Grandma's House

Last night I dreamt that I was in my grandparents house. I had driven my old neon there, was spending the night, and was standing in the kitchen talking to my grandmother. She put out 3 types of TastyKake snacks and said goodnight and went upstairs. I went into the sunken living room and pulled a book off the shelf and got comfy in one of the chairs with my feet up on the ottoman. There were all these other people there, however, and I went back into the kitchen. There was a man at the table and he looked at me and said "I can't wait to read what you write about this." Then suddenly I was part of that crazy Duggar family with 18 kids and we were touring a lollipop factory. But I digress.


So, what's so out of the ordinary about dreaming about my grandparents house? Well, for one, although I spent a lot of holidays there growing up, I didn't spend a lot of time there in general. Two--my grandparents have been dead for years...12 years for my grandmother this month and 6 years for my grandfather this month. Three--I have a living set of grandparents that I see relatively often since they live in Selinsgrove, so I haven't been deprived of the grandparent thing yet in this lifetime. And although I loved my deceased grandparents very much, I wasn't especially close with them when they were living, not any more than any normal grandkid.


So given all that, you would probably find it odd that over the last decade or so I dream about my grandparents house on a regular basis, particularly over the last 6 years. I would estimate at least one dream a week takes place inside their home on 1400 Meade Street in Williamsport, Pa. Some dreams are simply dreams in which the locale involves the house. Others, my grandparents are alive and well and part of the dream. And a few others feel somewhat...prophetic. As though my grandmother (always her, not my grandfather, I'm not sure why) is trying to tell me something.

Two examples to illustrate this...I have hundreds, but it would take me all day to record the bits and pieces I remember, and these are two sort of recent ones. Case in point #1--I dreamt I was in my grandparents house hosting a playdate with all my friends. We were all in the living room--still decorated as I remember it, with brown carpeting, the harsh smell of a smoker's home. Grandma was there for the playdate, smiling her sweet smile and wearing her typical colored pants and matching shirt with tennis shoes. We moved into the screened in back porch for lunch, and the dishes were out of control. I told Grandma to relax, that I'd do the dishes. I was in the kitchen forever handwashing dishes, and reading the newpaper clippings and cutesy comics they had stuck to the refridgerator. All of the sudden, my eyes rested on an obituary--my grandfather's. It hit me like a ton of bricks that he was dead. I kept trying to sort out the facts in my head, how did he die, what happened? All I could remember was that the last 6 years of his life were miserable because his wife was dead. Which meant--Grandma must be dead too. I ran back onto the sunporch only to find it empty, remnants of dishes and half-filled cups that appeared to have been sitting for years. Grandma was nowhere to be found. I was profoundly devestated.

Case in Point #2. I was at my parents house (in real life) and dreamt that I was (surprise!) in Grandma and Grandad's house--although in this dream they had already passed away. I was up in their bedroom, and I went into their walk-in closet. Only it was HUGE and it was packed with everything Grandma had ever owned. There were walls of evening gowns from the 40's and 50's, shelves lined with tubes of expensive red lipstick, silver trays with jewelry organized in rows. My dad and I were going through everything, taking inventory. I pushed aside some stuff and found a row of books...they were diaries from her entire life! I asked my dad if I could have them and he said yes but I'd have to find them first. I was confused and kept trying to point out that they were right there.

Once I woke up from that dream, I went into the kitchen and had some coffee with my mom and I told her about the dream. She got a funny look on her face and was like, "I think we might actually have a diary from Grandma." She went digging somewhere and just like that, produced a little red journal penned by none other than my grandmother!! It covered a span of about three years but only had entries every few months. Still. What are the chances?

So what is the meaning of all this? It sounds silly and whimsical, but I think somehow my grandmother actually comes to me in these dreams. Like she reaches out to me--to tell me something? To comfort me? I don't know. So many times in talking or reminiscing about her and my grandfather, I get goosebumps. Why? Are they there? I'm not a religious person and I have no clue what I believe in other than "something"...is that what she's trying to tell me? Since I'm not religious I don't really pray but when I do, I think of her. I know I'm not the only one. I know my grandfather saw/felt/heard her in times when she wasn't there. And I know my dad has felt my grandfather in places he cannot be...but yet he is.

My grandparents were two ordinary but yet not-ordinary people who were born in the 20's, got married in the 40's. My grandfather was a pilot in the war. They got married and had 4 children that they raised in the 50's and the 60's. They had a perfect house with a white picket fence. Every television show that depicts the nostalgia of that time period makes me imagine what my dad's upbringing must have been like. My grandparents had special qualities. They had a marriage unlike most people's. They were truley soulmates. My grandmother died in 1996, unexpectedly, and I truely think in a way, my grandfather died then too. He existed for a bit longer, and as sad as we all were when he passed, I think there was a collective sigh of "Oh, now he's with her."

I could delve into this topic more but it would just be a series of questions and "what ifs?" But I woke with a start this morning thinking of two people who've been dead for awhile, and it always surprises me to think logically "Nope, never going to see them again." But yet, I wonder if I will. There are so many questions I want to ask them, things that as a teenager I just didn't think about enough to verbalize. But until then, I suppose I'll always have my dreams of Grandma's house.