scary

Well, I'm over the whole accosting incident. Still disappointed in humanity, but I've decided to just move on. Thank you for your emails, comments, phone calls, and hugs. Whenever I hear someone telling a story like that, I always wonder why she didn't run or scream or punch or kick and to not be able to do any of those things effectively was horrible. Grr. It's over. It's humbling, and now I have a greater empathy for victims. Deep breath. And exhale.

I had planned on telling you all about Jake's psychic abilities as a good Halloween story, but I got sidetracked. And my computer has been sent off to Texas for some repair work, and I didn't get into the office to type on the company dollar so Halloween passed and now I'm going to tell you a ghost story and instead of getting chills down your spine you can just shake your head and say that I need some spiritual advising. And a sage smudge. And a priest. And a new house. And some therapy.

You know about Monica and Vivi. They've been around for the better part of a year. Monica used to hang out in my room a lot, but she hasn't been by lately. Jake said she likes to be outside when the weather is nice. Maybe she will come back around when the warm spell finally breaks at the end of the week.

Vivi is usually around in the afternoon and she comes to play before bed once in awhile. Sometimes she plays blocks with Jake if he is up early "an itz not mornin' yet for goin' downstairs". A few times Jake has run in from our front door into the middle of our living room screaming Vivi's name saying "you came! you came! i'm so happy to see you! let's play!" and gives high fives to nothing and shares his milkshake. Jake has been sad about Vivi for the past few weeks. He used to say "oh no, Vivi's raining" and I had no idea what he was talking about but he has told me that Vivi is stuck out in the rain, sometimes running away with her mommy, sometimes running away from her mommy, sometimes running around looking for her mommy. It is all very sad stuff, and whether he really does see/imagine a little girl named Vivi and she has all this running going on in her life -er- death or he manifests his anxiety about whatever it is that two year olds have anxiety about (read: poop and monsters) in this little imaginary girl who has to run with/from/to her mommy my heart goes out to poor Jake who is going through all this with her. But she makes a great playmate while I'm getting dinner ready or throwing the clothes in the dryer so it is all good.

About a year ago, my mom was at a friend's house and there was a psychic there. I think her friend is friends with the psychic lady who lives in Lily Dale or somewhere. I'm not sure of the specifics. I'll ask her and clear it up here later.

Anyway, point is that she was talking to a psychic lady who told her (in a roundabout way, of course, because that is what they do) that my grandfather is watching over Jake. Good guess, right? That my granddad would be dead and I would have a kid. Par for the course at age 32. She told my mom that he hung out in doorways and on the ceiling and that is why Jake is always playing in doorways and staring at the ceiling. My mom had no idea Jake hangs out in doorways or stares at the ceiling so she couldn't have told her but he was 18 months old, and that is presumably what 18 month olds do. Right? Sure. Yawn.

Jake had seen my grandfather twice in his life, once at 2 or 3 months old and once at about 8 or 9 months old before he passed right after Jake's first birthday. If you know Jake personally, you know he is very mechanical and interested in the way things work. He took apart a lamp when he was 15 months old, and took a tire off a bicycle last Christmas. He has always used common household things as tools just like any good little monkey can, and I always say it is because he comes from good engineering-minded stock on both sides of the family and he is a genius baby. (And cute too. Just like his mother.) The lady said it was because my grandfather was there, showing him how to do things. That got me a bit. My grandfather loved to show us how to do things, and how to make things work. But, I dismissed the whole thing and hung up the phone and told my mom to go have fun at her devil party.

Of course I had to prove her wrong, so I asked Jake if Poppa was here. He got up from the middle of the living room floor, ran to the entryway, opened the door, closed it, looked up at the ceiling, ran to the dining room, looked up, peaked in the kitchen, and said "no mommy". Shit you not. Cross my heart and poke my eye to let it spill over my grandfather's grave.

So I cried.

And called my mom.

And wondered if he knew that I like to go to the bar after I put Jake to bed at least once a week or if he saw me doing it on my couch (we put a blanket down, you can still sit there).

Jake mentions Poppa pretty frequently, most recently when Jake was standing with Dave and me in the kitchen and he looked out in the living room and said "oh, Poppa, your makin'a mess wit my cars. lets clean up."
He kisses the air and says he's kissing Poppa.
When he takes something apart that he shouldn't have he blames Poppa.
He looks up to the door and says hi and bye to Poppa, and sometimes talks to him when he is playing with his blocks or cars.
He told me that Poppa taught him how to make a circle with a pen and paper and is teaching him to write letters. That fits his character, Poppa made me practice my handwriting until I was 16.
Jake has painted pictures and brought them to me saying "this one's from me and Poppa for you". Poppa loved to paint.
We don't encourage him, but we don't discourage him either. What do you say? Poppa's dead? Try explaining that. Or pretend like Poppa is there all the time? He's not, by the way. If we start telling Jake that people are in the house when people aren't in the house that can be a little damaging, I think.

You better check your shower and under your bed. Someone is under there. Just to play, though. It's not scary.
See? Damaging.

I don't have any pictures of my grandfather around the house, but when Jake sees an old man in a cap and glasses he says "hey there's Poppa!". A man in Target was wearing a cardigan and Jake said it was Poppa's sweater. He has no way of knowing that Poppa was a cardigan kind of guy.

Jake and I have coffee together a few times a week- kinda like a boy version of the tea party. A few months ago, he asked if Poppa can have coffee too, but only with real cream, not milk. We don't ever have real cream in our house and I'm guessing that daycare doesn't deal with real cream on a regular basis.
Jake told me that Poppa was "eatin' butter again" the other day. Sure enough, the butter dish was open. Poppa ate butter all the time, right off the knife, whenever the butter dish was left open and chased it with a handful of salt. And lived for like 175 years.

It's weird. But comforting. I like to think that people that love us in life can love us in death. There was no question that I was Poppa's favorite, his only girl in a crowd of sons and grandsons. When I had Jake he was completely thrilled, and didn't hesitate to get down on the floor with Jake and hold him and play with him and try to teach him shapes and letters and numbers even though Jake wasn't even one and Poppa was 94. Jake said "Poppa" to him a couple times, and if you could have seen how thrilled that made him you may have cried.

The last time I saw Poppa, he gave me a hug and thanked me for letting him spend a little time with Jake. He held Jake and told him that he would see him soon and they could play some more. He held me and told me he loved me.
I only make it back to my hometown once or twice a year, and I knew this would be the last time I saw him. I should have said more, but I know I didn't need to. Whenever Jake says that Poppa is here, I tell him to let him know I love him.