Five Years Dead, Mom Knocks on My Door

The house reeked of rot, and spiders crawled all over the walls.

Grandma lay curled up on a bed buried under a heap of rags, dazed and squinting against the beam of light that spilled in through the doorway.

My mom, Sharon Kirby, frowned. She covered her nose and fanned the stench away as she complained, "It looks like a dump in here. Can't anyone clean up? What a slob!

"Elsie? Elsie!"

She looked around the room, calling my name louder and louder.

I ran to throw myself into her arms, but I passed right through her like air. I'd forgotten again that I'd died five years ago.

After all that waiting and hoping, Mom had finally come back. She was carrying treats, and my mouth watered at the sight of them.

Deep down, I was thrilled. Mom still cared about me after all. She'd just been so busy that she could only find time to visit now.

I bounced around beside her. "Mom, I'm right here! I'm right here!"

Her phone rang. Unable to stand the smell any longer, she stepped outside to take the call, and I followed right behind her.

"Be good, sweetie. I'll be home soon. I'm just stopping by to check on your sister.

"I got you strawberry tarts and fruit gummies, all your favorites.

"Okay, okay, I'll be back soon. Tonight I'll cuddle you until you fall asleep."

I froze. All my excitement went cold, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over me. So the treats were for my younger sister, Lucy Pembroke.

I threw a fit, waving my arms and screaming at her, "We're both your daughters, so why don't you love me? I've always been better behaved than her! If you didn't want me, why did you even have me?"

She couldn't hear a word. She turned and went back inside, her face disgusted. "Mom! Where's Elsie? What's going on? I've been calling her forever, yet she won't answer!"

Her voice grew more impatient. She checked the expensive watch on her wrist, clearly in a hurry to get back.

I crouched on the floor, as drained as I'd been the year I starved, too weak even to hate her. No matter how much I loved her, it was like shouting into an empty room.

Lucy was so much older now, yet Mom still held her every night while she slept.

The year I turned two, Mom gave birth to Lucy, and I was moved into Grandma's bed even though she had dementia. Whenever her episodes hit, she turned violent and beat me black and blue.

Crying so hard that snot bubbled from my nose, I clung to Mom's leg and begged. "Mommy, please, I want to sleep with you too."

She frowned, her face saying plainly that I was being difficult. "You're the big sister. Why can't you help me out a little? Lucy's still so small, and she needs looking after.

"If you stop being naughty and bothering Grandma, she won't hit you. She's sick, and you're the big sister, so you need to take good care of her for us."