Last night was muggy. The breeze ran through the screen porch and allowed us some temporary relief. There were six of us, all family; some of us, best friends.
Ghosts were brought up and were assumed as my childhood imaginary friends. That is mostly true (stories I will share another time), but I did conjure up a fictional girl to spend time with. My imaginary friend was very bohemian; colorful, long hair, no shoes. Though she never shared her name, I called her Esmeralda because she reminded me of one of my favorite Disney characters. She was my guide and my companion. I was an only child and she was a sister to me.
The next topic was the sacred Ouija. As I sit with the group, hysteria erupts. Ignorant assumptions of satanic, demonic, and negative energies. A spirit board is a tool. It is a symbol of other realms. It calms me and always has. It has helped me find the right path at times. It has provided me with positive results and comfort.
If only people could see the energy exhuming from themselves.
My grandmother came to me for a split second today. I was walking to work and all of a sudden, it felt like I had walked into a wall. Overcome with emotions, sorrow, and loss; inexplicably so. Sadness but also memories of joy. Memories of calling her. Longings of sitting on her back porch or lay in bed with her as we would, asking for advice or daydreaming of what was to come in my life. A cup of tea, cream cheese toast, ice cream, the aroma of a home cooked meal.
When I got to work, I understood why she visited me. My colleague’s grandfather was dying. She explained to me how she left him in the hospital. All of the bad memories came back. Memories I had placed aside to focus on being a support for my mother in her loss. Memories I have ignored for years. All revisited this morning.
Although I was 12 years younger the last time I called her, I still remember her telephone number. I remember how she would sing my name as she was calling me from inside the house. I remember how she smelled. I remember how it felt to wake up in my room there; the antique bed, the sheer white curtains with sunlight shining through, the old linens. I remember everything. And I miss her.