Carolyn Ridder Aspenson
Carolyn Ridder Aspenson is the Amazon and Barnes & Noble best selling author of Unfinished Business; An Angela Panther Novel, Unbreakable Bonds; An Angela Panther Novel, the novella Santa's Gift, a Cumming Christmas Novella and The Quick Start Weight Loss Program.
An avid fitness buff, Carolyn writes a monthly health and fitness column for Northside Woman Magazine as well as regular weekly news articles for various Atlanta area media outlets including the Forsyth Herald, the Milton Herald, the Revue and News, and the Johns Creek Herald. Her works have also been published in Countyline Magazine and various Internet publications.
A native of Indiana, for over eighteen years Carolyn called the northwest Chicago suburbs home. She now resides in the Atlanta area with her husband, three kids, two dogs and cat.
Stay at home mom Angela Panther is living the good life.
Happily married with two kids, a house in the suburbs and, a fantabulous best
friend, she's got it all. But hours after Angela's mother
dies, her ghost pops in for a visit, leaving the door to the other side wide
open. Suddenly Angela's life is jam-packed with ghosts - ghosts that need
her help. Now Angela must find a way to
balance the needs of the living along with the unfinished business of the dead,
all while keeping her mother's ghost in line. Hilarious and bittersweet, Unfinished Business tackles the
emotional ups and downs of the relationships between mothers and daughters and
the desperate desire for that one last chance to tell someone we've lost how we
feel.
A Mother's Work is Never Done...
Carolyn Aspenson's (Unfinished Business) latest
picks up the story of Angela Panther's dealings with her dead mom, Fran and the
duo's dynamic is as delightful as ever!
Angela had her psychic gift under control until a
traumatic loss shut it down. And now that Angela's daughter is in too deep with
a boy and her best friend Mel's husband is cheating, she needs her mom more
than ever.
Fran knows that when you're a mom, there's no such
thing as till death do us part and
she won't rest in peace while there's
strife in her daughter's life. Using her nifty celestial superpowers, she's
soon back in the game and helping out, regardless of her daughter's defunct
gift.
Chapter
One
The air in the room felt
frigid and sent an icy chill deep into my bones. Searching for comfort, I lay
on the rented hospice bed, closed my eyes, and snuggled under Ma’s floral print
quilt. I breathed in her scent, a mixture of Dove soap, Calvin Klein Eternity
perfume and stale cigarettes. The stench of death lingered in the air, trying
hard to take over my senses, but I refused to let it in. Death may have taken
my mother, but not her smell. Not yet.
“You little thief, I know
what you did now.”
I opened my eyes and
searched the room, but other than my Pit Bull, Greyhound mix Gracie, and me, it
was empty. Gracie sensed my ever so slight movement, and laid her head back
down. I saw my breath, which wouldn’t have been a big deal except it was May,
in Georgia. I closed my eyes again.
“I know you can hear me,
Angela. Don’t you ignore me.”
I opened my eyes
again. “Ma?”
Floating next to the bed,
in the same blue nightgown she had on when she died, was my mother, or more
likely, some grief induced image of her.
“Ma?" I laughed out
loud. “What am I saying? It’s not you. You’re dead.’
The grief induced image
spoke. “Of course I’m dead, Angela, but I told you if I could, I’d come back.
And I can so, tada, here I am.”
The image floated up in
the air, twirled around in a few circles and floated back down.
I closed my eyes
and shook my head, trying to right my brain or maybe shake loose the crazy, but
it was pointless because when I opened my eyes again, the talking image of my
mother was still there.
“Oh good grief, stop it.
It’s not your head messing with you, Angela. It’s me, your Ma. Now sit up and
listen to me. This is important.”
As children we’re conditioned to respond to
our parents when they speak to us. We forget it as teenagers, but somewhere
between twenty and the birth of our first child, we start acknowledging them
again, maybe even believing some of what they tell us. Apparently it was no
different when you imagined their ghost speaking to you, too. Crazy maybe, but
no different.
I rubbed my eyes.
“This is a dream, so I might as well go with it."
I sat up, straightened my back, plastered a
big ol’ smile on my face, because it was a dream and I could be happy the
day my mom died, in a dream and said, “Hi Ma, how are you?”
“You ate my damn
Hershey bars."
“Hershey bars? I dream about my dead mother
and she talks about Hershey bars. What is that?”
“Don’t you act like you don’t know what I’m
talking about, Angela."
“But I don’t know what
you’re talking about, Ma.” I shook my head again and thought for sure I was
bonkers, talking to an imaginary Ma.
“Oh for the love of God,
Angela, my Hershey bars. The ones I hid in the back of my closet.”
Oh. Those Hershey bars,
from like, twenty years ago, at least. The ones I did eat.
“How do you know it was
me that ate your Hershey bars? That was over twenty years ago.”
The apparition smirked.
“I don’t know how I know, actually. I just do. I know about all of the stuff
you did, and your brothers too. It’s all in here now.” She pointed to her,
slightly transparent head and smirked.
She floated up to the
ceiling, spun in a circle, and slowly floated back down. “And look, I’m
floating. Bet you wish you could do that, don’t you, Angela? You know, I’d sit
but I tried that before and fell right through to the damn basement. And let me
tell you, that was not fun. It was creepy, and it scared the crap outta
me. And oh, Madone, the dust between your two floors! Good Lord, it was nasty.
You need to clean that. No wonder Emily’s always got a snotty nose. She’s
allergic.”
“Emily does not always
have a snotty nose.” She actually did but I wasn't going to let Ma have that
one.
The apparition started to
say something, then scrutinized at the bed. “Ah, Madone, that mattress. That
was the most uncomfortable thing I ever slept on, but don’t get me started on
that. That’s a conversation for another time.”
Another time?
“And I hated that chair.”
She pointed to the one next to the bed. “You should have brought my chair up here
instead. I was dying and you wanted me to sit in that chair? What with that
uncomfortable bed and ugly chair, my back was killing me.” She smiled at her
own joke, but I sat there stunned, and watched the apparition’s lips move, my
own mouth gaping, as I tried to get my mind and my eyes to agree on what
floated in front of me.
“Ah, Madone. Stop looking
at me like that, Angela Frances Palanca. You act like you’ve never seen a
ghost.”
“Ma, I haven’t ever
seen a ghost, and my name is Angela Panther, not Palanca. You know that.” My
mother always called me Angela Palanca, and it drove both my father and me
batty. She said I was the closest thing to a true Italian she could create, and
felt I deserved the honor of an Italian last name. She never liked Richter, my
maiden name, because she said it was too damned German.
“And that recliner of
yours was falling apart. I was afraid you’d hurt yourself in it. Besides, it
was ugly, and I was sort of embarrassed to put it in the dining room.” I shook
my head again. “And you’re not real, you’re in my head. I watched them take
your body away, and I know for a fact you weren’t breathing, because I
checked.”
Realizing that I
was actually having a discussion with someone who could not possibly be real, I
pinched myself to wake up from what was clearly some kind of whacked-out dream.
“Stop that, you know you
bruise easily. You don’t want to look like a battered wife at my funeral, do
you?”
Funeral? I had no intention of
talking about my mother’s funeral with a figment of my imagination. I sat for a
minute, speechless, which for me was a huge challenge.
“They almost dropped you
on the driveway, you know.” I giggled, and then realized what I was doing, and
immediately felt guilty, for a second.
Ma scrunched her eyebrows
and frowned. “I know. I saw that. You’d think they’d be more careful with my
body, what with you standing there and all. There you were, my daughter,
watching them take away my lifeless, battered body, and I almost went flying
off that cart. I wanted to give them a what for, and believe me, I tried, but I
felt strange, all dizzy and lightheaded. Sort of like that time I had those
lemon drop drinks at your brother’s wedding. You know, the ones in those little
glasses? Ah, that was a fun night. I haven’t danced like that in years. I could
have done without the throwing up the next day, though, that’s for sure.”
Lifeless, battered body? What a dramatic
apparition I’d imagined.
I sat up and rubbed my
eyes and considered pinching myself again, but decided the figment was right, I
didn’t want to be all bruised for the funeral.
There I sat, in the
middle of the night, feeling wide awake, but clearly dreaming. I
considered telling her to stay on topic, seeing as dreams didn't last very
long, and maybe my subconscious needed my dream to process her death but I
didn't. “This is just a dream." I tried to convince myself the apparition
wasn’t real.
She threw her hands up in
the air. “Again with the dreaming. It’s not a dream, Angela. You’re awake, and
I’m here, in the flesh.” She held her transparent hand up and examined it.
“Okay, so not exactly in the flesh, but you know what I mean.”
This wasn’t my mother, I knew this, because my
mother died today, in my house, in this bed, in a dining room turned bedroom. I
was there. I watched it happen. She had lung cancer, or, as she liked to call
it, the big C. And today, as her body slowly shut down, and her mind
floated in and out of consciousness, I talked to her. I told her everything I
lacked the courage to say before, when she could talk back and acknowledge my
fear of losing her. And I kept talking as I watched her chest rise and fall,
slower and slower, until it finally stilled. I talked to her as she died, and
because I still had so much more to say, I kept talking for hours after her
body shut down. I told her how much I loved her, how much she impacted my life.
I told her how much she drove me absolutely crazy, and yet I couldn’t imagine
my life without her.
So this wasn’t Ma,
couldn’t possibly be. “You’re dead.”
The figment of my
imagination shook her head and frowned, then moved closer, and looked me
straight in the eye. I could see through her to the candelabra on the wall.
Wow, it was dusty. When was it last dusted?
“Of course I’m dead,
Angela. I’m a ghost.”
I shook my head, trying
hard not to believe her, but I just didn’t feel like I was sleeping, so God
help me, I did.
My name is Angela Panther
and I see dead people. Well, one dead person, that is, and frankly, one was
enough.
###
“Honey, it’s time
to wake up.” My husband, Jake, shook me softly. “We have to go to the funeral
home. Come on, your brothers will be there soon. Wake up.” He shook me a little
harder.
I sat up. “Where’s
Ma?”
He studied me, his expression a mix of sadness
and compassion. “I know this is hard but it’s going to be okay.” He hugged me
and it felt good, comforting. I let him hold me a little longer, and then I
remembered the night before.
“No,” I told him, pulled
away, and rubbed the sleep fog from my eyes. “Ma. She was here. Last night. I know
she’s dead, but she was here. I saw her.” I grabbed his shoulders, trying to
show him how serious I was and whispered, “She told me she’s a ghost.”
His eyes widened and all
of the sadness and compassion flew right out the dining room window. Jake was a
fantabulous husband, and supported me in ways that often tried his patience,
but to see the gray area of what he considered to be only black and white was
asking too much. Fantabulous and all, he had his limits.
“Ang, it wasn’t Fran. It
was a dream. I’ve read that kind of stuff happens. People dream about the
person who died and think it’s real.” He made a small attempt at comforting
coos, but they just sounded like our cat before she died.
I pushed away from him
and got up. “Stop it. You sound like a sick cat, and I need coffee.” My mind
barely worked without a good night’s sleep, but without coffee, even the
simplest conversations were practically impossible. Besides, it wasn’t the time
to get into a debate about the hereafter. I walked to the kitchen to pour
myself a cup of coffee and said a silent thank you to Jake for making a pot. I
would have said it out loud but I was a little miffed at him for discounting my
ghostly experience.
Jake was kind enough to
get our two kids, Emily and Josh, off to school while I slept. I felt a sense
of relief for not having to deal with them and then felt a little guilty for
that. They left me a handmade card near the coffeepot knowing I’d be sure to
see it there. It had red hearts and sad faces drawn all over the front, most
likely by Josh, because he drew eyes with eyelashes. The inside of it read,
“We’re sorry for your loss. We loved Grandma and miss her.”
They weren’t here last
night. I knew it was Ma’s last day, and Jake and I didn’t want them to see her
die, so we made arrangements for them to spend the evening with friends. Jake
picked them up after the funeral home took Ma. I lacked the energy and courage
to talk to them, so Jake asked them to give me some alone time.
The card was sweet, and I
got a lump in my throat just reading it even though I was sure they’d never
work for Hallmark.
“What time is it?” I
asked, and then checked the clock. “It’s ten a.m. What the – we have to be at
the funeral home at eleven fifteen.” I finished pouring my coffee, took a huge
gulp, and cursed myself as it burned my throat, then rushed upstairs to get
ready.
We arrived at the funeral
home just before eleven fifteen. My long, blond hair was pulled into a ponytail
since I didn’t have time to style it. I didn’t have on an ounce of makeup and
was dressed like a typical soccer mom heading to a yoga class. Normally I
wouldn’t go to an appointment like that but considering the fact that my mother
just died, I didn’t really give a crap.
We walked in through the
front doors into a sitting area I’m sure was meant to seem comforting and
inviting but instead felt like a grandparents’ family room, old fashioned and
overstuffed. The couch was a ridiculously huge, twenty years outdated, 1980s
floral print of mauve and gray, flanked with humongous pillows in matching
solid colors. There were two matching and equally uncomfortable looking chairs
and ugly, ornate tables that didn’t match, intermixed with the seating. A few
magazines and tissue boxes sat on the tables. I grabbed a couple tissues just
in case I needed them later. Overhead, soft music played, and I was sure they
thought it made someone in my position feel better, but mostly it was just
annoying.
Carnations in various
colors sat in vases on stands around the lobby, attacking my nasal passages
like an old woman drenched in White Diamonds perfume. Almost instantly I had a
sensory overload headache. The entire room smacked of old people, but I guess
it should since it was really mostly old people who died. Jake crinkled his
nose at the smells, too. We both moved quickly as we followed the signs to the
assistant funeral director’s office, almost like we were running from a skunk.
I silenced my cell phone, knowing my best friend, Mel, would probably text. I’d
talked to her just after Ma passed but not since. I was sure she’d check on me
sooner rather than later.
Before Ma died, we talked
about what she wanted, and I promised her I’d honor her requests. They were
simple. She wanted to be cremated and buried with my grandparents in Chicago.
Since we lived in the suburbs of Atlanta, we’d have her body cremated here but
her memorial and burial would be handled separately.
My brothers, John and
Paul, were already in the assistant director’s office. There was a spread of
coffee and its fixings set out on the conference table, and I made a beeline
for it. I’d have an IV of caffeine inserted into my wrist if it were socially
acceptable. Actually, forget socially acceptable. I’d do it even if it weren’t.
Coffee for me was like sex to a twenty-year-old man – never too much and never
too often.
My oldest brother John
lived nearby, and was with Ma and me when she passed. Paul lived in Indiana and
didn’t make it here in time to say goodbye. I could see the angst and regret on
his face. I said hi, hugged both of them, and turned toward my chair so I
wouldn’t cry. Crying in front of my brothers made me appear weak and I refused
to let that happen.
“Ma wanted to be cremated
and buried with her parents,” I told the assistant funeral director, a short,
squat man, with a bad comb-over and a blue paisley tie that didn’t quite fit
over a mid-section that rivaled Santa’s.
“Yes, your brothers told
me,” said Comb-over. “It is our policy to return the remains to the loved ones
for proper burial if our services are not being used.”
We all nodded in
agreement, and then Paul asked Comb-over if he could see our mother.
Comb-over gave us what
must have been his really sympathetic face. “Oh, no. No. I’m sorry. It is
against our policy to allow family back into the crematorium. You understand.”
Paul nodded his
understanding.
Seriously?
“Excuse me. My brother
wasn’t able to see our mom before she died. He lives out of state and couldn’t
get here, so I’m sure you can make an exception. I mean, it is our mother and
we are paying you after all.”
Jake smirked in my
direction, liking my passive aggressive technique, and I gave him a quick
smile.
“Well. ” Comb-over back-pedaled. “I’ll see
what I can do.” He then gave us what was obviously his, I am not making
enough money for this job face, excused himself and closed the door behind
him. A chill filled the air, and I hugged my arms to my chest for warmth.
My brother's mouths
gaped. “Well, it’s a stupid rule and someone had to call him on it.”
Paul nodded.
“Thanks."
I nodded and then saw my
mother floating behind him, smiling, too. I shook my head to clear the image
but it didn't work. She was still there.
“You’re such a good girl. I knew you loved
your brother."
“Uh, I guess I do.”
Paul tilted his head.
“You guess you do what?”
Well, crap. For a brief
second I considered saying, sorry I was talking to the ghost of our mother,
who, by the way, is floating behind you, but instead went with, “Look
behind you,” as I pointed behind them.
They did. “What?” Paul
asked.
Ma winked at me and
laughed. They couldn’t see her.
“Oh, nothing. I thought
there was a spider or something on the wall, sorry.”
Probably it wasn’t a good
time to tell my brothers I could see our dead mother and I wasn’t sure there
would ever be a good time for something of that nature.
Paul started to say
something again, but Comb-over walked back in. The man may have been a fashion
nightmare, but his timing was impeccable. He coughed lightly and straightened
his tie. “We don’t normally allow anyone into the crematorium, but given the
circumstances, we’ll make an exception.”
We. Uh huh. We, as in the
big boss, I bet. I smiled my I won smile and thanked him. Comb-over
explained since our mother was being cremated, they didn’t prepare her body as
they would for a traditional burial. I assumed that meant she’s not made up and
nodded my understanding. He walked over to the closed door behind my brothers
and walked right through my mother.
She shuddered. “Oh,
Madone, that was creepy.”
I concentrated on the
wall and searched for the imaginary spider and tried to ignore her.
Through the doorway I saw
my mother lying on a gurney, the mother that wasn’t floating in the room with
me, that is. My eyes shot back and forth between the horizontal Ma and the
floating Ma. This was all a little confusing. First I had one Ma, and then she
died. Now I had a dead Ma and a ghost Ma. If they both started talking to me,
I’d get right up and drive myself straight to the loony bin. I stood up and
shook off the crazy. “Ah, Paul, you can go first.” He did.
The fact that I took
control of the meeting was not lost on me. As the youngest of the siblings, my
brothers always considered me the baby, never quite aging me past a toddler in
their mind so for them to acquiesce authority in this situation was surprising.
I wrote it off to their shock and grief at losing Ma and expected the newfound
respect to burn out quicker than a birthday candle. But I would be lying if I
didn’t admit to enjoying it just a little.
We all said our goodbyes
to my mother. I couldn’t hear their private whispered words, but I could hear
Ma responding. Not the Ma lying on the gurney, the ghost one. As I said, it was
confusing. Like the loud Italian woman she was in life, her raspy, I’ve had
one thousand too many cigarettes, voice enveloped the room, for me at
least, since apparently I was the only one who could hear her. “Oh Pauly, it’s
okay. I’m not mad that you weren’t here. Don’t be upset. It’s okay.”
I always knew he was her
favorite.
Paul and I haven’t always
had the smoothest of relationships. In fact, as a child he wanted me dead. No,
really. He tried so hard to make it happen he actually pushed me in front of
slow moving cars three times. I was lucky to suffer only emotional, not
physical, damage. Attempted murders aside, my heart ached for him now. The
guilt of not being there when Ma passed would haunt him forever, though I
couldn’t help but wonder if that was easier than being haunted by her ghost.
###
An hour later, the four
of us sat with coffee in hand, at Starbucks. Coffee made everything seem
better, if only a little. Before we left the funeral home, Paul asked Comb-over
to let us know when Ma’s body was cremated. I preferred not to know, but
everyone handles death differently and Paul needed what he needed so I didn’t
argue. Admittedly, backing away from an argument with Paul was a new thing for
me. Ma’s death had really messed with my brain.
We were discussing the
arrangements of her burial when I got the call. Comb-over told me they’d
started, and as I nodded to Jake and my brothers, a heavy sadness filled the
air.
I disconnected from the
call and stayed on task. “Okay. When should we go to Chicago?”
“That’s a good question,”
John, the over thinker of us siblings, said. “I’ll call the cemetery later
today and find out if we can bury Mom with Grandma and Grandpa. If they won’t
let us, we’ll have to figure out what else to do. I was thinking maybe we could
each take a portion of her remains and do something with our kids to honor
her.”
Oh, no. No, no, no. That
was not going to happen. I promised Ma I’d do this for her and I’ll be damned
if I didn’t do it right. Especially since she was haunting me. There was no way
I would to spend the rest of my waking days with the ghost of my mother pissed
off because we didn’t honor her final wish. No way.
“It’s okay,” I blurted
out before Paul agreed with John. “Ma was worried about the same thing, so we
called the cemetery a few weeks ago and found out that it’s fine.” I took a
quick breath and hoped God wouldn’t strike me dead for lying.
“They told me that as
long as we’re not getting a stone, the plots are ours to do with as we please.
Except for digging up our grandparents, that is.” I checked the sky, but still
no lightning. Phew.
My brothers nodded.
“Okay.”
Dodged that bullet.
What’s wrong with a few little lies? This was what Ma wanted and eventually I’d
tell them the truth, once she was buried and we were on our way home. Or maybe
next year. What’s the saying? Ask for forgiveness, not permission. That’s what
I’d do, eventually.
I offered to make the
memorial arrangements even though we all knew they’d have asked me to do it
anyway.
I filled them in on my
call to our cousin. “I already called Roxanne, who said she’d make the rounds
of calls, and since the funeral home here said they would put the obituary in
the Chicago papers, that’s covered. Does the weekend after next work? That
gives us all time to plan accordingly.”
“I don’t see a problem
with that, but I’ll have to check with Elizabeth and see what her schedule is,”
John said.
Jake nodded in agreement
with his eyes still glued to the screen of his iPhone.
Paul nodded too. “Let’s
go through all of our pictures of Mom. I can make a video with music, and we
can show it at her memorial.”
We all agreed that was a
great idea and made plans to confirm the date over email by tonight. My
brothers left Jake and me there to share our addiction to the warm, smooth
taste of coffee. We got refills before we headed home, too.
The rest of the day I was
on autopilot and truth be told I couldn’t remember much of it. One minute Jake
and I were getting coffee and the next it was after ten p.m. I kissed Jake
goodnight and went upstairs and checked on the kids, who were already
blissfully sound asleep.
“It’s done,” I texted Mel
after I settled under the covers.
“I’m sorry,” she texted
back. “Do you need anything?”
“No, I’m okay. Going to
bed. I’m tired.”
“K. I’m here if you need
me. (HUGS).”
Thank you for posting this! I'm sharing it on my FB page and Twitter!
ReplyDelete