I've been in Sacramento, California for a few days. My mother is one of four sisters. Three of them moved from San Bernardino, California to Fort Worth, Texas with their parents (my grandparents) in the mid-sixties. The oldest sister, Ginger, was already grown with two sons, so she stayed in California. Ginger died last week, so I accompanied my mother and her two remaining sisters, all of whom still live in Fort Worth, Texas, to Sacramento for the funeral. We spent five days there.
As we walked away from my Aunt Ginger's grave on that rainy Monday afternoon, I looked back and saw an old black man in a black suit, black hat and black sunglasses standing by the grave. This is true. He wasn't a part of our funeral party, and I'm not sure when he approached. He was standing there like a man waiting for someone, glancing casually around as the rain came down on him. He was in no hurry. He was still there when we drove by the grave on the way out.
I knew who he was, and why he was waiting. He was waiting for us to leave, so he could start his work. His job, I believe, is to walk with the dead as they start their journey. His job is to show them the road and make sure they know where to go. I don't think you can always see him, but sometimes you can.
Hello, friends. How are you?
Later. Love.
P.S. - I posted a a mystery of sorts on my cogito writing site. It's called Intrigue. Check it out, if you'd like. Thanks for stopping by.
