Shouts, screams, and all sorts of commotion woke me up the next morning. Everyone was hollering. What could possibly be wrong now was the thought weighing heavily on my heart.
“What’s going on?!” somebody yelled.
“Hurry up!”
“You’re not gonna believe it!”
“What’s wrong?!” I screamed.
“Momma’s back!! Momma’s back!!” was the chorus being sung
I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t believe it. I ran to the top of the steps, jumped on the forbidden banister and defiantly slid down. At the bottom of the staircase in the room opposite the chair where my Pop had been sitting was the totally unexpected – an answer to prayer. I ran in, looked to my right and there in a black dress standing in front of a white wall was none other than --- my mom. She was holding something, maybe a purse. It wasn’t important because she immediately threw it down bent over and held out her arms. I ran to her and then she picked me up and hugged the life back into me. Hugs…
Momma was indeed back.
* * *
It was many years later when I found out where she had gone and who she was with…that time. It is not a happy story for she had been there before and ultimately went there again. On that day, however, she was home. The house lost a big one and in my young life a spell had been broken and the stage was set for how I would live the rest of my life.
From that day forward all that was bad and hurtful, I knew, could be beaten and crushed by simple prayers and childlike faith.
* * *
We moved not long after that with no return on my dad’s investment. Indeed all was not peaches and cream, peas and carrots for my family. For me, however, I can say with complete honesty that from the night of my very first prayer until now nearly fifty years later, I have prayed at least once every day of my life, and usually more, and it has made all the difference.
I still do not blame the house nor do I believe it ever had any power over anyone. I do not accuse my mother who was and then wasn’t there for me and for my siblings. I don’t blame anyone or anything for how my life or the lives of my siblings has turned out. I find no scapegoats for what is lacking in my life or character. Instead, I am convinced that had all of us learned that day what it meant to live our lives with prayer and faith it could have made all the difference.
I wonder now why everyone doesn’t live a life where prayer and faith is an integral part. But all that wondering really doesn’t amount to anything. I pray now.
* * *
Post script: I got an unexpected visit from my brother, Jerry, right before I submitted this piece for a school assignment. He reminded me of a time when we were little guys still in the old house. One night he convinced our parents to let him sleep in one of the small rooms in the back of the house on the first floor. “Hands gripped my shoulders, shook me violently and awakened me. But, I saw nothing. Still I unmistakably felt something,” he told me. He recalled other times when he saw figures walking the halls at night, making their way to and from the attic on the third floor. Maybe there were ghosts in that house after all.
