The Rocking Chair

From: Jeccah@aol.com
Type: Ghost
Location:
Subject: Ghost(?) Story

I hope I'm writing this to the right place.

I have always wanted to believe in ghosts, preferably of the benevolent nature. Unfortunately, I remain skeptical even though I have 2 personal experiences with what might have been ghosts.

I will relate them both as they are short. You may decide whether or not to publish them. As for me, I will continue looking for more substantial proof.

  The Rocking Chair We called my grandfather "Pops". To this day I'm not exactly sure what Pops did for a living, but I do know that he also raised beef cattle in Anderson, SC. This is only relevant in that there was a big chopping block in the detached garage in the side/back yard.

The garage was used as a workshop, storage area and (apparently) a butchering area (thinking back, this was probably not very sanitary, but we always had beef!). Apparently it was used for something else as well.

We visited Nannie and Pops about twice a month (they lived an hour away) and I loved going to the pasture (although hauling hay bails was something I dreaded), playing in the garage, climbing trees and picking up pecans.

As I got to junior high and high school, I began to recognize the odor on Pops' breath as that of alcohol. I really didn't realize that he was an alcoholic until I was a junior in high school. When I was a senior, I remember going to his house with my family after we got word that Pops had been hospitalized... something related to his alcoholism (I'm not sure anyone ever actually told me that, but I know that it is so). He never came home.

As funeral arrangements were being made, I got sick... so sick that I couldn't go to the funeral home the night before the funeral. Still sick, I barely made it to the funeral... but cried my eyes out in the limo on the way to the cemetary. Ironically, he was buried in a cemetary within a half mile of the place where he used to buy cattle. And as the preacher said, "amen", I heard cows mooing in the distance.

But I digress. When we got home, while the others were milling around the house, I wandered to the garage. I turned on the light, closed the door behind me and stared inside. There was an old rocking chair atop the chopping block. I started mindlessly looking around.

I looked up and saw something hidden behind a board nailed across the wall studs. It was a brown paper bag. When I retrieved it, I looked inside to find a liquor bottle.

At that very second, the rocking chair started rocking (I'm getting chill bumps as I type this). It was a steady rock... measured... and it did not slow. The door was still closed (as were the windows) and there was NO breeze.

I remember staring, scared to death, at that rocking chair, looking down at the brown-bagged bottle in my hand, setting it on the work counter and running past the chopping block and out the door.

I've only told this story to a handful of people. And I've never been back inside that garage (my grandmother has since been placed in a nursing home). Was Pops trying to tell me something.... like that I should mind my own business? Who knows?

  Guardian Angel I still get chill bumps remembering this.

My daugher (now 8 years old) was named after my wife's paternal grandmother, who was placed in a nursing home shortly before she was born. Even before Jessica was born, MaMa (pronounced like matmat with silent T's) already adored her. When we'd take her to visit, MaMa would just lavish her with attention... wanting to hold her all the time, which we, of course, encouraged.

As Jessica became a toddler, MaMa would hold her hand as she toddled around her wheelchair. When Jessica was about 2, MaMa would proudly let her "push" her wheelchair around the nursing home. She adored Jessica. In her eyes, Jessica could do no wrong.

When she was just a little older than 2 years old and still sleeping in her crib, we got a call at about 6:00 one morning to tell us that MaMa had died during the night. It should be noted at this point that Jessica's room is on the opposite end of the house from ours and that there is no way she could have heard (much less understood) the phone conversation.

About 45 minute later, I walked in to check on Jessica. I found her standing in her crib, smiling and happily chatting away. She was looking toward one corner of the room. I was puzzled. I asked her who she was talking to.

She pointed to the corner and said, "MaMa.... MaMa". I looked toward the corner... there was no one there that I could see. Jessica continued pointing for a few more seconds. Then she started waving and said, "bye-bye MaMa... bye-bye".

I stood there wide-eyed, staring back and forth from Jessica to the corner. To this day, I can't explain what went on, but I like to think that MaMa made a final stop to check on Jessica on her way to heaven. And I think she watches over her still. Incidentally, Jessica has no memory of the incident.

I don't know exactly how to categorize these incidents. Perhaps you have some insights. Anyway, I hope that they are significant enough to include on your website. Let me know.

Thanks,

David Henderson Lexington, SC