Postscript

By Meg Pacelli

The first day of Spring. The one and only day to send a letter to the afterlife. Each left-behind person can send only one. Choosing is agony.

Last year – to my mother. So thick it almost wouldn’t fit through the slot. She’ll want to know that Addy’s hair suddenly turned curly, that Jacob still asks for her blueberry muffins.

This year – to him. The paper holds only two words, yet I’m afraid it might tear with the weight of them.

I’m Sorry.

Two sad, too late words. I’ll send them every Spring, hoping someday they might pile up to enough.

             
“I write because playing with words is my favorite pastime.” – the writer