My parents were highschool sweethearts. After my father graduated high school, he joined the marines and was sent to Vietnam for two years. He came home, my mother still loved him, he loved her, they became engaged.
After his return, along with the myriad of other problems he had, my father had a 'new' outlook on life and an appreciation for family. He told his mother one night after he asked my mother to marry him and she said yes that when they had children, they would name their first daughter after her.
My grandmother, I've been told, was quite a character. She was utterly appalled and insisted she in no way wanted a namesake.
Not too soon after this time, my grandmother was diagnosed with breast cancer, but it was too late for any treatment. She went down hill rapidly, and the month before my parent's set wedding date she was on her deathbed.
My father was a mess and told his mother he was going to postpone the wedding. She refused to allow him to do so.
She died in October in 1971, my parents married in late November.
Soon after, (like almost immediately after) my mother discovered she was pregnant. I was born in August of '72 and my father kept his word and named me after his mother.
My mother says that when I was two months old, she began to have recurring dreams of my grandmother. She was very close to my father's mom, so she thought nothing of it.
In those days, the baby swings were made of metal and had a hand crank you would turn in order to set the swing rocking. It would make a rhythmic clicking noise as it rocked back and forth.
One afternoon while my father was at work, my mother says she placed me in the swing asleep, sent it rocking and went into the kitchen and started washing the dishes.
Almost immediately, the swing stopped. My mother said she paused for a moment, but didn't hear me crying, so she wasn't too concerned and continued washing the dishes.
A moment later, she heard another noise, one she knew I should not have been capable of making at two months old. I was belly-laughing.
She dried her hands, turned the corner and found my swing encased in a white mist. She said I was reaching my hands up as if waiting for someone to pick me up.
She said she stood there for a moment, not sure what to do when suddenly, she was overcome by a scent, a feeling, a vibration (her words, not mine, I just remember from when she told me this story) this was my grandmother come to say hello.
My mother said, "don't worry, I'll take care of her." And the mist disappated.
When my father came home she told him about what happened and my father said he had been dreaming about his mother for the past few weeks.
They compared dreams, and found they were the same.
So my family believes my father's mother, Beverly Bane (her middle name) came to visit her first granddaughter, Beverly Ann-Marie one afternoon in the middle of October of 1972.
And that's my ghost story.
I wonder sometimes if this is why I'm drawn to stories of the fantastic, the unbelievable, the scary.
PS...it looks as if Narcissa is winning. I like the bunny I have for her, I'm just going to have to force it into submission. :)