Ghouls and Goblins

Yep, you guessed it. This blog is going to be about...ghosts. It's not a spooky *oooh* ghost kind of blog, even though Hallowe'en is coming up in a month or so. (Speaking of which, Sprout is being a DRAGON - can't wait to post photos!!)

I'll have to go back a little ways and start at the beginning. My first funeral that I ever attended was that of my Great-Grandmother (on my Mom's side). She was an amazing woman, and incredible writer. I give her full credit for sparking my love for poetry. We used to go and visit her - she lived in an assisted care facility in Camrose - and she would give me advice about writing and let me rifle through her written work. When she passed away, I was asked if I would write a poem and read it at her service. At the ripe old age of 13, I thought it would be a wonderful way to pay tribute to her. I remember not wavering at all in my voice, but being frozen to the floor staring down at the small-ish wooden box that she was inside at the front of the church. I didn't look up the entire time that I read. At the internment, there was a moment of quiet awe as the sun came out from behind a cloud, and a flock of small birds burst forth from a tree close by the gravesite. Was it her? Was it God? Who knows? But it was really incredible.

After that day, I began to have dreams about her, and not just a foggy dream. Vivid ones, where I could feel touch, smell things, taste food, etc. She would ask me questions about our family, and continue to give me advice on my writing. I have a very large imagination, and at the time I just thought it was my subconscious way of expressing that I missed having her around to visit and talk to. Lately though, I have begun to think otherwise.

In January of 2009, my Grandfather (also on my Mom's side) passed away after a very brief battle with lung cancer. It was extremely hard on our entire family. He always seemed like this big, strong rock that held everyone together, and to see him crumble and wither over such a short period of time was something I will never forget. As Sprout was born in November, she got to spend a very short two-month span going back and forth to visit her Great-Grandpa at the palliative care facility where he was admitted. It was amazing to see how much she brightened his days. Each time we would visit, even if she was crabby as a crab, when I laid her beside him to snuggle in his bed, she would quiet down and snuggle into him and go to sleep. It was amazing to watch. He loved her, and she loved him. Like I said before, his passing was very difficult for all of us. I grew up living in my Grandma & Grandpa's house until I was 10 years old, and my sister and I have always been close to both of them. Again, I was asked to write and read something at his service, and I did, but this time, I didn't hold myself together as well.

Nothing crazy happened at the service, and there was no internment, as he was cremated, but I have had numerous dreams about him since he passed. The latest was so vivid and real that I was actually woken up by the fact that I was sobbing in my sleep. Here's how it went: my whole extended family was together, and we were at my Grandma's old house (the one I grew up in), and my Grandpa was there. He came and sat down next to me and was talking to me about Sprout. He told me how beautiful she was, and how much she had grown and changed, and that he was so proud of me as a mother. That was enough to set me off crying, but then he started talking about my cousin, who is due with her first child this year. Up until this point, I think we all said we thought she was having a girl, but his exact words to me were "You know, she's having a boy." And he also informed me that when he was born, I was to make sure that the little guy had a jacket just like the one he was wearing. He had on a denim jacket with a brown corduroy collar on it, and I'm sure it was an actual jacket he owned (confirmed by my Grandma). I hugged him, and I swear I could feel his arms around me, and smell the faint hints of sawdust and vanilla pipe tobacco that were nostalgically familiar. It was at that point that I started to cry in the dream, and woke up absolutely sobbing. My poor husband - at 6:00 in the morning, I don't think he was awake enough to even know what to do! It will be interesting to see if she does, indeed, have a boy. If she does, I'd better start hunting for a jacket like that, or create one somehow.

So the question remains: do I believe in ghosts? Do you? Whatever your beliefs or thoughts, it is comforting to think that those that we miss so fiercely in death find their way back into our lives somehow and continue to watch over us and the ones we love throughout our days. Sprout will undoubtedly not remember her cuddles with her Great-Grandpa, but we have photos and can tell her all about it and what he was like; that it is really too bad that she didn't get to spend more time with him. Maybe he will find his way into her dreams someday. For now, I will just keep my memories alive, and hope that wherever he is, he knows he is still loved.

Let me know if anyone ever visits your dreams, Sprout. Even if it's our brains creating a subconscious fantasy, it still feels pretty incredible.

xoxoxo

Mommy