This story happened about five years ago when my children
were two and four years old. They love this story, since
they're in it, and they have me tell them again and again.
It was their idea that I submit it.
I was recently separated from my former husband, which is a
horror story in itself. The kids were small, and were
having various difficulties adjusting. So here I am, a
single mom, dragging two little kids around to their
different therapies. I was a bit frazzled myself. While
out and about, my son, Oscar, who was two at the time always
held my left hand, while my daughter, Ella who was four
would hold my right hand. She was a bit of a runner, so I
always had to keep a tight grip on her. Oscar was a velcro
baby, and never strayed. Until this day.
We were leaving a large office building after the various
therapeutic appointments. The building was about eight
stories, with three levels of parking underneath. We had
parked on the second level down. As we exited the elevator,
I momentarily released Oscar's hand so that I could fish my
car keys from my pocket. He impishly turned and ran back
into the elevator. I'll never forget the look of horror on
his face and his scream fading away as the elevator took
him. The doors closed before I could get him. I
frantically pounded the button for the elevator to return,
but another one came in its stead. There was no floor
indicator, so I didn't know which direction his elevator had
gone. I returned with Ella to the lobby, and notified
security. They instantly got on their two way radios to
secure all exits. Meanwhile my daughter kept asking me,
"Where's Oscar? Will we see him again?" I was trying not
to be short with her, but my throat was choking up and my
heart was racing and my palms were soaked. I dragged her
all over the lobby each time I heard a child crying. I've
never been more frightened in my life.
My charming, benevolent and gracious father-in-law had died
a month earlier, eleven days after a visit with us. As I
stood there, helpless, security asking me the same questions
again and again, I saw him. He wasn't ten yards away. He
stood there smiling at me, bent over due to his bad back
just as he had done when I last saw him. I said to my
daughter, "Do you see who that is?" Without hesitating she
said "It's Opa!" He was fresh in the her memory. Just then
the elevator doors opened, and a handsome man (hey I was
single!) exited holding my son in his arms. I burst into
tears, and grabbed Oscar. He had been found wandering
around the third level of the parking garage. Being only
two years old and small, it's a wonder he hadn't been hit by
a car. I turned to Opa, who just five seconds ago was
standing there, and he was gone.
I told some people, saying things like "I could have sworn
it was Irving!" or "There was an old man who looked just
like Irving!" When I finally told my mother-in-law four
days later, I described what he was wearing. He had on his
grey wool pants, navy blazer, and his black beret. She
gasped and said, "I finally gave away all of his clothing
last week. Everything except his grey wool pants, navy
blazer and his black beret."
Opa was watching.
Contact me here: lisapizzurro@cs.com
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