Grandma Told Me

I descend from very religious grandparents. My parents were not so religious until I grew older. My grandfather was a preacher, but of what denomination I am not certain. As a child I always said, " I know something is going to happen and I can't stop it!" My mother said I was crazy. I do not think I was crazy. It always happened. I said my cousin would come home with glass in his forehead from the windshield after being involved in an auto accident. It happened. Just as I said it would. In 1968, my father was very ill. The doctor came to our house. There was much confusion. I knew not to mention anything to my mother by this time. I went to bed and my worst fear was realized. Standing at the foot of my bed was my grandmother who died in 1962. I had not been allowed to attend her funeral, so I had no idea how she had been dressed. She was standing there, with a little lace handkerchief and a scent of lilac, which was her favorite as it is mine. She was simply crying, I did not know why, she did not speak. I had a terrible feeling my daddy was sick and would die. I came home from school as my daddy was being hauled bodily from a ditch outside our home where he had been installing water lines. In spite of the strength I always knew him to have, I knew this was it. When they said he had, maybe, 1 hour to live, I could have died with him. They had to administer some sort of treatment before they could begin to operate. He had peritonitis caused by a seeping appendix. I was told this would cause his internal organs to crumble. I prayed to God to spare my daddy, and thanked him for his message sent by grandma everyday until he came home from the hospital, then it changed to "thank you for everything." Grandma came to me again on the eve of my grandpa's death. She gave me the same message, as always, without speaking. When I awoke I said nothing. I knew better. When I came home, they tried to tell me and I said "I know. Grandma told me." My world was falling apart, but she was there as always, to watch over me. In 1970, I gave birth to two beautiful baby boys, 1 hr. apart. William James and Clifford Wayne. Their weight was 3.15 and 4.7. respectively. They were too tiny and 1.5 months premature. The birth was 3/16/70. There were 3 babies in the nursery. I could identify each one by their cry. Nurses were amazed. I bore the nickname "Little Tiger" by the attending nurse who knew there were 2 before they were born. On the eve of March 17, 1970, I was visited again by my grandma, but there was a difference this time. In her arms she held a tiny bundle. She was crying. I could hear her beautiful voice this time. She said, " I am sorry, but he is with me." I rose from my bed, went to the chair by the window and waited. It was beginning to snow, and beneath the light in the parking lot it was beautiful. I watched that light, it seemed, forever. Under the light, the babies father was parked. He came into the building. For reasons known only to he and I, it was important to make him tell me and for me to say "I know. It was Billy who died. Grandma has him. She was at the foot of my bed with him." Grandma was there when I found out about both children; the surviving twin and my daughter who had heart problems, as I do. She was at the foot of my bed with a girl child in braids, about 10 years old. To this day I do not know if it was me or my daughter. I had open heart surgery in 1981, and she had a cardiac cath. in 1983. I have not seen her lately, but I now have a male visitor who feels he did not treat me well when he was alive. This could be my brother who died in 1995 Brenda Daniels

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