I was at the rehab center dropping off some socks and books for my mom when one of the nurses waved me over. “Hey, are you Marilyn’s daughter?” she asked.
I nodded, a little cautious. My mom’s name was Marilyn, and she’d been moved here two weeks ago after her hip surgery. But I hadn’t told anyone I was coming that day.
The nurse smiled and motioned to an elderly woman sitting in the lounge. “She’s been asking for Marilyn every day,” she said. “Said they used to talk here all the time.”
I looked at the woman—white hair, a warm face, red striped shirt under a crisp white cardigan. She held up a sign that said: “MARILYN – I MISS YOU SO MUCH, STAY CLOSE! 
LOVE YOU!!”
I swallowed hard. My mom hadn’t made any friends here. At least, not that she mentioned. She mostly complained about the food and the temperature in her room.
I sat down beside the woman. “Hi,” I said gently. “Did you know my mom?”
She smiled so wide it almost hurt to look at. “You’re her daughter?” she asked, eyes welling up a little. “She told me all about you. Said you lived two hours away but called every night. That your daughter just made the soccer team.”
That stopped me cold. Because yeah—my daughter had made the team. But I only told Mom that news the day before.
I blinked. “I—I’m sorry, when did you talk to her last?”
She looked confused. “Yesterday, I think? Or maybe the day before. I lose track sometimes.”
Thing is… my mom passed away last Thursday.
A chill ran down my spine. The nurse, who had been hovering nearby, looked just as bewildered as I felt. “Mrs. Gable,” she said softly to the woman, “Marilyn… Marilyn passed away a few days ago.”
The woman, Mrs. Gable, looked at her blankly, then back at me. Her smile faltered. “No,” she said, shaking her head slowly. “No, she was just here. We were talking about her granddaughter’s soccer. Such a talented girl.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was like she was living in a different reality. Maybe it was grief, or maybe something else.
“Mrs. Gable,” I said gently, taking her hand. It was warm and fragile. “My mom… she passed away last week. I’m so sorry.”
Tears welled up in Mrs. Gable’s eyes, and this time, they looked real, laced with a deep sadness. “Oh, Marilyn,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “My dear Marilyn.”
The nurse helped Mrs. Gable back to her room, and I was left sitting there, stunned. How could she have known about my daughter’s soccer team if she hadn’t spoken to my mom recently? It didn’t make any sense.
Over the next few days, I couldn’t shake off the encounter with Mrs. Gable. I found myself thinking about her constantly. Had she somehow known about my daughter? Was it just a lucky guess? Or was there something more to it?
I decided to visit Mrs. Gable again. This time, I went alone. I found her in the same spot in the lounge, holding her sign.
“Hello, Mrs. Gable,” I said softly.
Her face lit up. “Marilyn’s daughter! It’s so good to see you again. How’s that granddaughter of hers?”
I hesitated. “She’s good, thank you. Mrs. Gable, can I ask you something?”
“Of course, dear.”
“You mentioned my daughter’s soccer team. How did you know about that?”
Mrs. Gable looked at me, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Marilyn told me. She was so proud. Said she watched all the games online.”
“But… my mom passed away before the last game. Before she even knew if my daughter made the team.”
Mrs. Gable’s smile didn’t waver. “Oh, she knew. Marilyn knows everything about you and that girl. She’s always here, you know.” She tapped her chest, right over her heart. “Right here.”
I felt a lump in my throat. Was it possible that Mrs. Gable was somehow… connected to my mom? It sounded crazy, but I couldn’t explain how she knew about the soccer team.
I started visiting Mrs. Gable regularly. We talked about my mom, about her life, about the little things that made her who she was. Mrs. Gable shared stories I’d never heard before, painting a picture of my mom that was both familiar and new.
One day, Mrs. Gable told me about a locket my mom always wore. “It had a picture of you in it,” she said. “She cherished that locket.”
I remembered the locket. It was a gift from me when I was a little girl. After my mom passed, I couldn’t find it anywhere.
A few days later, the nurse called me. They were cleaning out Mrs. Gable’s room, and they found something. It was a small, tarnished locket. Inside was a picture of me, age eight, grinning gap-toothed at the camera.
I gasped. It was my mom’s locket. How did Mrs. Gable have it?
I went to see Mrs. Gable, the locket clutched in my hand. “Mrs. Gable,” I said, my voice trembling, “where did you get this?”
She looked at the locket, her eyes filled with a gentle sadness. “Marilyn gave it to me,” she said softly. “The day she… the day she left us. She said to give it to you. Said you’d know what it meant.”
A wave of emotions washed over me. Grief, confusion, and something else… something I couldn’t quite name. It was like my mom was still reaching out to me, through Mrs. Gable.
The twist came when I learned more about Mrs. Gable. It turned out she had a rare neurological condition that sometimes caused her to experience vivid dreams and hallucinations. The doctors believed that her connection to my mom, and her knowledge of our family, might have been a result of these episodes, perhaps triggered by overhearing conversations or sensing my mom’s presence in the facility.
But even with a medical explanation, there was still a part of me that felt like it was more than just a coincidence. Mrs. Gable had brought me comfort when I needed it most, had shared memories of my mom that I would have never otherwise known.
The rewarding conclusion wasn’t about solving a mystery, but about finding solace in unexpected places. Mrs. Gable, in her own unique way, had helped me grieve, had kept my mom’s memory alive.
The life lesson I took away from this experience is that sometimes, we find connections in the most unexpected places. Grief can manifest in strange ways, and sometimes, the universe sends us little gifts of comfort when we need them most. We should be open to these connections, even if they don’t make perfect sense, and cherish the moments of light they bring into our lives.
If you’ve ever experienced something unexplainable after losing a loved one, or found comfort in an unexpected connection, please share your story. And if this touched your heart, give it a like. Your engagement helps these stories reach others who might be going through something similar.
