One Day in Heaven: A Journey Through the Veil
A Story of Love, Loss, and Recovering Purpose
Waking
The morning light poured through the window, golden and gentle. It was the kind of light that made the world seem merciful, beautiful, serene. It warmed Andi’s cheek like. For a moment, she smiled.
It’s a beautiful day, she thought.
The bed was warm.
Her body felt rested.
The birds outside were singing something bright and hopeful.
She turned slightly, stretching her legs under the covers. A wave of peace washed over her.
For those precious few seconds, she was free.
Free of memory.
Free of grief.
Free of the weight that had become her every waking moment.
But then…
Her eyes fluttered open.
And there it was.
That empty space beside her.
Still, cold, untouched.
No indentation on the pillow.
No scent of him.
Just space where Tony should have been.
The breath caught in her throat.
“Damn,” she whispered. “This is reality. He’s gone.”
This was the real world. The world where Andi was only a memory, a ghost, someone she had dreamed.
The silence answered her like it always did — not cruelly, but completely.
No argument. No echo. Just truth.
She rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling, the light now too bright, the birds too cheery.
What kind of world lets you forget for a moment, only to rip it back like this?
Her hand slid out from under the blanket and found his side of the bed — still cool, untouched.
She pressed her palm flat against the mattress.
Then, softly, she spoke. Maybe to no one. Or to everyone.
“Okay. I get it. He’s not here. But if you’re out there, God, angels, universe, whatever, give me something. A sign. A dream. I don’t even care what it is. Just let me know he’s something. Let me know he’s somewhere.”
She took a beat.
Nothing.
Just birdsong.
And a distant lawnmower.
And the ache of being awake in a world that kept going when all she wanted to do was sleep this nightmare away.
She blinked back the sting in her eyes and turned on her side again, hugging the pillow where Tony’s body should’ve been.
She whispered again — more to herself this time.
“This isn’t how it was supposed to be.”
The silence didn’t argue. It never did. It didn’t have to.
Just Another Day
The stairs creaked beneath her bare feet as Andi descended slowly, one hand trailing along the wall. The morning light followed her from the bedroom, filtering into the hallway like it dared to be beautiful today. It angered her. How could the day dare to be so beautiful when Tony wasn’t here beside her?
She moved on instinct, not purpose.
In the kitchen, everything was still where he left it. Neat. Quiet. Too clean.
Tony had always hated clutter. But now the cleanliness felt sterile. Final.
She put water in the coffee maker and reached for the coffee grounds. Her hands moved with the rhythm of ritual, but her heart wasn’t in it. She wasn’t sure where her heart was anymore.
She pulled a slice of bread from the bag and dropped it in the toaster. One slice. That hurt more than she expected. Her hands, guided by ritual, filled the coffee maker with water and reached for the coffee grounds. But her heart, she realized, was no longer in sync with the motions. She wasn't even sure where it was anymore.
The single slice of bread she pulled from the bag and dropped into the toaster stung more than she anticipated.
She opened the fridge and stared inside. Half a dozen eggs, a few lonely apples, almond milk, and a half-eaten container of his favorite hummus. She needed to throw that hummus out. She hated hummus. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it yet. She closed it again. There were too many memories in there.
She poured the coffee into her favorite mug — the one Tony had bought her at the beach, the one with the ridiculous cartoon octopus and the words “Let That Ship Sail.”
She leaned against the counter and stared out the window.
Then — the smell of toast. Andi thought she heard the gentle hum of a voice.
It hit her like a ghost through the chest.
Her mind drifted to a happier time. Tony was at the stove, flipping pancakes like a showman, shirtless with a checkered apron and a spatula held like a sword. Tony was the cook. She enjoyed eating his creations.
“M’lady, your royal breakfast awaits,” he said in a fake British accent.
Andi, still in her robe, laughed so hard she almost spilled her tea.
“You’re ridiculous,” she said.
“Ridiculously in love with you,” he grinned.
He plated the pancakes with fresh strawberries, a dollop of whipped cream, and a sprig of mint. He was always about the presentation, always the extra touch.
“Why do you try so hard?” she teased.
“Because,” he said, kissing her on the forehead, “making you happy is my favorite thing. It’s why I live.”
The toaster popped. Andi jumped. There it was. One slice of toast, slightly burnt.
She stared at it for a moment, then dropped it into the sink and let the water run over it.
“I don’t want it.”
She sat at the table and cradled the mug in her hands. The silence crawled over her skin like a second layer.
“You were the one who cooked,” she said aloud. “I was supposed to grow old and lazy and spoiled, and you were supposed to make breakfast until we were ninety.”
She stared at the mug.
“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” she whispered.
She looked up.
“God. Angels. Guides. Tony. Whoever’s out there, I can’t do this unless I know he’s OK. Do you hear me? At least answer me.”
The coffee sat still. The birds chirped. The silence stretched.
But her words hung there.
As if someone had caught them.
The Drive
The engine purred as Andi pulled away from her driveway, the road shimmering with moisture from this morning’s rain. Her hands gripped the wheel like a lifeline. She wasn’t running late to her grief counseling session; she was running from something.
A call came in, forcing her steady pulse to quicken.
Liv.
She answered with a shaky breath.
Liv: “Hey… are you okay?”
Andi: “Yeah. I’m heading to counseling.”
Liv: “Want me to meet you afterward? Coffee, venting, whatever.”Andi (quietly): “I’m fine. Just call me later, okay?”
Liv: “Always. Love you.”
Andi: “Love you too.’
She ended the call before it cracked under the weight of unspoken tears.
She switched lanes and absent-mindedly turned on the radio. It was too quiet. She was sick of the silence. The radio buzzed softly—until the notes of Sweet Reunion drifted through.
“In the moment I first saw you,
I could swear that we had met,
The look in your eye was so familiar…”The familiar opening washed over her chest, squeezing until she felt breathless.
“How many lifetimes have I loved you,
How many times have you loved me…”Their song.
Her throat closed. She dialed up the volume, wincing as the words washed over her.
She let her mind drift. A backyard wedding reception under string lights. She and Tony danced barefoot in the grass, holding each other close. They had instructed the DJ to play Kenny Loggins’ Sweet Reunion.
“It feels like we’ve loved for a thousand years,” he whispered.
She smiled, tears glimmering in her eyes.
“Because we have,” she said.
He kissed her temple.
“Welcome home again.”
Tears spilled like cracked glass.
“Sweet reunion, welcome home again.”
She pulled over to the side, engine idling, windshield blurred.
Her voice was small, but fierce.
“Tony… can you hear me?”
The song played on, every lyric she’d held in her bones:
“Whatever happens, nothing’s ever going to be the same…
Your love’s released me from the past…”She pounded the steering wheel.
“Give me one more day. Not forever. Just one day to know you’re okay. One day to remember.”
The sky above was gloomy and gray. The clouds just hanging there.
“Please. Just… one day.”
The radio flickered and went silent. What was that? Why did it suddenly stop?
The moment fractured.
Tires screeched.
She caught a glimpse of something barreling toward her.
And in that suspended heartbeat before impact, the world shifted.
The Threshold
There was no sound.
No screeching tires.
No moment of impact.
No crunch of metal.
No screaming.
Just stillness.
Andi hovered thirty feet above the wreckage, suspended in a silence so complete it was almost holy. Below her, the car was a twisted sculpture of steel and glass, crumpled like a discarded soda can.
Smoke curled from the engine. Steam hissed from the radiator.
And there, slumped forward behind the wheel, was her body.
Hair matted. Face pale. Blood on her temple. A smear on the shattered window.
“No,” she whispered.
But she had no voice.
“That’s… not me.”
Except it was.
She floated in place, panic rising in her chest — but there was no chest. No breath. No heartbeat. Just awareness. Expansive. Untethered.
Am I dreaming?
She tried to move, to turn, to do something. Her instincts told her she needed to be back in her body. But the more she tried to go back, the more something unseen pulled her up.
Not harshly. Not urgently.
But undeniably.
Like gravity in reverse.
“Wait. I’m not ready.”
But a warmth touched her back — not heat, exactly, but memory.
Not air, but invitation.
The world around her began to fade, not into darkness, but into light. A light that didn’t feel impersonal, it was as if it knew her.
It was the kind that sees every part of you and says, “Yes. Still. Come.”
Below her, the wreckage became smaller. Distant. Unimportant.
“Is this death?” she thought.
But no answer came — only peace.
And just beyond the light, she sensed someone waiting.
The Team
Andi moved through the light as if it had weight, as if it was something she could swim in — or breathe. She felt no body, but she was herself. Stripped down to essence. No hunger. No ache. No gravity.
Still, she hesitated.
Where am I?
The light shimmered. Shifted. Became a landscape. It was fluid, radiant, not Earth but not unfamiliar. Rolling hills without form. A sky without sun, yet bright. It was like trying to remember a dream she hadn’t had yet.
Then she felt them.
Before she saw them, she knew them.
One by one, they stepped forward from the mist of light, not walking exactly, but emerging — as if they’d always been there, just waiting for her eyes to adjust.
Three beings.
🌟 Uriel – The Guide
Uriel was tall. Cloaked in soft gold light. Eyes like galaxies. A calming presence — wisdom wrapped in stillness.
No wings. No halo. Just certainty.
Uriel spoke without introducing himself. Andi knew who he was.
“You’ve come far, Andromache.”
The name Andromache is pronounced:
ann-DRAW-muh-kee
/ænˈdrɒməˌki/
Breakdown:
Ann – like the name “Ann”
DRAW – rhymes with “law”
muh – like the “mu” in “mutter”
kee – like the letter “key”
The name vibrated through her. No one had called her that in years, not since her mother used it half-mockingly when she was in trouble. But here, it sounded ancient. Sacred. She had asked her mother why she gave her such a weird name. It meant man-battler or fighter of men. But lately, Andi had felt like anything other than a fighter.
🌙 Maia – The Mother
Maia was a nurturing, radiant presence. Gentle as moonlight. She had a silver shimmer to her aura. Arms outstretched, not physically, but energetically — like a grandmother you never met, but always missed.
“You’re safe now, love. Rest.”
Andi collapsed into that feeling.
🔥 Kai – The Spark
Kai was younger. Playful. Bright like firelight in motion. He was the trickster energy. Kai was the one who reminded her of the joy she forgot she deserved.
“You took the long road here. But you made it.”
Andi looked between them.
“Am I dead?”
Uriel tilted his head.
“Not exactly.”
“Then where am I?”
“The space between. The place behind the curtain.”
She looked down at herself. She was light, too — luminous, transparent, whole.
“That body in the car—”
“A vessel. A brave one.”
Maia stepped forward.
“We’re your team, Andi. We’ve been with you since before you were born. We helped you design the life you just stepped out of.”
Andi staggered — not physically, but something in her soul recoiled.
“You’re telling me… I chose this? Choose to lose him? No. I would have never chosen this. Why don’t I remember? What was I thinking?”
Kai smiled softly, but with depth.
“You didn’t choose pain. You chose growth. Connection. Evolution.”
“But it hurts.”
“Yes,” Uriel said. “And still… here you are. You fought your way through. Your mother named you wisely.”
Andi’s voice broke, if such a thing was possible here.
“I just want to see Tony. Please. Tell me I can see him.”
Uriel’s gaze softened.
“Soon. First, you must remember who you are.”
A ripple of memory flickered across her awareness. Moments she hadn’t lived yet. Lives she had lived. Other faces. Other names. A sense that she was far more than one lifetime’s story. Andi knew she was much more than the few experiences she had had on Earth. She was much more.
“You are not broken,” Maia said. “Only buried. You came to Earth not to suffer, but to grow.”
The light grew brighter behind them.
“Tony is waiting,” Kai said. “But so is the truth.”
Andi took a breath — or the soul’s version of one.
And stepped forward.
The Reunion
The light behind her spirit team expanded into something even more vivid. More than brightness, beingness. A presence inviting her forward. Andi stepped through the veil of shimmer.
And there he was.
Tony.
He stood barefoot in a field that wasn’t a field. Golden light stretched like tall grass swaying in a wind she couldn’t feel. Behind him, the horizon pulsed softly with color, like a sunset seen through memory.
He looked just as she remembered him, but more.
Younger. Freer. Radiant.
His eyes locked onto hers the moment she crossed the threshold. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t have to.
His smile said everything.
And then…
He ran.
And so did she.
They collided in the middle, laughing and crying, and somehow she could feel his arms — not physically, but absolutely. Every cell of her soul remembered the texture of his embrace.
“I’ve been waiting so impatiently,” he whispered into her spirit.
“Tony…” she breathed, “I was going crazy without you.”
“You were grieving. That’s not the same thing.”
“You’re real. You’re here.”
He pulled back just enough to look at her face — and she could swear he still had that same crooked smile, the one that always came out when he was trying not to cry.
“I never left.”
They sat together in that magical place. Time was meaningless.
Andi looked around.
“What is this place?”
“A place of remembering,” Tony said.
She leaned her head against his.
“I don’t want to leave.”
“I know. But before anything else, there’s something you have to see. Something we planned.”
“We planned?”
Tony took her hand, and suddenly the field dissolved.
The Review
Tony took her hand.
The field of light melted around them like mist, revealing a vast, star-lit expanse. It wasn’t “space,” exactly. But something like a galactic theater. All around them, scenes began to shimmer into view. Not projected. Not outside her. These memories bloomed from within her, lit from the soul.
And just like that, it began. “This must be my life review.”, Andi thought.
Childhood
She saw herself as a little girl — imaginative, sensitive, too tender for the world. Crying in her bedroom because someone at school said she was “too much.” Her first communion. Her secret fear that no one really saw her.
Then, her mother’s illness. Her father’s silence. The loneliness she never spoke of.
“You felt abandoned,” Tony said. “But those wounds taught you how to hold space for others.”
“They taught me how to disappear,” she replied.
He squeezed her hand.
“Well, yes. Until you learned to come back.”
First Marriage
She saw her wedding to her first husband, Isaiah, the one who looked good on paper. The one who made her feel safe, until he didn’t.
It was all there. The awkward dinners, the silence in the car, the long stretches of nothing, the subtle ways she gave herself away to keep the peace.
“I thought I failed,” she whispered.
“You didn’t fail. You graduated.” Tony said, with a soft smile. It was time for you to move forward.
She saw herself signing the divorce papers, crying in the bathtub, and wondering if love was ever going to be real for her.
Tony’s Life Before Her
Now she saw his life. His first wife. The years he felt trapped, trying to be someone he wasn’t.
The arguments. The guilt. The way he buried himself in work to escape what he couldn’t say aloud.
“I almost didn’t leave her,” Tony said. “I thought I owed it to her to stay miserable.”
“We almost missed each other,” she whispered.
“We never could have missed each other,” he replied.
“But we had to become who we were meant to be before we could meet.”
Their Paths Crossing
She saw the coffee shop again. The one she ducked into that day to escape the rain. She saw him sitting at the window, writing a song he never finished.
She saw the moment their eyes met. The moment her soul whispered:
“There you are.”
She saw how every twist — every heartbreak, every delay, every wrong turn was bending the path toward that exact moment.
“It wasn’t fate,” Tony said. “It was design. Our Sweet Reuion was always going to happen.”
After the Reunion
Now she watched the rest of their time together.
The years that felt like lifetimes.
The road trips. The burnt dinners. The quiet nights reading on the couch.
The hard conversations. The big laughs. The sacred ordinary.
The arguments. The making up.
And then — the diagnosis.
She watched herself unravel in the hospital waiting room.
The funeral.
The empty house.
She winced.
“I broke.”
“You bent,” Tony corrected. “You shattered and reformed. That’s not weakness. That’s alchemy.”
The Bigger Picture
The scenes zoomed out now — ripple effects she never knew.
A friend who left an abusive marriage after Andi found the courage to leave hers.
A stranger who read one of Andi’s blog posts and decided not to end her life that night.
A young man at Tony’s funeral, who later became a grief counselor because of what he witnessed.
Andi’s eyes filled with something more profound than tears — awe.
“I didn’t know…”
“You weren’t supposed to,” Tony said. “That’s the point of the forgetting.”
She looked around at the vast web of impact. Of design.
“I didn’t waste it, did I?”
“Not a second.”
The Choice
The review dissolved gently, like mist giving way to sky. Andi and Tony now stood in what looked like a mountaintop at sunset, not Earthly, but symbolic. Behind them, the life she’d lived. Ahead of them, two distinct paths shimmered in the distance.
Uriel, Maia, and Kai reappeared — their energy familiar now, like family she’d always known.
Tony turned to her.
“Now comes the part that’s yours alone to choose. As the Clash sang, ‘Should I stay or should I go?’”
Andi glanced at the horizon, her brow furrowed.
“You mean I don’t have to go back?”
Uriel’s voice was steady and calm.
“No soul is forced. But you have not yet completed what you agreed to bring forward. There are still seeds within you that haven’t bloomed.”
Maia stepped closer and said in a sweet, tender tone.
“You’ve learned so much, dear one. But others need your story. Your courage. Your remembering.”
Andi looked at Tony, panic flickering in her voice.
“But if I go back, will I remember this?”
Tony smiled, bittersweet.
“That’s the second choice.”
She blinked. “What do you mean?”
Kai chimed in, more gently now than ever.
“You can return with memory. You’ll know who you are. You’ll remember the truth of Home. Of us. Of him.”
A pause.
“But if you do, your experience there won’t be as rich. The forgetting is part of the growth.”
Uriel added:
“The forgetting makes you feel alone, so you can learn to remember from within. That’s where the real power is.”
Andi swallowed hard.
“So if I remember, I won’t grow as much?”
Tony nodded gently.
“You’ll live with more ease. But less depth. Your soul didn’t come to Earth for ease, love. It came for evolution. But it’s your choice alone, Andi.”
Andi’s eyes welled again.
“Then… I want to forget. But I want to remember just enough not to break.”
Maia reached into the light and offered Andi something — simple, beautiful, soul-made.
A small pendant, shaped like an infinity loop, made of starlight and shadow. It shimmered faintly in her hand.
“You won’t remember this place in words. But this token will stir your spirit when you most need it. It will also show up in ways you don’t expect — a feather, a song, a phrase from a stranger. You’ll know.”
Andi took the pendant, and it melted into her, not to be held, but carried.
Tony stepped forward, his hands gently cupping her face.
“We will meet again. Not at the end. All along the way.”
“Will I know it’s you?”
“Always.”
He kissed her, not lips, not body, but something deeper. A soul press.
“Don’t look for me in pain. Look for me in beauty. In synchronicity. In your own becoming.”
The Departure
The sky began to change. A low hum rose, like a song the stars were singing.
Uriel extended his hand.
“Are you ready?”
Andi looked at Tony one last time.
“I will never be ready. But I trust.”
The light surrounded her again, and the mountaintop, the team, even Tony, began to dissolve into golden rays of light.
As she floated downward, the last thing she heard was Tony’s voice, gentle as ever:
“I’ll be there when you wake. But you won’t recognize me right away.”
The Return
It started with a sound. Not music. Not voices. Just beeping.
Steady. Rhythmic. Mechanical.
Andi blinked.
Fluorescent lights. The white ceiling of a hospital room.
The smell of antiseptic and that faint buzz of machines.
She was back.
A dull ache throbbed along her ribs. Her head felt heavy, like someone had filled it with fog. But the moment she moved her fingers and felt the sheets, she knew: this wasn’t a dream. This was the “real world”.
“You’re with us,” a gentle voice said.
She turned her head slowly.
A nurse stood at her side, adjusting a monitor. She looked up and smiled — soft, knowing.
Her name tag read: S. Elayne.
Andi asked for her first name. “Shayna”, she said gently.
Shayna said, “You’ve had quite a journey, haven’t you?”
Andi tried to answer, but her throat was dry.
“Did I… was I gone?”
The nurse didn’t flinch.
“Only for a little while. But you came back.”
She touched Andi’s shoulder with warm fingers.
“Don’t look for him in the pain, sweetheart. Look for him in the beauty.”
Andi froze.
The air in the room changed.
“What did you just say?”
But nurse Shayna already turned her attention to the blood pressure monitor and Andi was exhausted. She knew what she had heard.
Andi stared up at the ceiling. Her eyes flooded, but she didn’t cry.
She didn’t remember everything.
But she remembered enough. She remembered the feeling. And nurse Shayna’s, “Don’t look for him in the pain. Look for him in the beauty.” was like a post-hypnotic suggestion. It stuck just below her conscious mind.
The machines beeped steadily.
The world was heavy again.
But her soul felt light.
She closed her eyes, not to sleep, but to listen.
Somewhere inside the silence, a familiar laugh echoed, just out of reach.
The Waiting Room
Six months passed.
The bruises had faded. Her ribs still ached if she moved too quickly, but she could breathe again. More than that, she wanted to.
Andi sat in the quiet waiting room of Dr. Feldman’s office for her post-discharge checkup. Sunlight streamed through the windows in slanted beams, casting golden lines across the floor. Somewhere overhead, faint instrumental jazz played, the kind of music meant to soothe, but mostly just lingered like wallpaper.
She wasn’t flipping through a magazine. She wasn’t checking her phone.
She was just there. Sitting in a stillness that wasn’t quite peace, but wasn’t pain either. The beauty of the day no longer angered her. She absorbed it and even felt grateful.
Across from her sat an older woman in a long, cobalt blue coat. Her silver hair was braided down her back. She radiated calm. It wasn’t the calm of someone untouched by life, but of someone who had made peace with it.
She was knitting slowly, her hands steady with practice and patience.
Andi offered a polite smile.
The woman looked up, eyes soft and caring. Aged but still luminous, like dusk reflected in a still lake.
“I’m sorry you lost your husband,” she said matter-of-factly.
Andi nodded faintly.
“Wait. How did you know?” she asked.
The woman offered a gentle smile.
Brushing aside Andi’s question, she continued. “So did I. Forty-two years ago. A car accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t be,” the woman said. “He’s still around. I feel him all the time. I talk to him every morning, same as always. Out loud, like a lunatic.”
Andi gave a quiet, tearful laugh.
“I do that too.”
“Trust me. You’re not crazy,” she said. “You’re just in love with someone who stepped into the next room.”
They sat in silence for a moment— a warm silence, full of knowing.
Then the woman reached for the chain around her neck, the one Andi hadn’t noticed until now. It was a simple silver necklace with a gently worn infinity loop pendant resting just below her collarbone.
She unlatched it and held it in her palm.
“He gave me this,” she said. “Our last anniversary before the accident. I’ve worn it every day since. Through grief. Through healing. Through living.”
The woman extended her hand to Andi.
“But it doesn’t belong to me anymore. I think it’s meant for you now.”
Andi hesitated. Her voice caught. She could barely get the words out.
“I can’t… That’s too much.”
“It’s not mine to keep,” the woman said with a smile. “It’s yours now.”
Andi reached out, fingers trembling, and accepted the gift. The metal was warm, as if it had been waiting for her. As if it knew her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “I don’t even know your name.”
The woman stood slowly, gathering her knitting.
“Names don’t matter as much as timing.”
Before Andi could say more, a nurse appeared at the doorway, calling the next patient into the examining room. Andi glanced toward the sound.
When she looked back…
The woman was gone.
No blue coat.
No knitting needles.
No footsteps.
Just an empty chair.
And a pendant in her hand, cool now, but pulsing with something eternal.
Andi closed her fingers around it.
“I remember,” she said softly. She wasn’t sure just what she remembered. But it gave her reassurance.
Epilogue – The Remembering
Grief didn’t disappear.
It didn’t dissolve in a blinding light or get erased by one miraculous moment beyond the veil.
It lingered.
It softened.
Some days, Andi still woke up and reached for him. She sometimes found herself pausing in the grocery aisle when she saw his favorite cereal. She still heard his laugh in the back of her mind and sometimes turned, hoping.
Those were the rough days.
But something had changed.
Now, when the sorrow rose like a tide, she didn’t fight it.
She didn’t spiral.
She sat.
She wrapped her fingers around the pendant — now worn around her neck — and closed her eyes. Not to escape, but to remember.
Not details.
Not visions.
Just the feeling.
The warmth.
The knowing.
The eternal thread running through everything.
She’d whisper a few words, sometimes out loud, sometimes just in her heart:
“Don’t look for him in the pain. Look for him in the beauty.”
And then she’d wait.
Sometimes a bird would land outside the window.
Sometimes a song would come on the radio.
Sometimes, it was nothing but stillness.
But even the stillness held something now.
It held him.
And so, she lived, not without grief, but alongside it.
Not waiting for signs, but noticing them.
Not needing to remember everything, just enough.
She couldn’t stop thinking about the nurse.
Shayna Elayne. The name on her tag had shimmered in her mind for days.
Shayna.
She remembered now — there was a girl in her childhood by that name. Sweet, kind. They’d played together once or twice. She couldn’t recall the details, only the feeling.
She had asked what Shayna meant.
“It means beautiful,” the girl had said proudly.
Now, curiosity nudged her. Andi typed the unusual last name into a search bar.
Elayne — a variant of Elaine.
Old French. From Greek origins.
“Light.”
Beautiful. Light.
She sat back, chills rising along her arms.
“He said he’d be there, and I wouldn’t recognize him. They said I wouldn’t remember everything. But I remember this.”
Andi smiled, touching the pendant.
“Thank you, Shayna Elayne. I mean, Tony. Until our next Sweet Reunion.
This was lovely and totally engaging. I was running late for a meeting but could not stop reading til the end. How wonderful that Shayna was there, providing healing. -Like you do for us, Brian, thank you for this.
What a powerful message! It’s beautiful in the grief.