Lisha Cassibo has been writing for the Uxbridge Cosmos for two years, both as a freelancer and as a columnist. She has also written for several parenting magazines both here in Canada and for English publications in Switzerland. She graduated from Carleton University with an honours degree in Journalism and English Literature. She lives with her family in Sunderland.
Undeniably spooky
A really odd thing happened this weekend, turning much of what I thought I believed about myself and the world I live in all upside down. I did not have a life-changing experience that has made me a better person, or anything like that. It was simply proven to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is an afterlife, and that spirits do indeed walk among us.
I was hanging out at the OnStage booth at the Uxbridge Fair on Sunday afternoon, when a little guy who rides my school bus came racing over to say hi. We chatted five-year old chat for a few minutes, when his nana came wandering over too. I usually only see this woman either through her living room window as she waves, or at the end of her laneway as she loads her grandson onto the bus. So it was pleasant to chat for a few minutes, about the weather, about the fair, about the 87 chickens they had entered in the fair, about the other 13 fairs they had to go to, about her granddaughter who was too shy to ride the bus - that sort of thing. Seeing as the 87 chickens were camped out right across from my booth, my little bus buddy and his nana started visiting about every 15 minutes or so. I had made a new best friend.
Well, during one of these conversations with Nana, she paused for a moment, then rather guardedly asked me about the renovations we had been doing on our house. Of course, I lit up like a firework and proceeded to tell her all about the fabulous things we'd done. She nodded knowingly and commented that it was about time the kitchen had come down, as it had been in need of disappearing for many years. Somewhere in the back of my head I questioned how she would know that, but we kept on talking. Then Nana cocked her head to one side and asked with a half-smile: “So, is Dad still visiting you?”
All the bits fell into place like a perfect game of Solitaire. I suddenly remembered who she was, and how I knew her other than through the school bus. She was with her mother the day we took possession of our house. She had grown up in the house in which I now lived.
I inwardly reeled and felt instantly stupid for having forgotten this connection. I also tried to rapidly assess whether I had ever told this woman about some of the odd things we had had happen at our house, starting shortly after we moved in. Outwardly, I nodded a hesitant nod, not wanting all my inner goings-on to appear on my face. I quickly came up with a question to ask her that would get her talking about her dad and give me time to collect myself up and continue on. I asked if her father had enjoyed playing jokes on other people. As I opened my mouth to explain myself, Nana threw her hands up and confirmed that oh, yeah, Dad was a real prankster. Loved to play jokes on people. Especially Mom. One of the things he loved to do was to take the curtains and turn just one side around so that the frills would be on the wrong side. Used to drive Mom nuts.
I just about passed out right there in Elgin Park. About three weeks after we had moved in, I walked in to our upstairs bathroom to see the right panel of the frilly white curtains we had inherited turned about. I scolded my husband for doing such a silly thing, but he professed to have had nothing to do with it. I fixed them up, only to have it happen two more times over the years. Curtains in the girls' rooms have been turned about as well. I won't go on about all the other silly little occurences that have kept us guessing over the years.
I didn't really possess the powers of speech necessary to tell Nana all that had been happening. She didn't see it as a worry. She just tossed her hands up and said that it was him, and not to fret - Dad would be around until the girls were grown, because he just loved children, and he would make sure they were all right.
Nana wandered off to pack up the 87 chickens, and I went home to my house that apparently is home to more than five individuals. Along with “Dad”, whose name was Harold, I do believe we also have a young lady of late teen years wandering our halls. My mum, who was a ghost skeptic in every sense of the word, claimed to have seen a young woman at the top of the stairs not long after my youngest was born. For my mum to have admitted that, it had to have been real. I have stood in my living room and boldly announced to whatever it was that was opening and closing doors that I didn't mind if it stayed, but I didn't want it scaring my friends (one that I had staying with us at the time refused to go to sleep alone in the living room because of the “jokes”) and I certainly didn't want to see whatever it was, as I would never be right in the head again.
Well, seen or unseen, I guess it/they are here, and I guess it/they are here to stay. I could have put off believing in it totally indefinitely, but Nana's calm confirmation has only made be believe what I guess I knew all along. I hope my head will be alright after all.
