This last ghost story I have I may need to wait on publishing. Again, I feel like I've written about this one before, but I'm not quite sure where it is. I'm pretty sure I wrote about it the day or so after it occurred, so that version would be much more accurate than this. Though, I also have to think to myself, is it a real ghost story if it doesn't evolve in some way with the teller?
I wasn't very close with any of my grandparents growing up. I'm a little envious of those people I know who were, especially now that all my grandparents are gone. I didn't even particularly like my maternal grandmother. She was very religious, and it came off a little phony, especially when I was older. I mean, I knew her heart was in the right place, but I could only put up with her in small doses. Not like my Papa, her husband. He was a Pooh bear looking man, roly-poly with a big belly and charismatic with an easy laugh. He was religious too, but from him, well it didn't sound "preachy". My grandmother was "preachy".
Grandma Pieschke died just about a year after Papa. Before she did though, I had the opportunity to have this amazing morning with her. I guess it was the weekend of Papa's memorial service. Grandma wanted to go to church, and everyone was occupied with all the arrangements being made. She couldn't drive herself and to that point I had had no point in any arrangements. Feeling both like I wanted to help out and like I wanted a little time to be with my grandmother, I offered to take her.
Like I said, it was an amazing experience. I got to see both how much my grandmother meant to the people in her church, but also what grace that woman had. That's the best word for it, grace. She accepted everyone's wishes, introduced me around, and exuded this strength that was incredible. It was incredible because I knew how much she was hurting, even right underneath that tough exterior. It was also incredible because she was such a tiny, old woman and these other people were gaining strength from her. I was gaining strength from her.
Anyway, about a year and a half after Grandma passed I had this dream about her. As I wrote this post I came up with where I had initially wrote about it, about the dream, so I will post it here without any sort of enhancement. I have to say, though, that what I didn't mention at the time I wrote this was how real the dream was. This was one of those dreams that afterwards I had to ask myself whether it was real or not. Of course it wasn't. To this day, though, it feels as if the day in the dream were every bit as real as Grandma hanging on my arm as we left her church that morning.'
I will always have this feeling that she stepped over from death to remind me of what was really important. You really have to understand, though, how unusual the dream was... I don't think I can convey it. If it had been about my paternal grandmother it would have been something, because we were closer. Frankly, I liked her more. There's just no reason that my maternal grandmother would show up in a dream this way to me.
I wasn't very close with any of my grandparents growing up. I'm a little envious of those people I know who were, especially now that all my grandparents are gone. I didn't even particularly like my maternal grandmother. She was very religious, and it came off a little phony, especially when I was older. I mean, I knew her heart was in the right place, but I could only put up with her in small doses. Not like my Papa, her husband. He was a Pooh bear looking man, roly-poly with a big belly and charismatic with an easy laugh. He was religious too, but from him, well it didn't sound "preachy". My grandmother was "preachy".
Grandma Pieschke died just about a year after Papa. Before she did though, I had the opportunity to have this amazing morning with her. I guess it was the weekend of Papa's memorial service. Grandma wanted to go to church, and everyone was occupied with all the arrangements being made. She couldn't drive herself and to that point I had had no point in any arrangements. Feeling both like I wanted to help out and like I wanted a little time to be with my grandmother, I offered to take her.
Like I said, it was an amazing experience. I got to see both how much my grandmother meant to the people in her church, but also what grace that woman had. That's the best word for it, grace. She accepted everyone's wishes, introduced me around, and exuded this strength that was incredible. It was incredible because I knew how much she was hurting, even right underneath that tough exterior. It was also incredible because she was such a tiny, old woman and these other people were gaining strength from her. I was gaining strength from her.
Anyway, about a year and a half after Grandma passed I had this dream about her. As I wrote this post I came up with where I had initially wrote about it, about the dream, so I will post it here without any sort of enhancement. I have to say, though, that what I didn't mention at the time I wrote this was how real the dream was. This was one of those dreams that afterwards I had to ask myself whether it was real or not. Of course it wasn't. To this day, though, it feels as if the day in the dream were every bit as real as Grandma hanging on my arm as we left her church that morning.'
I will always have this feeling that she stepped over from death to remind me of what was really important. You really have to understand, though, how unusual the dream was... I don't think I can convey it. If it had been about my paternal grandmother it would have been something, because we were closer. Frankly, I liked her more. There's just no reason that my maternal grandmother would show up in a dream this way to me.
-- I had a dream last night that I spent the morning with my Grandma Pieschke, and then we went to lunch. Later in the day I went to the bank near our house and was surprised to find my grandmother working there. I talked to the other workers there, and they all said what a joy it was to work with her. Before I left the bank I remembered it was Grandma's birthday, but I stopped. She couldn't be here for me to wish her Happy Birthday because she had died last year.
Well, it must have been about quitting time because then Grandma and I were walking home together. I told here that I meant to tell her Happy Birthday, but I couldn't because, and here I paused and best I could said, "Because you're dead."
"I know," she answered.
"So I am just imagining this then?" She didn't answer that, just kept walking. "But what about the other tellers? I was talking to them about you, and they were talking about your baking. We were eating your peanut brittle." Still nothing. "Was I just imagining them or their reactions to me?"
"Does it really matter?" she finally said. "We got to spend the day together and have a marvelous lunch."
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