The lovely DD who runs a wonderful blog (which you should definitely check out) recently wrote this post: http://fillingspaces.wordpress.com/2014/04/28/do-you-believe-in-ghosts/ which inspired me to write of an incident which occurred a few years after my nana’s mortal death.
Before I write of that incident, one should know the kind of woman my nana was.
In a word, she was a class-act.
One memory which sticks out very much happened during one of my visits home. Which incidently, was the last time I ever saw her.
During a family gathering, she was introduced to two female friends of my sister.
Driving home, the conversation proceeded as such:
“X and X are such lovely girls,” said nana.
me: “Yeah, they’re really nice.” (pause) “They’re a couple.”
Nana: “Yes, I know.”
me. “I mean, they’re not just friends.”
Nana (turning to glare): “Do you think your Nana is stupid? That she doesn’t know what goes on in this world?”
To say that shame instantly filled me is an understatement. Here was a woman who’d lived through the Depression, saw her husband go off to fight in World War II, raised a little boy alone until he thankfully came home, worked as a secretary in a school for the blind, saw presidents assassinated, men walking on the moon, the civil rights movement, womens sexual liberation, Vietnam, Korea, black and white t.v. with one or two channels expanding into cable. The Hays Code to All in the Family to HBO. Walls built, and Walls torn down. The fall of leaders, and the rise of the internet.
But she might not realize someone is gay??
Really!?
Yes, I’d insulted her.
But luckily, she wasn’t one to hold grudges.
Since she has passed, she’s come to me often in dreams. She rarely speaks, but just her presense is a comfort.
Your own thoughts many would say. But I don’t care what others think. I know.
And she’s come to me in other ways.
Some years ago, after coming home and having dinner with my husband, he broke out with “Uhm, uh….btw…uh, when you were out….uhm, that music box of your nana’s started to play on its own.”
me: “What? My nana was communicating from beyond the grave, and you’re just telling me now??”
hub: “Well, you said you were hungry.”
As one can imagine, I was quite disappointed not to have been here at the time. But a few days later, in the early hours of the night, her music box, with two white swans atop, began to turn on its own, and Für Elise began to play.
The windows were shut.
There was no breeze.
There was no banging anywhere in the apartment complex. No loud stomping.
No animals or children to have bumped into the commode.
“Nana?” I said.
There was no answer.
Only the beautiful tune we’d both loved so much.
It happened on one more occasion. Home alone, feeling a bit blue after receiving a rejection (the hazzards and realities of being a writer!) when the music began.
All I could do was say, “Thank you.”
Harlow's Museum of Horror and Delights 