She is dressed in a dark suit with a cluster of white orchids on the lapel. Next to her stands a chubby little girl, smiling shyly in a crispy first Communion dress. Yes, the girl in the photo is me, and the beautiful lady in the suit is my beloved mom, Grace, who died 50 years ago.  

As Mother’s Day approaches, I imagine my mom coming to visit me from Heaven. I see her sitting in the dining room, young and beautiful, wearing that same suit and the spray of orchids. In the kitchen, I am whipping up a batch of pancakes and brewing a big pot of coffee.  

I ask how this visit is possible, and she smiles mysteriously. “All I can say is we have been given a whole day together.” Eager to fill her in on my life, I tell her I’m a widow now, but I was married to my best friend for 33 years. I describe his amazing cooking skills and the boating adventures we had in Florida. She seems to know how much I miss him.  

I show her the books I’ve written and some newspaper clippings of my columns. She was the kind of mom who preserved my stories from the high school newspaper and marveled at my poetry. Now she turns each book over in her hands like a jewel.  

Later in the day, we go to Mass together, and during the Sign of Peace, we hug tightly and I feel tears of joy on my face. Once we’re back home, I start getting a little frantic, because there’s so much to show her and the clock won’t stop ticking.  

Still, she assures me she doesn’t need to see my wedding album, because she was there that day. Nor do I have to haul out photos of my sister’s grandchildren, because they are her great delight in Heaven.  

Over lunch, questions crowd my mind. “Is Daddy in Heaven with you, and are your brothers and sisters there?”  

“Those things, honey, are secrets,” she replies. “People in Heaven completely accept God’s will, so even if some family members are not there, we don’t suffer because of that.” 

And then the big question: “What is Heaven like?”  

She glances out the window at the dogwood trees in full regalia and the irises showing off their fancy faces. She points at the sparrows and cardinals taking turns in the birdbath, while a white cloud inches through the sky like a ship at sea.  

“It’s like that, only much better!”  

“Time is running out,” I say after lunch, “and we still haven’t done the most important thing.”  

Of course, she knows what I mean. She sits on the couch and lets me snuggle next to her, with my head against her chest, just like in the old days. I whisper the secrets of my heart, the things no one else could understand, and she comforts me.  

I find myself holding her ever more tightly, as the sun begins setting. “How I wish you could stay with me forever, Mommy. Is there any chance God might let you stay another day?”  

She smooths back the hair from my brow and kisses my forehead. “I will always be with you, as close as a prayer.”  

In moments, I fall asleep in her arms, and when I wake up, she is gone. Of course, I wonder if it all has been just a dream, but when I go into my bedroom, I have my answer. On the dresser, beside the photo of the two of us, I see a single, pure white orchid.