My grandmother came to visit today.
That’s not particularly momentous unless you know that she’s been dead for twenty years.
The doorbell rang, and when I opened the door, there she stood. She wore a pale lavender dress with a neat, folded hankie pinned over her left breast with an amethyst brooch. Her old-fashioned glasses with the rhinestones imbedded in the frames somehow managed to look good on her. Her fingernails were their usual formidable selves, painted bright red to match her lipstick. She looked dressed for church. In fact, this was exactly what she wore when we buried her.
"Hi, Doll!" She greeted me as if this were just a regular Saturday afternoon visit.
I was speechless."
"Are you going to stand there gawking? Come out here right now and give your grandmother a hug and a kiss."
I stayed in the doorway, my mouth agape. I didn’t really want to "go" where she was, and I wasn’t sure I wanted her in the house.
She smiled a familiar smile and spoke in her accustomed Irish brogue. "Oh, no, dear. ‘Twould really be unpleasant if I came in there."
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