"Turn Out the :Lights!"

Some people believe in ghosts, and some don't. When I was little I remember when my grandfather died in the downstairs bedroom. I remember someone wondering if I would be afraid. I thought that was pretty stupid since my grandfather would never hurt me. But I was really little and it went out of my mind the next day. When my father died I had a little more awareness of him hanging around for a while.

My Father was a piece of work. Everyone thought he was wonderful. He wasn't really perfect, but he did have excellent manners. My mother-in-law believed he was a gentleman, because he stood whenever she came in the room. A courtesy that is lost today. It is interesting to find out what people think about someone you knew well. The perception of the world is often more polished than the reality that is known by the family.

Dad was a meter reader for the electric company, not exactly a white collar job. That was back in the day when you retired after working for the same company for a zillion years which is exactly what he did. Perhaps that is why he was so very conscious of our use of electricity. If we left a light on in a room when we weren't there, we heard about it. Then we heard about it again. He didn't yell at us, he just reminded us.

Before he retired from being a meter reader, he became an electrical inspector and he continued doing that job until about three months before he died. We used to refer to him as the "respected inspector." We weren't talking about his job as an electrical inspector, but his habit of quizzing us. He was especially good at this before I went on a date. "Well who is he? What does his Dad do? How do you know him? Where are you going" What time will you be home? What kind of car does he have?" It went on and on. I used to try to get home at night after the time that my mother left for her job as a night shift nurse and before he got home from his meetings. I didn't so much have a curfew as I had a way to avoid being questioned.

When my father became ill, for three and a half weeks, I drove a hundred miles back and forth from Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Kent, Ohio. I went so often that I thought the sign at the turnpike had been changed to "Welcome to Ohio Amy." I had to be in Pittsburgh to take care of my husband, my son who was in grade school, and my job. I had to be in Kent to take care of my mother whose mini heart attacks called T.I.A.s had led to some confusion. (I found out she had a problem when my childhood physician called me and said we needed to do something since my mother had called him at 1:00a.m. to say that "my father had told her they were dead"). So it began.

When we got to Kent, we discovered that my father was ill, and I began to check out nursing homes in the area, leaving my husband and son with my parents. I drove home with my husband and knew I had to go right back. I sorted things at work on a Sunday afternoon. They were shocked to find me there, but I really had no choice since I knew I had to go back to Kent. When I got back to Ohio, the neighbor had already taken Dad to the hospital. That was the beginning of a series of days where I never knew where I would be the next day.

In Ohio, I took care of my mother, checked out nursing homes, interviewed people to stay with my mother and took her everywhere she needed to go. We looked at what Dad had in his safety deposit boxes and removed the things that mother said were hers. At the same time, I worried about how my eight year old son was doing and how his father was managing everything. My work was incredibly understanding about my absences as I ran in and out whenever I was home.

By the time I found a nursing home that didn't smell of antiseptic for him, he was too sick to go. The nurses said that at night he would call for his mother, his sister, his wife, or for me. He lost enough weight that I could understand why my mother called him "Pop," which was what she called her father. He sure looked nothing like my father. I talked to my brother in Washington State often and to Dad's doctor twice a day after he saw my father. I did everything I could do to make things easy for my mother.

By the time Dad died, I was pretty much exhausted. After I settled my mother, I came home. On the drive home I counted one hundred ground hogs along the side of the road. It was odd since my parents had always counted ground hogs on that trip and got as high as twenty once. I got one hundred. Were they out to say good bye? Had he chased them out? Who knows? It was just weird.

I got home before my son got home from school and needed to sew a button on something. I turned on the light behind the sofa and went to get my needle and thread. When I came back, the light was out. You had to crawl across the sofa to turn the light on so I distinctly remember that I got my knee onto the sofa to reach behind it and turn the light on before I sat down. Then I decided it would be nice to have a soda while I worked, so I went to the kitchen to get one. When I came back, the light was off. I again half crawled across the sofa to turn it on. I am not sure why I left the room again. Maybe I didn't have my thimble, or something, but sure enough when I came back, the light was off again. Finally I said out loud, "All right Dad, I will remember to turn the lights out. I promise." There wasn't anything else that I could do. It was enough, I was tired. The light has worked fine ever since.

My mother died about three and a half years after my father. The lady who was caring for her was in the room the night she died, said that she sat up and said "Mom." The accent was exactly the way she spoke to her mother. I find that very comforting.

Are these paranormal experiences? Who knows? I don't find them frightening, but comforting. Of course it was typical that my father was still telling me to turn out the lights. I find it interesting that my son who knows the story will look at me funny when I tell him to turn out the lights. Sometimes he says, "Yes Grandpa." as he looks at me. Nothing to worry about, just my Dad checking in. It was a comfort at a stressful time.