The comforting presence

Sometimes, I feel my mother.

I don't know where we go when we die, what happens, what we become... sometimes I think we disperse and become energy or thought, flitting off to join other thoughts and energies... other times I think we are part of a cycle, always growing, so we live, we die, we are reborn, and at other times I think it's a mix of everything. I do think it's a science though, dullard that I am, just one that's not explained. I think our subconscious lurks elsewhere, and can't actually be located in our brains, but outside of it. This, of course, is purely philosophical meandering.

I know nothing.

But, I know, sometimes, every now and again, I feel my mother, and it's comforting. It's odd, since it's not a presence you expect to turn around and see, or a voice you expect to hear, but it's the scent of a childhood memory, the feel of a caress that didn't quite touch, the safety of a child in their mother's arms. I feel, occasionally, wrapped in her presence.

It is one of the strangest feelings I've had, but yet, it's very comforting.

I imagine that my mother is flying away somewhere, free as can be, off doing the wondrous things she could never do hear. I imagine it's different for everyone.