My Grandmother died this past week. If you don’t believe me, I can show you the letter from the Prime Minister proving it. Of course, it came from Stephen Harper…so I’m not sure if she appreciated that or not.
There were lots of stories being told at the funeral and reception on Sunday. Made me wish that I would’ve prepared a little speech. I didn’t know my Little Grandma well, but I did know some stories that no one else knew. Aside from telling me exactly what the term ‘gay’ meant (and don’t for a second believe that this description wouldn’t permanently scar an 11 year old boy), she had some nicer stories that others hadn’t heard.
There are two stories I remember. The UFO story and the ghost story. First, to frame this, my grandmother was a real pioneer for women before women even knew of such a thing as a feminist movement. She raised three kids on her own, by being a principal, flipping houses, and extending mortgages. In other words, resourceful, intelligent, and confident. She graduated from several university programs with high marks (94+).
Her story: one night after getting back from cards, a blast of light ripped through her windows. The back yard had become like day, the trees doubled over by a constant blast of window coming from above. She went outside and first thought it was a helicopter. Except there it was soundless and had six lights rather than a single spot light. She couldn’t see the shape of the vehicle over the brilliance of lights.
Then suddenly, the lights were extinguished and she was alone again.
Needless to say, she was a UFO believer after that. I don’t think she told anyone else that story.
The other wasn’t really a story. Or rather, it’s more an observation of one time she came to visit.
My grandmother believed in ghosts. She told me when I used to go visit that she believed in them…and had several stories that she told me.
My house in St.Mary’s was haunted. Not the typical ‘I see dead people’ haunted, but you’ll have to trust me on this one. There was something not right about that house (but those are my stories, not hers).
My grandmother was supposed to stay 2 weeks. She stayed one night because she said ‘something wasn’t right’. She never came back.
Most don’t know those stories…and for a woman who was 101, she had ten of thousands of them. And I guess that’s what’s sad about her passing — some of those stories (the ‘light’ as Reverend Tom said in his service) will be gone forever.