Please login or signup to add a comment to this paragraph.

Add comment   Close
Daniela Bustamante Daniela Bustamante
Recommendations: 10

Heaven Knocking on Earth's Door

Share this writing

Link to this writing

Start Writing

More from Daniela Bustamante

Bridges Hold Pain
A Broken Soul
My hero was taken from me.
Dear Mom- The Original

More Short Stories

Rebekah King Rebekah King
Recommendations: 21
Jason Dookeran Jason Dookeran
Recommendations: 12
Elizabeth Tan Elizabeth Tan
Recommendations: 29
I Cannot Resist
Stephen Stribbell Stephen Stribbell
Recommendations: 10
Four Fundamentals of Making Acquaintances
Kaitlyne Beaudin Kaitlyne Beaudin
Recommendations: 25
She had a friend.

      I can’t tell you if I ever actually met with my mother for all I know, my mind could have been playing tricks on me. I could be making this up because it’s something that I genuinely want to happen, but I could also be telling you the story of something that actually happened.
      I walked a long hall that seemed abandoned in a hospital that was newly painted. I recognized this place already from all the months that I spent in it when my mother was admitted here. The hall was long and seemed never ending, and throughout the whole thing, there were flickering lights. There were fallen frames all over the floor and speaking of the floor, it really needed some waxing. It was dusty and with every step I took, dust lifted off the floor. It seemed as if everyone just got up and left everything for no reason. The receptionist’s desks have papers all over them and beat up file cabinets as if someone demanded some files to be given to them. On one wall, I noticed a clock that read 2:10 PM. There was a beat-up desk with a sign that said “Medical Records” and stacks of files on it. I reached for the first file, blew the dust off and opened it to read about “Amanda Walters.” As in the Amanda that was my mother? The woman this file talked about had a history of stomach cancer and had passed away at 2:10 PM on August 30th, 1990 and today was the 10 year death anniversary, just like my mother. I put the file down and walk in circles until I decide to keep searching for some answers as to why I’m there.
       This wasn’t a hospital I was scared of instead, I walked the halls checking every room to see why I was there. I approached a room and saw a small sign next to the door. I got up close and squinted, trying to read it since it was so dark. “Oncology” it read.
       I opened the door and there I saw a woman and a doctor talking to each other. The woman, at least in her late 40’s, was crying. The doctor, a five foot two African American woman, patted her on the back and said, “I’m very sorry just let me know when you’re ready to discuss possible treatments.”
       Near the end of the hall, I heard a door slam and the intercom goes off with only static ringing through the halls. I see a woman, dressed in what seems to be a red dress walking towards me.
       “Do you know what’s going on?” I ask as I shout over the static.
        No answer.

        As she got closer, I noticed that it was a red dress she was wearing and it flowed every time she took a step; she had no shoes on but did not look homeless. She looked like an angel, so gracefully walking towards me. Short caramel-colored hair, very petite and pretty, with a face was as flawless as it could get, but what I seemed to notice the most was that she looked just like the woman that I had just seen in the room. As she walked towards me, I thought about how this woman seemed like the kindest person in the world and I felt this peace in my heart for some odd reason.
        She stopped exactly 5 feet in front of me and my heart dropped to my stomach and I felt my body becoming weak. I stare at her directly in the face.
       “Mom?!” I say in a high pitch voice.
       “My baby!” she says as she opens her arms preparing for an embrace.

       I run into her arms and cry as I start remember what it’s like to have my mother hug me again. The warm embrace of a mother is like no other I felt safe. I felt safe enough to not care where I was anymore and that’s when I let go.

         In my head, I'm already thinking about how this is some type of illusion, someone is playing a game with me. This isn't real. There is no way my mom has been dead for 10 years; she was showing me the beginning of what eventually led to her death.

Link to this writing

Share this writing

Daniela Bustamante's website:

Next: red