My Great-Grandmother has been gone way before I was born.
She was sitting in “her chair” at the dining room table — after all it is her family table. I joined her. however, I didn’t know if she had a message for me or was just visiting to see if any other family members were there. I do hope she and the rest of the “spiritual family” will come during the holidays . . . they do enjoy them. They like to help me decorate. It’s not that they do the decorating, but move things around. It’s nice to know they’re around . . . and care.
“Of all the relatives,” Great-Grandma started, “this is the only place I like to come.”
“Thank you, you’re always welcome here.”
With a wave of her right hand, I didn’t know if I was being dismissed or her response to my last comment. I rose to go when she suddenly asked, “Are you making something special for the block party?”
“I haven’t thought about it as I haven’t received an invitation yet.”
Each year, about the second week in December we have a block party in the neighborhood. There are three women who have graciously opened their homes for the occasion. It rotates from year to year. It’s a pot luck kind of thing. Some bring food items, others drink items. I usually order something from the deli and take that. I had a feeling my great-grandmother had something else in mind.
She was either thinking or sleeping . . . I don’t know if spirits sleep, but I was torn from going about my business and sitting back down. I slowly stepped away.
“Why do you spend that much time at the light box?”
“It’s a laptop computer,” I answered. “I have four websites that I add to regularly.
I showed her this website and the three others.
“May I tell you a story which you will write on one of your spider webs?”
“Yes, of course, if you like.”
“This is a ghost story . . . do you remember the large kitchen in Louise’s house?”
I nodded. My grandmother bought the lot back in the 1920′s and her brothers built the house. My grandmother and two of her sisters helped pay for the materials their brothers needed to build the house. As their mother was getting older, they invited her to stay with them. They built a bedroom downstairs, off of the kitchen for her.
“I was sitting in the kitchen after the girls went to work. It was a cold December day. I was thinking about going back to bed to get warm. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the figure of a man. I didn’t recognize him. I was most concerned because I was still in my night clothes.
“So, I turned my head to get a closer look, but nothing was there.”
“I decided to dress and leave the house. I was that uncomfortable. As I prepared to leave, it started to rain. I knew the girls would not approve of my going out in the rain . . . even if a ghost was in the house.”
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She turned to me and asked, “Why aren’t you afraid of me, even when you were a little girl?”
I didn’t give it much thought. I remember seeing her around for as long as I could remember. She would tell me things or show me things if we were out shopping. She was very helpful, especially if Uncle John and my father were running an errand for Grandma and she forgot something on her list.
“I think I first met you at the cemetery. It was cold out and my mother sent me to the car to get out of the wind. She didn’t want me to get sick. You came into the car and introduced yourself. I was happy for the company,”
She whispered, “Strange child.” Then resumed her story.
“I brought a cup of coffee out to the dining room. I sat in this chair at this very table.” She stopped to gather her thoughts.
“As far as I know, I heard someone coming down the stairs. I knew no one was in the house, but I wondered about an intruder. Or it was that ghostly figure I saw earlier in the kitchen. I wondered why he was snooping around the house. It caused more anger than fright in me.
“I shouted, ‘Get out of my house! You’re not welcome here!.’ I probably said more, but you don’t need to know about that.”
I smiled and nodded. “Did he leave?”
“Yes he did.” She said with a triumphant smile. “And do you know what? The whole house smelled like roses. A rose was left on each of the girl’s pillows upstairs and I noticed one on mine when I went to take a nap that afternoon.”
“Do you know who he was?”
“No, but I never saw him again.”
I wanted to know if she regretted her actions, but I didn’t want to bring that up, in case she did. Instead I said, “I remember a rose was placed on my pillow once after I released something I bought. I now know it was a thank you, but it frightened me. Moreover, I didn’t appreciate some ghost invading my personal space.”
“I knew you would understand.”
“Did you see any other ghosts in the house?” I asked.
“At Christmas, on Christmas Eve, I saw angels and heard singing. Your grandmother, grandfather, father and uncle didn’t see them or hear them. I didn’t say anything. It was lovely and I thought it was just for me. I also wondered if I was going to die and this would be my last Christmas.”
Noticeably, I wanted to ask the obvious question, but didn’t. I either missed the opportunity to know how God works in mysterious ways or she wouldn’t have answered my question.
She faded away. Soon, she went away. She either had work to do or her time visiting was up. I know it’s energy, but I don’t know how this whole ghostly thing works. I’m grateful for the times my spiritual family comes to visit. My dining table seems to be where they gather. I’m grateful I have it and see them.