Two weeks after my Mom passed, I came home to find grand piano sitting in my garage....complete with sterling silver candelabra and a giant red ribbon tied around the entire instrument. It was a gift from my then-fiance. A token of his love for me and his devotion to my dreams. The moment I saw it, I gasped...in disbelief...in sheer delight...in complete awe. How in the world could anyone do such a thing?

The moment after it registered in my brain that there really was a grand piano with my name on it, I ran out the door, down the walkway and into our kitchen, grabbing the phone and dialing the number to my parent's home. It wasn't until I heard my Dad's voice that I realized she wasn't there. I wanted, more than anything, to share this news with my mother, the woman who'd inspired me to follow my dreams and never, ever look back. When I heard Dad's voice, I hung up without saying a word. He just wouldn't get it. Besides, his wife of 40 years had just passed on and there was NO way my news was going to delight him. I hung up the phone, sat on the kitchen floor and cried. It was a moment of sheer joy...and utter grief. I had this dream, right there in my garage, and I couldn't share it with her.

That night, after I'd had a bit of time to recover from my seriously conflicting emotions, I sat at the piano and tried to remember something I knew how to play. My darling fiance was as attentive as could be and sat patiently while I stumbled across the keyboard. After what seemed to be a decade, he finally spoke. He asked me why I didn't just write it down. Why not write her a letter? Who knows where she might be right now? Just say what you want to say and give it up to the cosmos.

I must admit, the whole idea was as comforting as it was astonishing, coming from him. But it didn't take more than a minute for me to get it. He was right. I should just say what I had to say and leave it up to the cosmos to handle the rest. And so I did. I told her about the way he arranged the whole thing. How he made me leave the house, promising not to return until he called me. About how he carpeted the entire garage and put up egg cartons to make the room acoustically friendly. How he tied that big red ribbon around the piano and put a blindfold on me so I wouldn't see it until I was right in front of it. The candelabra and the champagne and the mystery of it all. I painted that picture as clear as it was...and I put it in an envelope.

The envelope read:

To My Mom
c/o God
Somewhere In The Cosmos
ATTN: Urgent!

Just as soon as I'd finished addressing the envelope it hit me..."I wonder what the postage is to the cosmos?" And then...I laughed out loud. It was probably the FIRST time I'd laughed since my mom 'left'. But there it was. A big ol' giant, belly-rumblin', deep-down-to-the-core laugh. I put a First Class postage stamp on the envelope and dropped it in a mailbox. With a grin and a giggle, I mailed my letter to my Mom....courtesy of the cosmos.

For the next few years, every time I wanted to talk to her, I wrote a letter. I addressed the envelope the very same way, put a stamp on it, and dropped it in a mailbox. To this day I've never gotten a single one back. Don't know if anyone ever read them or just threw them in the trash. But my guess is, no matter whose hands those letters fell into, and whether they read the letters or not, there was a smile on someone's face. There was the little tickle of hope that ran through their fingers...inspiring them to wonder...even for just one moment....whether or not letter to the cosmos was deliverable.

Whaddya think?