.png "English"){kind=small}
(Please see the notes at the end of this post)
In the previous post, I didn't really give you ghost stories. I gave you creepy stories but the real ghost story in our family has to do with me. Of course. With my scaredy-cat self...
I was born in June of the year my Grandma Jack died. My cousin, Candy, was born that September. Grandma had gotten sick sometime in March or April. She died basically of untreated "sugar diabetes" and high blood pressure. That's so common in the black race that our people in Texas used to say that someone died of "the sugar and salt".
People in my family at that time didn't go to see doctors regularly. They would get healing teas and balms and poultices from women who were knowledgeable. Mama told me that a lot of that knowledge had been handed down from slave ancestors. The problem is, those ancestors had been dealing with a different diet and lifestyle.
 |
| I rarely eat even a burger these days |
Grandma knew that she didn't have long to live. She had gone from being able to work from dawn to dusk to being waited on by some of the many kids she had raised - hers and those of other people. Eventually, she spent most of her time sitting in a chair on the porch or in her bedroom while ladies from the church sat with her. They read the Bible to her and prayed with her. Her kids made sure she ate and drank something. She had worked so hard all her life and now she was just tired.
 |
| This is my grandmother, Gretchel "Aunt Jack" Pruitt |
Sitting with her on the porch one day, my mother unintentionally started a tradition** that I will tell you about in a bit. Grandma was feeling really bad that day but she sat on the porch while my pregnant (with me) mother kept her company. At one point, Grandma fell into a doze and my mother was thinking the worst. She called Grandma and got no answer. Thinking that if Grandma wasn't dead, she was close, my mother quietly told her that if she needed to let go, she could. She told Grandma that she'd earned her rest and that if she was ready to go home to the Lord, everyone here would be all right.
Mother was startled when Grandma roused herself awake enough to say that she was ready to go "Home" but was waiting to see her grandbabies. She was talking about me and my cousin. She lived to see both of us. Candy was born on the 7th of September. The family took Grandma to the hospital to see Candy and her mama. Then Grandma Jack died on the 8th.
Every time Mama would tell that part of the story, I would feel so moved and loved and connected to my ancestry. My grandmother waited for me and my favorite cousin to be born. That is special to me.
Then Mama would get to the creepy part of the story and I would end up sleeping with the lights on for the next week.
 |
| I get it, baby boy |
After Grandma died, Mama and Daddy were staying in her house to take care of things for a bit. My father was military and we were going to moving away soon to be with him at his next base. He was getting to spend a little family time with his wife and the new baby (me). At this point, I am around 3 or 4 months old.
Laying in bed one night, down the hall from my Grandma's old room, Daddy was talking to Mama about all the changes that would be happening. He was discussing the drive to the new base and getting the new place all set up for a new child in addition to my older siblings, and blah-blah-blah. Being a new mom, my mother was tired and only half-listening. She got up at one point to make sure that I was covered well and tucked in. I was sleeping soundly.
Like couples do, they would talk there in the dark and go quiet for long spells. I was in a crib against a wall across the room from the bed. These old houses had big rooms and this one had an entry door from the hallway on one side of the bed and another door that exited out on the other side of the room.
In my crib, I had fretted a couple of times but quieted back down enough that my mother and father dozed off. Until my father was nudging my mom awake because he'd heard something. Footsteps, he said. Out in the hall. Mama listened but didn't hear anything but me starting to fuss just a little. She was just drifting back to sleep when she did hear. Not only did she hear the steps she recognized them. They were her mother's.
The steps had come down the hall from Grandma's room. While Mama and Daddy were now laying there very alert, the steps came into the room and paused. Then they moved toward the crib. I stopped fussing.
At this point, my Mom would always have to stop to herself under control because she'd be laughing so hard from remembering my father's reaction.
She said that she was kind of sitting up and watching the crib and it was rocking very slightly. She turned to ask my father if he was seeing that, but he was holding up the sheet in front of his face so that he wouldn't see.
Of course, at this point in the story, I always asked my mother if she had been scared. "Scared of what?" she'd always say. "It was my mother, checking on my baby."
Me:
Okay so. That story always made me shiver a little when I was younger. Now that my mother herself is passed, I think about that story with a whole new perspective. As a Christian who has now studied the Bible and looked into things such as "ghosts", that story gives me nightmares.
There is no such thing as "ghosts". The dead are dead and they aren't coming back to haunt or trouble the living. So... what was rocking my crib?
See what I mean?
I choose to believe that maybe what was in that room that night was an angel, maybe? The only other option is... not an angel...
Well, I've told that story. Now I am going to go put on some lights, say some prayers, and douse myself in holy water.
Peace
--Free
**When my mother was in the hospital and barely hanging on, my sister and I told her that we would be okay if she wanted to go be with the Lord. Not long after, she "let go" and died. Years later, I had to sit alone with my sister and tell her the same thing. I didn't think about this being a "tradition" until later.
NOTE: I have to clarify that, as an adult Christian, I do not believe in ghosts, every dead person resting in peace just because they are dead, people becoming angels when they die, or any kind of communication with the dead. The dead are dead. My grandma is not coming back to watch over me or tell me where to find the old watch that was lost years ago. The only things from the dead "communicating" with those of us still alive are nothing I want to know about. As an adult, I also no longer believe "shouting" in church or other emotion-based disturbances in worship should be a thing. True faith is not based on emotion. True faith is based on the belief and hope in salvation through Jesus Christ. When music and apparel and other types of "show" become more important than worship and learning, we are making our faith more about us than about the One in whom we profess to believe. I think that churches need to be more focused on making sure that members know the Bible, know and can defend the faith, and in showing due reverence. We should not base the way we worship on pure emotion and imitation. We are to be a light to the world, not entertainment.
