— Mom said she’s still here, the boy whispered with a trembling but clear voice. — She asked me to tell everyone that she’s not upset. It just hurts her to see us sad.
An elderly woman in the front row covered her mouth with her hand, bursting into tears. The priest was left with an unfinished prayer on his lips, and a young woman, probably a cousin, fainted slightly on the bench, supported by someone from the family.
No one knew how to react.
The boy, only 6 years old, was named Radu. He had grown up in a village near Fălticeni, where people still believed in signs, dreams, and the words of those who had passed on. His mother, Ancuța, had been a gentle woman, a healer in the village, who knew about plants and kind words. Many said she had a “gift,” and her sudden death at just 32 years old had brought the entire village to church.
— She said there’s light there… that it’s warm. And that she will come back to us if we let her, Radu said, looking at the coffin.
A heavy silence fell again. A woman in black, the deceased’s sister, fell to her knees and began to murmur prayers. Not for the soul of the deceased, but for forgiveness. Later, she would confess to the priest that she had separated the two sisters with a lie told years ago, and now she felt that Ancuța’s spirit knew.
After the burial, Radu refused to leave the grave. With a willow twig in hand and a sprig of basil from his mother’s garden, he stayed there until evening, when his father picked him up and promised that they would keep all of his mother’s customs — to light a candle every evening, to place basil at the icons, and to remember to give alms on her birthday.
A month later, neighbors began to talk about how, every Thursday night, a shadow appeared on the bench under the walnut tree in the yard. The face was not clearly visible, but the smell of savory and basil floated in the air, just like on the evenings when Ancuța brewed teas for the children.
Radu grew up, but he never forgot the moment in church. He always told, without fear, that his mother never truly left. That if you press your ear to your heart and learn to listen, you will hear what love truly says.
Because sometimes, those who love us do not leave. They just learn to speak to us differently.
This work is inspired by real events and people, but has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, or to real events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher do not assume responsibility for the accuracy of events or for the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretations. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed belong to the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
