“Wait, Granny! Come back.”
It was October 19, 1983 when I received a call from my uncle that my granny had suffered a heart attack. It has been twenty eight years now and my memory of that day is sketchy from the passing of time. I was home alone and cannot remember where my mother was; but my dad was fishing. I called the lake patrol to reach him with the news. People came to visit, some called. All that is a bit muddled but the dream is not. It has replayed itself many times in my head and is still as clear as when I was asleep.
I dozed off, though I don’t know how when my world felt as though it was in fast forward mode with no pause button. But I had a dream. My granny was walking in the clouds, away from me and towards the light. Everything was white, foggy, fluffy and quiet.
“Wait Granny, Come back,” I cried out in desperation.
She turned and looked at me. Then she gracefully turned two cartwheels. Granny looked at me again and smiled. In a split second the last three years of her life flashed before my eyes: the car accident, breaking her neck, the braces, and the pain. She was only sixty one and life had been so hard on her. Was she really turning cartwheels now? Was she healed? Is there time in heaven? For just as quickly as I saw the past, I could see the future.
“It’s ok, Granny, you can go”, I said softly with tears running down my cheeks.
She turned and walked away, never to turn back.
It could have been one minute later, it could have been thirty. As dreams go one never knows. But the phone rang and it was my uncle. Granny had gone home.
I still have memories of my Granny; how she would have a pot of chili waiting for us every time my sister and I visited her while in college. Mom and Dad were in Zambia so Granny’s house was home. She made canned biscuits for breakfast. She had an old car that idled and one day I drove it all the way to the supermarket without putting my foot on the gas pedal. One time I left her twenty dollars to cover food and when I got in the car to go back to school, there was an extra twenty in my purse. She slept on her couch in front of the wood stove. When she got up she would stoop over, shuffle to the bathroom and say, “Lordy, Lordy”. Her last Christmas Eve, my sister and I decorated the tree and put presents underneath while she was sleeping. We hung gaudy lights around the kitchen windows. She awoke as a child, in awe of the wonders of Christmas. She gave out of poverty; never having but always giving. Granny had one of the kindest hearts on earth. Now it is one of the kindest in heaven.
Sometimes people speak of dreams in an almost apologetic tone. There is a fear that others will think them excentric, crazy or overly religious. But if one dares bring up the subject in my presence, I always offer, “I understand. I believe in dreams.”