I don't know what my great grandmother thought of me. I wasn't about to get close enough to her to find out. She walked through the house in these old shoes that were like bricks strapped to her feet. They served the same purpose for me as the bell on a cat's collar does for small birds.
She would try to ambush me.
But she was too deaf to know how much noise she was making.
During the school year I was stuck in town. I would walk home each day, fix a snack and watch TV.
So one day I'm at the house. The barbarian was unaccounted for. Just like I liked it.
I am standing with my back to the stove and someone came in and stood behind me. There was no sound of a door, and no one said a word. I turned around and they were still standing there.
Except for this.
I couldn't see a thing.
But they were still there.
I didn't see anyone.
I didn't hear anyone.
But there they were.
The feeling was so intense that I waived my hand through the open air where I should have seen someone. And I kept waving my hand there because they kept standing there. It was like standing in front a klieg light. I could feel this all through me.
It was 40 years ago.
Of all the mist that obscures the past, this is all clear as a bell.
What ever else it was, it was pleasant.
This was long before I consumed any mind altering substances.
It was a feeling of acceptance and harmony, and of being at the right place at the right time, and all of that and none of that and the English language doesn't have any words for this feeling.
It was there.
And it was there.
And then it was gone.
Just like that.
What was the most remarkable experience of my life was gone as quick as it came. And it all made complete sense. It made enough sense that I turned back around and thought what a strange thing to have happen.
And I carried on like nothing had happened.
I didn't forget. It was something no one could forget. But it dovetailed so nicely with my mortal perceptions that questions never came.
It is what it was and what it was is all that there is to it.
About 30 minutes later the phone rang. It was the barbarian and she had stopped off at the farm. While she was there my great grandmother had some episode. She was 89 and it wasn't a surprise. But her death coincided with the shining to the second.
I don't know what else to tell you. This is another of those things that got shoved under the rug.
I never publicized it.
The first time I trotted it out I was trumped by my mothers manufactured crying jag.
If I intended to share this with any one, my intentions went the way of my story that night.
In memory of
Edna Mae McDonald
1883 - 1972