When Grandma got sick, when we all knew it was the end, I moved back into the old house to stay and take care of her until it was over. Things moved pretty quickly, but Grandma always was a "just get it done and over with" kind of person. She was also the most practical, grounded, and level headed person I have ever met.
Just before it was all over, I think it was 2 days before she died but it may have been 3 those few days all kinda ran together at the time, Grandma and I were alone in her bedroom and she said to me, "I don't mind dying. I'm not afraid. I'm just sorry I won't get to hold and rock your baby when he comes." I told her "Grandma, I'm not pregnant." She said, "Oh, you're not pregnant yet? Well, it won't be long. He's just the sweetest, cutest baby anybody's ever saw, and those eyes. I just wish I could hold on long enough to get to rock that baby and see those eyes. You say you're not even pregnant yet? Oh, and it takes so long to make a baby. A long miserable time. Oh well, I've just done all I can do. I won't be here for that.But, Oh how I wish I could be. Your sisters baby wont be as pretty as he is. Now, she is a pretty little thing, but she wont have those eyes.... Waite, dose that little girl not make it?... Oh, no, she's fine. Sure had a rough start, but she turns out fine, just the same as any kid. Well, why did I think she didn't make it? Oh...."
Then she looked away from me, kinda shy, or half embarrassed or something. She looked back and said, "Oh, let's not talk about it any more." She looked a little sad now. But Grandma being Grandma, brushed it off and went right on. "Oh, it all turns out fine. It really is OK. Don't worry about it."
I was really enjoying her going on, she hadn't felt like talking much the last several days, so it didn't bother me a bit that it was all nonsense.
I told her that I wouldn't be having any babies. The doctor had told me that when I was young, but that I was OK with it. Grandma answered, "Oh, them doctors don't always know what they're talking about. They just do the best they can, like anybody else. No. Your baby will have the prettiest eyes of any baby ever, and he'll be a good baby. You hold him and rock him for me, and you tell him, that his grandma loved him too."
Then her expression and tone changed, like I was a little kid again getting a scolding. She said, "Don't call him Bubby. Please don't call him Bubby. It's an awful name for a boy. I just hate it. Well, it's an awful name for a girl too. But, don't let them call your boy Bubby. He's too pretty for a name like that. Oh, you're gonna do it anyway. Please give him a pretty name. What are you gonna name him? And tell me it's not Bubby!"
I told her I'd never thought about naming kids because that doctor had said I'd never have any.
"Oh, you will." she said. "And you'll call him Bubby." she added like spitting grit outta her mouth. But, he'll be a fine boy. You'll be so proud of him. You'll be a good mom too."
"Could you go and get me a drink of water?" she asked. So I jumped right up to go and get her the water, and she was tired when I got back. It was the end of that conversation, and the last real conversation I had with my grandma. She died just a couple days later.
That conversation stuck with me, tho I was convinced she had confused remembering things that had already happened with what she thought was going to happen, and I never mentioned it to any of the family. Grandma had always been so happy with the fact that her mind had always stayed sharp as she aged up into her 80s. And other than that one conversation, it had. So, I wasn't going to tell on her.
We buried Grandma, and it was strangely OK. She had died at home, with dignity, with her family around, after a long life, and enough work done for 10 people.
And I went home.
Six months later, I really didn't feel well. I had all kinds of crazy ideas as to what was wrong with me. I blamed the oil company for poisoning the well water, along with a bunch of other crazy ideas I came up with as to the cause. My cousin, about 30 years older than me, kept telling me that I was pregnant. I just kept telling him, "I can't get pregnant!"
It took me 3 months to figure out I was pregnant.
Almost immediately, I started thinking of that conversation I had had with Grandma. Could she a been telling the truth? I had never never known Grandma to just make things up like that, and she was almost never wrong.
I'm not a superstitious person. For the most part, I believe that ghost stories and supernatural claims just prove a lack of intelligence. Like not understanding air pressure, vacuums, and just a poor grasp on cause and effect.
This time I decided to entertain the thought.
I also believe that their is more that people, as a whole, do not yet understand, than what they do.
I made appointments to see the doctors, and they scheduled me an appointment for the ultrasound. When the technician first got started she asked me, "You're pretty far along already. If we can see the sex of the baby, would you want to know?" "It's a boy." I answered quickly, without thinking. "You just know that?" she asked. "No. Grandma told me." I said. "Yeah, Grandmas have a way of knowing about these things." she answered. "And yes, it's a boy. You can tell your grandma she was right." I just smiled. I wasn't going into it and sounding like a crazy person.
The time goes by, and I have me a perfect little boy to bring home. He gets a little bigger, and a lot more sturdy, so I start taking him out with me everywhere I go to run my daily errands. Everywhere we go, and I do mean EVERYWHERE, strangers comment on his eyes. Over and over again, what pretty eyes that baby has. People stop me in the street to tell me what pretty eyes he has; And every time , I think "Boy, Grandma was right."
A few months go by, and my sister's pregnant with her first baby. "It's a girl!" I tell her, as soon as she breaks the news. "Why do you say that?" she asks. "Grandma told me." I said; and I tell her the story. After she went for imaging, she called me right away. "It's a girl." she told me.
She gets further along in her pregnancy and starts to have some problems. "Don't worry too much." I tell her. "Grandma said this little girl has a rough start, but she turns out just fine."
Grandma was right again. Towards the end of the pregnancy, mom gets admitted into the hospital. She has to live there for a few weeks. The baby came early. The doctors aren't sure she's gonna make it, but by now I know she's gonna be just fine.
The baby lives the first month of her life in the N.I.C.U. When she's released, she has customized medical care and appointments with specialists to keep. I just keep telling my sister, "It's supposta be a rough start. She's gonna turn out just fine. Remember? Grandma told us about this."
The little girl gets a little older and gets enrolled in a program kind of like pre-preschool for developmentally challenged babys. All of the family whispers about how hard it will be for her to be like that her whole life, but I keep insisting she's going to be just fine.
The little girl gets up past her 3rd birthday and I get a call from my sister. The little girl's been released from care! All of it!! The specialists and their imaging, they say it's miraculously all healed. They say they've seen this heal up before, but they weren't really expecting it. More often, it is surgery and follow ups, and problems their whole life. She got really lucky, and even got cleared for sports.
The school for early development, they signed off too! They said she worked really hard and had caught up, and in some cases surpassed the standard milestones for development. She could go to kindergarten like any other kid, and don't cut her any slack. Their's no reason she can't do just as well as any.
Today, she's as healthy, as smart, as athletic, and as pretty as any other little girl on the playground.
Thank God for her recovery.
And thank Grandma for some peace of mind as we struggled through it.
While my sister was dealing with all of this, my in-laws began to call my boy "Bubby".
Oh No!!
I had never told them what Grandma had said. I didn't want everyone to think that I was a superstitious idiot. I tried everything I could do to break the habit, but it stuck. Even after I confessed what I had come to believe, because Grandma had told me so. I thought that if I shared the story it might put an end to it, out of respect for Grandma. Then finally resolved to the fact that she already knew we would.
When he went to kindergarten enrollment and the teacher asked him his name, he proudly replied "Bubby".
While my sisters kid was small, and still dealing with the specialists I got pregnant again. The doctors told me it was a girl, and my heart sunk. Is this the little girl that didn't make it?
Yep.
Not long in, I started having problems. Back and forth I went to the doctors and hospitals. Eventually I was admitted. The baby came early, and left as she came. I went home with a casket instead of a baby. Which wasn't as awful as it sounds. Yes, it was awful, but having known all along made it so much easier to accept.
Grandma had known.
She had been right about all three kids.She had told me about the future that she couldn't stay for.
And that must be all the kids we'll have. Grandma hadn't mentioned any more.
Nope.
Almost a decade later, I got me a new boy. This one worries me the most. Grandma was raised, If you don't have anything nice to say then keep your mouth shut. So, that's a possibility.
I choose to believe that she just got tired and wanted a drink of water; that she just hadn't finished her story before she needed to rest.
But only the future can tell.