matured green grass. I eyed the dates of the marker: September 10, 1923-October 10, 1961. What a short life -- barely thirty-eight years. Stunned by the math, I said, "Honey, she's been dead longer than she lived." By then, I was leaning on Darlene, my knees buckling beneath me. This was the first time I'd been to Mom's grave since the day we buried her.

    My mind drifted back to a day thirty-nine years ago. It had been a crisp, fall day in Graham, North Carolina. I rode my bike home from school as fast as I could with the hope of catching some big bream or maybe a bass or two out of Johnson's Pond about a half a mile from our home. I remember thinking it strange that my mother's car wasn't in the driveway. But it was Friday -- the day Mom usually got her hair done in Greensboro -- so I figured that maybe she'd stayed a little longer to visit friends. With a han