Koelle's Blog: A Ghost Story

Tuesday, November 15, 2011

A Ghost Story

The best and most beautiful things in this world cannot be seen or even heard, but must be felt with the heart. Helen Keller

When Jacob was an infant, I used to rock him to sleep on a glider in my bedroom. The walls in the room were wallpapered with pastel flowers, and hanging directly behind and above the glider was a walnut printer's tray which had belonged to my grandmother. Under the glider was a tall nightstand/bookshelf that my mother had made for Jake. Jacob used to stare at that tray forever until he fell asleep. I always attributed the allure to the high contrast between the dark wood and the light background, until something happened to change my mind.

One day, after I had laid Jacob down for his nap, I sat on the edge of my bed and looked at the printer's tray. I studied the nick knacks inside it. Some were hers, some were mine. I focused in on a little porcelain doll, no bigger than a spool of thread, very delicate. It had been my grandmother's doll. The next day, I walked past the glider and spotted something out of place. It was that tiny doll, seated neatly on top of the night stand. I asked my mom, dad and sister if they had put the doll on the stand, but none of them had. "Odd," I thought, and I replaced the doll.

When I put the doll back, I paused for another moment and looked at the items in the tray again. The things that were hers were sweet - a thimble from a visit down south, a ceramic kitten, a straw doll. The things that I had placed in the tray over the years were just strange - a matchbox army car and a tiny fake aquarium plant, to name a few. "Why on earth would I have put an aquarium plant into that printer's tray?" I thought, "such a goofy teenage thing to do." I didn't tell anyone about my thoughts, and I wasn't thinking out loud so that anyone could have heard me talking to myself as they walked by. They were silent musings, like any other number of random thoughts throughout the day.

Or so I thought.

The following day, when I awoke, I found the aquarium plant placed neatly on the bedside stand under the printer's tray.

Now, at any given moment I may maintain that there are no such thing as ghosts. I believe it's highly possible, and in fact probable, that when we die, that's it. Light's out. You're gone. But then I think back to those two days, and I can't help but question my certainty.

About a year ago, one of my cousins in my grandmother's generation passed away. When she died, she left a huge box of photos to another one of my grandmother's cousins. Colleen (the living cousin) asked if I wanted to join her at my aunt Carmen's house to sort through the photos, and of course I said yes. In typical Koelle fashion, I started crying at the first photo of my grandmother. Colleen has also since passed away, but she gave to me an incredible gift that day. She gave me some wonderful photos, but her words were her true gift. Colleen told me that when my grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, what bothered her most was the fact that she would not live to see her grandchildren grow up. She would miss our graduations, our weddings, the birth of our children. I had always wondered what her thoughts on dying so young were (she was 58), but it was never something that I could bring myself to ask. I was glad that Colleen shared that with me. I'm sure my grandmother's mind was filled with countless thoughts during those months, but it was nice to have a glimpse into just one of the thoughts, especially one that included me.

My grandmother treated us all like princesses (and one prince), so much that I think my sisters and all of my cousins would maintain that they were each her favorite, but I know better. I know better not because I am conceited, or because that's what I want to believe, but because I see my relationship with her reflected in Jacob's relationship with my mom. My mother adores all of her grandchildren. She can't wait to tell me stories about my niece or do things with Andrew, but her heart belongs first and foremost to Jacob. I was my grandmother's Jacob, the first born, the one who lived with her the longest and needed her the most.

When I was younger, in junior high, I used to imagine that my grandmother was my guardian angel. I would subtly slide to one side of my seat, in case she wanted to sit next to me. When I would fly, I would imagine she was on one of the clouds, just outside the airplane window, smiling in at me. As I got older, that need for make-believe slowly disappeared, but the need for my grandmother's love still burns strong. It saddened me to get married without her, and I felt her absence when my children were born. The holidays and beach vacations are always bittersweet.

I think about my grandmother every single day, often multiple times. Sometimes I can entertain happy memories of her, smile and move on. Other times it brings a grief so intense, it feels as if she just died. When I feel down, when the void feels vast, I try to focus on the gratitude I have for the time I had. I could not have been blessed with a better grandmother. She was in fact my guardian angel, not after she died, but while she was living. She gave us a safe harbor, stability and security, and she did it with the utmost kindness and the biggest smile...oh, and she threw in a handful of fudge or spearmint leaves now and then to sweeten the pot!

Do I think she stopped by for a quick visit when Jake was first born? Absolutely. I think she stopped by twice, because I was too dense to fully grasp her first sign. Duh, her ceramic baby, my newborn baby. Pretty tight connection there! Hey, I never was all that quick on the uptake! But the aquarium grass? Yep, I got it that time!

Yes, I think she stopped by just to let me know that she did indeed get to see her first grandson, and I'm betting that she thought he was pretty darn cute. Thanks, Gram.