It had begun to snow outside. It was the first snow since my death, and this was not lost on my father.
'I can hear you honey,' he said to me, even though I wasn't talking. 'What is it?'
I focused very hard on the dead geranium in his line of vision. I thought if I could make it bloom he would have his answer. In my heaven it bloomed. In my heaven geranium petals swirled in eddies up to my waist. On Earth nothing happened.
But through the snow I noticed this: my father was looking toward the green house in a new way. He had begun to wonder.