PASSING ON DIDN'T STOP MOM FROM GETTING EVEN!

My mother apparently didn't approve of at least one choice I made after her death, and did she ever let me know about it!    I was just eighteen when she passed away, and a full-time college student.  She left me with a lease on an apartment, no income coming in, and . . . she left me an orphan.  My father died when I was twelve and I had no brothers or sisters, only distant relatives.  Engaged at the time to the man I would soon marry and spend the rest of my life with, he asked me to come stay with him so I wouldn't be alone. I had other offers from close friends and a couple of relatives to move in with them until I could get back on my feet, but I had to go with my heart; with the person I believed could give my heart the best fighting chance to keep beating.  

Immediately after I moved into my fiance's place, strange phenomena started crackling all around us like mini lightening strikes; surging our radios, our lights . . . we'd come home from school to find our radio stations turned to static and blaring through the place, and lights we'd turned off all ablaze.  At night we'd hear leaden footsteps creaking the floor while traversing up and down the hall, in and out of every room, pausing in the middle of each room as though someone was lost.  Mom wasn't happy I was there, but, well mom, you left me.  I was doing the best I could.  We were both doing our best with the crushing tragedy dealt us.  

Now, almost everyone knows what it's like to have a parent pissed-off at you at one time or another.  Alive or dead, sometimes it doesn't seem to matter.  Their reactions are pretty much the same if they're mad enough.  Don't misunderstand me; mom didn't mind my betrothed so much (well, maybe a little) but what she really had a problem with was my trotting off to get hitched at eighteen when she had so many plans for me.  As they say, however; life is what happens to you when you're busy making other plans.  She must have realized those plans weren't going to materialize any more than she was able to.  Events grew so turbulent around our place the energy spewed over to next door where my new sister-in-law and her family lived.  They would come home to blaring static and lights flickering on and off while our place was joining in the melee.  

About three weeks later the phenomena had mostly settled down, and it was then that my fiance and I were having a playful argument over something trivial.   He was crouched on his knees looking for something at the bottom of our hallway closet while in a corner of that closet his shotgun was leaning back against the far wall.  I zinged him with a particularly good point, to which Mr. Sarcastic leaned back on his heels and responded with; "Yeah, yeah; why don't you just come over here and do this, then?  Maybe I'll get lucky and that gun will fall out and crack you over the head."  

"Very funny," I retorted as I saw his eyes look up suddenly and widen just before his rifle fell forward and cracked him over the head.  He grabbed his forehead, jumped up and danced a jig while he hollered a string of curses loud enough to wake the dead.  I could almost hear a satisfied hahahahaha floating about the room.  When my victimized fiance ran out of four-letter words to spew he lowered his hand and revealed a nice black 'n' blue welt swelling on his forehead.

"That damn gun!  It was leaning against the wall and I watched the sonofabitch go completely vertical all on its own, then fall back on me!  I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes!"

"Karmic justice," I quipped.

"Karmic mother-in-law," he griped.

Mom couldn't have been too upset with me, all things considered.  She saved my life a few days later.  I'd gotten home from school first, and decided to snack on a piece of cake.  I choked . . . worse than I've ever choked in my life.  I couldn't draw in a thimbleful of air. I was getting light-headed as I uselessly leaned my rib cage over the sink and tried to pound my back with my fist, visualizing the obit in the newspaper announcing my 'Death by chocolate cake!'  How humiliating.  Nothing was dislodging that blasted mouthful of cake, until I received a severe whack across my shoulder blades. In my panic I assumed my fiance had come home and done his Good Samaritan deed for his soon-to-be new wife.  But of course when I turned around, no one was there.  I ran to the sliding glass door . . . his mini-truck wasn't in the driveway and the door was locked.  

I slowly turned around the room in a full circle, tears welling in my eyes.  "Thanks, mom.  I love you, too."