SermonStudio

William Bell

Cecelia, my paternal grandmother, died in the late fall of 1969, shortly after I began my military assignment in what was then known as the Republic of South Vietnam. Because I was in-country for such a short period of time, it was determined that I would not be allowed to attend the funeral services. I was both saddened and disappointed at this decision, for I was particularly close to "Gram," as I called her, not only because our family lived in her home until I was about seven, but also because I greatly admired her. Losing her husband, my grandfather, shortly after my father was born, Gram was forced to go to work, and for much of her working life, performed housekeeping services for her local parish and school. When Gram retired after more than thirty years of service, she received thirty silver dollars as her retirement pension. I remember thinking how unfair thirty silver dollars were after a lifetime of hard work, particularly considering the physical toll it took on Gram's hands, back, etc., but Gram was proud of her "reward" nonetheless. And I was proud of her as well.

Besides being hardworking, Gram played piano and loved rag-time music, and of course her beloved Detroit Tigers. The Tigers won the series in 1968, and Gram was very optimistic that they would repeat. Gram was very intelligent, and I remember fondly our discussions of current events and politics. She was very opinionated. After receiving the news of Gram's death, I remembered those discussions (some were very spirited) and I realized just how much I was going to miss her.

I received Gram's last letter after the news of her death. She wrote often while I was in the service, and I was always amazed at how legible her letters were, given her poor eyesight; how insightful and upbeat. In her last letter she wrote that she was very optimistic that our new President, Richard Nixon, was going to end the war, and I would be home soon. As a life-long Democrat, this letter could not have been easy for Gram to pen, for she was not in favor of the Vietnam conflict. I remember thinking that this letter was the last time I would be hearing from Gram, but little did I know that she wasn't quite finished communicating with me.

A few months after Gram's death, while I was still in Vietnam, I was stricken with what then was diagnosed as malaria. Accompanying this malady was high fever, and I remember having what has been commonly referred to as the "near-death" experience. My experience included hovering over, and being able to see what appeared to be my sleeping body. Then, quite to my surprise, I was visited by my recently-deceased grandmother. Interestingly enough, Gram appeared to be about twenty years younger, but was dressed in her favorite red and white checkerboard dress. She told me not be frightened, that I was going to recover. She also mentioned that she was wrong, and the Vietnam conflict was not going to end soon, but I would be safe, and needed to be careful at all times. I trusted my grandmother, and her reassuring words that I would survive Vietnam went a long way to alleviate my fears.

Gram has visited me several times since my Vietnam encounter. On these occasions she appeared while I was asleep. On two such occasions that I recall vividly, she appeared just prior to the birth of each of our sons, Ian and Matthew. My wife, Margaret, and I decided to forgo knowing the sex of each child, but Gram informed me in advance. Again, I was startled by her predictive revelations, and her ostensible knowledge of the future. She was very pleased with both boys, and told me they were great kids.

Gram has, I think, attempted to visit with me on several other occasions, but I was unable to make contact. I can only hope that Gram keeps trying to visit with me, and that I have an opportunity to tell her that I miss her and hope she is doing well. I must admit I am curious about Gram's afterlife experiences, and would love to discuss them with her. Knowing Gram, I am sure it would turn into a "spirited" discussion.