I just visited with my Grandma King. I had not seen her since 1973. I missed her warmth, her smile, her quiet, wisdom, patience, and her love. Also I always admired her strength, energy and positivity.

I walked into her home at 452 Laurier Avenue. I could hear the sounds of her quiet motion. I moved past the living room into the kitchen, softly so as not to startle her, and there she was, busy as usual, in the dining room off to the right of the kitchen. She had yards of fabric all around her, and a step-ladder. Now that I look back on the scene, I think she was taking down drapes for their twice-a-year cleaning. But I didn’t want to waste a moment asking. It has been too long since I last saw her.

Suddenly she looked up. A second passed, then she opened her arms and I leapt right into them. We hugged the longest, tightest hug I had perhaps ever experienced and I wept against her shoulder. I apologized for being away for so long. I explained I thought she was no longer here, and that I missed her so.

As she had always done, she kept busy while we visited, no sit-down-chats. That was something that would not happen often until her last years. After some time with her, I felt the strong urge to accomplish something important during this visit.

Slipping on my jacket, and saying I would be right back, I rushed down the hill toward Fisher Street. I turned left at the corner to where was my youngest son Gregory was playing in Mom and Dad’s Garden Center.

I took his hand and said, “Hurry, I want to you to meet someone.” We rushed back up the hill. Really, it was no more a slope, but in my early years when I walked that route to and from school every day, it seemed a substantial hill. And every day I stopped in to see Grandma and Grandpa. There was always a smile, a freshly baked cookie (Grandma’s favourite was ‘Hermit cookies’) or she would be removing her incredible ‘yeast buns’ from the oven.

Greg was the only ones of my five children to have not met his wonderful great-Grandma and it felt terribly important that he do so. We arrived and continued the visit. By this time, it was early evening and little Gregory was too tired for much interaction, but meet her he did. Before the visit was over it was ended by the gently melodic trill of chimes. My i-Pad alarm was calling me back to the present. This had been my most exquisite dream ever –  a treasured visit with my beloved grandmother.

. . . . . . . . . . . . .

What precipitated this particular and vivid dream I wondered. I thought back and remembered that only a few days before I dropped into a ‘psychic’s shop. Jane and I chatted about how when I was a little girl, my mom or my grandma would have a local lady come, usually to Grandma’s home, to read our tea leaves . I recall the laughter, the quiet, the great moments of expectation as we sat around the table. She read our drained leaves spread about the bottom of our cups in intriguing clusters and patterns. I enjoyed those female bonding days with great affection.

I explained to Jane the Psychic, that I was now skeptical of all the psychic phenomenon and activities. She explained that it was really just an extension of our instincts, or of our paying attention to those little inner voices that often advises us to ‘go there’ or … ‘it will be dangerous to do that’. I am a huge believer in trusting those instincts, those inner voices, so I could relate to what she meant.

As a result of that conversation I enjoyed time with my grandmother again and introduced her to my youngest child. That is what he was in the dream, a child. In reality, today he is a 40-year-old man with a beautiful child of his own. I still feel the glow of the visit and the comfort of Grandma’s arms around me. And, I feel fabulously fortunate.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .


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