When I was a child, after my mother passed away in 1994, I lived with my grandmother, grandfather, father, and older brother. We lived in an old two-story house, one I remember more than any other home I’d lived. This story involves my grandmother’s mother, a woman I’d never met.
I remember waking up one morning, the aroma of breakfast wafting through the house. I could hear the pots and pans clanging, the sound of the whisk and silverware being maneuvered to cook. So I ran downstairs to see what my grandma was cooking for breakfast. Only, the woman standing in the kitchen wasn’t her. Though I didn’t know this woman standing there, she knew me.
"Good morning Kristen!" she had said.
I stood, stunned for a moment, said a hurried "G’morning" in reply, and thus proceeded to bolt upstairs and wake up my grandmother.
"Oma! Oma! (Oma means Grandmother in German) Who’s that lady cooking breakfast downstairs?" I had asked.
So, Oma got up, and we went down the stairs to the kitchen, only to find every dish and utensil back in their places, and no woman. After that, I’d forgotten about it, as young children do.
Two or three years later, Oma was flipping through some old photograph albums, telling me about her family, pointing out certain people. When we came across a photograph of her mother, I remember feeling my heart pound.
"That’s the lady!" I had shouted. "That’s the lady cooking breakfast!"
Oma looked at me, shocked. "That’s my mother," she said. "She died before you were born, KD."
That’s when I knew I could see those who were no longer living.
I recall this story with more confidence and more, well, memory, than anything else that has ever happened in my life. I’ve been told story after story about how I would be talking to the nice lady by the tree, and there wouldn’t be anyone there but me.
They say children have the ability to see spirits. I believe it, as I’ve experienced it myself. I experienced a trauma early in life, being only two years old and having God call my mother back home. I was more susceptible to paranormal experiences. But I was never afraid. My grandmother’s mother was a warm, comforting spirit, and I will always carry that memory, that soft feeling for the rest of my life.