The Mirror s Message

Aunt Jane kicked the bucket. Not exactly a shock, bless her heart, she’d been wheezing like a broken accordion for years. But still, death always feels like a pickpocket, even when you know it’s coming. So, I packed up little Mikey and drove out to Jersey for the funeral. My husband, Mark, was conveniently "stuck" in Phoenix on a "crucial" business trip - yeah right, I bet he was.
The funeral itself was pure Garden State gothic. Gray skies, a blubbering priest who clearly hadn’t known Jane from a cantaloupe, and a gaggle of relatives all eyeing each other like vultures at a potluck. After the burial, we piled into the VFW hall for the post-mortem chow-down. Meatballs drowning in red sauce, limp salad, and enough potato salad to embalm a small army.
Then came the uncomfortable part. Us close kin – that's me, my mom (Jane's sister), my cousin Kevin (Jane's son), and a few other stragglers – headed back to Jane’s place. Her little Victorian house smelled like mothballs and regret. Kevin, bless his Oedipal heart, insisted on a sit-down. We were milling around the dining room, trying to figure out the seating arrangement, when Kevin, voice cracking, pointed to the head of the table.
“Mom always sat there.”
The words barely left his mouth when WHAM.
A mirror, one of those cheap, built-in jobs from the door of the china cabinet, just detached itself and slammed onto the floor. Miraculously, it didn’t shatter. Just lay there, reflecting back our stunned faces.
“Jesus H. Christ!” my mom shrieked, clutching her chest. “That's a sign! Jane’s talking to us!” Kevin, eyes wide, just gaped. "She… she wants her seat?" My sarcasm kicked in like a reflex. “Yeah, Kev, she’s probably pissed you’re about to take her spot. Maybe you should set a plate for her. Extra meatballs, no salad.”
Even in the midst of the shock, some of the family chuckled, but still the dark mood was thick.
The rest of the evening was a blur of forced cheer, lukewarm wine, and whispered theories about Jane’s ghostly presence. By the time I got Mikey tucked into a borrowed bedroom, I was ready to face plant into the nearest pillow.
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Fast forward eight days. Mark was still "working hard" in Arizona, and I was alone with Mikey in Jane's house. I was putting Mikey to bed, reading him some Mickey Mouse nonsense, when I got that feeling. You know the one. Like someone’s eyes are glued to your back.
I looked up.
Standing in the doorway to Mikey's room was Jane. But not old, sick Jane. This was young Jane. Maybe thirty years old. Full of life, smiling at me.
My heart did a goddamn Olympic gymnastics routine.
She didn’t say anything. Just stood there, beaming. I blinked. She was just… gone.
I grabbed Mikey and bolted. We spent the rest of the night huddled together in the guest bedroom, lights blazing, listening to every creak and groan of that damn house. It was cold!
"Mommy, why are you so scared?" Mikey asked, half asleep.
"Nothing, honey," I said. "Mommy doesn't like New Jersey. It's a terrible, terrible place!"
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The next day was the nine-day memorial, another grim get together, another meatball extravaganza. When I arrived, everyone was buzzing.
"She came to me last night!" Aunt Susan gasped, eyes still wide. "Young, healthy! Smiling. Just like you said!"
"Me too!" Cousin Brenda chimed in. "She stood right at the foot of my bed!"
Turns out, Jane had been making the rounds. Saying goodbye.
Suddenly, the meatball smell turned nauseating. The forced cheer felt like a grotesque pantomime.
"So, what do we do now?" Kevin asked, looking pale. "She… she’s moved on, right?"
"I don't know, Kev," I said, taking a long sip of wine. "Maybe she just wanted to make sure we all knew she had great teeth. And that she knew what a stupid waste we all made of our lives."
That's the thing about Jersey – even in death, the damn relatives keep you on your toes. And even in the middle of a supernatural freak-out, you have to find a way to crack a joke. Otherwise, you just might wind up six feet under with them.
Then and only then, did I realize that my husband's business trip coincidentally happened the same time as Jane's passing. That sly bastard!