Paranormal Memoir
I was four years old when my dear grandpa “Poody” woke me in the middle of the night by sitting on my bed. My four-year-old mind didn’t wonder what he was doing at my house or why he wasn’t at the hospital. Instead, I listened to what he had to say.
We adored each other. When I was at his house, I followed him around while he dug potatoes, painted, or organized his immaculate garage workshop. Every tool was in its place and nuts, bolts, and screws were carefully sorted into jelly and baby food jars, then screwed onto their lids which were nailed into the workshop walls. He would sit me on his lap when he drove his shiny black Chevy into town to get the mail at the post office or up and down his driveway, letting me “drive”, and he would cart me around the yard in his white homemade wheelbarrow.
As we worked in the yard one day, an acquaintance of his came by. Poody absent-mindedly looked around for something to keep me busy, yet in his view, while he chatted with the man.
“Catch me that honey bee there, Sugarbooger.”
We were standing next to his bed of Bachelor Buttons. Did he think I wouldn’t? Did he think I couldn’t? I must have been a determined little girl, even then. The blood-curdling scream cut the men’s conversation short and let him know I would do exactly as he asked. He ran to me, where my fist still held tight to the bee. He grabbed me up, took me inside to my mother, and told the story through his own tears. I’m sure he felt sick and ashamed, but I was proud. I would do anything for my Poody. He would do anything for me, too.
Poody had been injured in a coal mining rockfall and eventually had to have his stomach removed after being diagnosed with cancer and was in and out of the hospital. Melba Toast and baby food were all he could eat until he was totally bedridden. I didn’t understand. All I knew was I missed working in the yard with him and sharing his Melba Toast. The night he came and sat on my bed was proof he would do anything for me. It was the most loving gift he could ever give me and God allowed it to take place. He was real. He wasn’t a wisp of mist. He was as real as you are.
“Sugarbooger, Poody has to go away. I’m not sick anymore, and everything’s going to be okay. I will see you again.”
“You’ll be a good girl for Poody?”
I nodded.
The next morning I found out my Poody was gone, but it was okay. I didn’t understand why everyone was upset. We would see him again. He told me so.
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The night my Poody (I don’t have an explanation for the nickname) died was the first time I had a paranormal experience. I didn’t recognize it as such for several years, because I was a child and it was so natural. As an adult, I have had many different types of paranormal encounters. I never purposely seek these things out, but even though they seem to become a normal part of my life, they always amaze me. When I have told some of my stories over the years, I have walked on eggshells about how someone might feel about the subject. To my surprise, almost every individual or group I have spoken to has had their own paranormal stories to share, including family. I love hearing them. I’d love to hear yours. Until my book, Elusive Spirits: the Paranormal Memoir of a Smalltown Teacher is published in 2020, please share your own stories with me.
Note: If you wish to tell your story anonymously, I encourage you to comment as such, directly on this website. You are also welcome to comment as yourself, on my social media accounts. I look forward to your shared stories!
Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash
