My Maternal Grandfather was 1/2 Irish and 1/2 Indian. I would give you the pedigree of Indianage but sadly, I haven't a clue because I never paid attention to such details. I only paid attention to the more important lineage of my Irish and Scottish roots and well, this has always given me the license to drink to my heart's content because, you know, it's in my genes - and as a woman once kindly told me at a wedding reception, "your love for potatoes, alcohol and the size of your butt, sure make you look like a true Irish Woman" No shit! This was at a Jewish wedding and let me tell you, their potatoes were simply FUCKING DIVINE! And I was able to drink everyone's ass under the table . Lightweights. Anyway, add some German semi-royalty in the batter and well, I'm destined to be an alcoholic. (Joking people, I'm not so sure everyone really knows that I still have a fragment of my sense of humor left....I'm not a complete alcoholic - yet.)
Anyway, my Grandfather was an odd man. He left home early due to a very harsh upbringing. He simply was a product of an age of "spare the rod, spare the child." He was beaten and berated by the hands of his father, who was treated the same by his family. You do what you know, right? His/my Grandfather's mother's name was/is Celia. I always loved the name, even though she was simple and my Grandmother had "issues" with her. She knew how to wring a chicken by it's neck and have the most bountiful garden at the same time. She was an odd duck to say the very least but I loved her in a very strange, far removed way. She was an enigma to me.
So, back to my Grandfather. He was a VERY superstitious man to a fault. The throw the salt over your shoulder if you drop the salt shaker, don't walk under a ladder and never let a black cat cross your path kind of man. Though, I found it odd at the end of his life, he befriended a black cat that he loved and adopted, named "CJ." "Cat Johnson" to be exact.
My Grandfather took the place of my father in all the ways of support, love and devotion a father should. I've heard he wasn't the most explemenary father but he was the BEST Grandfather one could ever hope for. He taught me drive, ride a bike and well, saved me from every situation a father should have and did. His favorite sayings were "the birds are chirping. We are alive and well. This day is going to be a good day" - even if it was fucking raining outside. I used to look at him like he was crazy because half of the time I thought he was out of his ever-loving mind to think that something like the weather which was so depressing and his outlook of it's going to be "alright" was never my first thought.
I do have to say, anytime I stressed or was upset about any situation, like hitting a car while trying to park the tank during my FIRST driver's test, his pat answer would always be a calm "Ah, honey. Everything is going to be alright." He always seemed to be the voice of reason. Positive, if you would say.
My Grandfather's past-time included reading palms. Now, I know I'm approaching strange territory for most here but part of me believes there are people that have a "knowing" about certain situations and outcomes. My Grandfather always seemed to know so. He spent time reading books, studying and well, driving my poor Catholic Grandmother crazy with his "talk."
When my mother was pregnant with me, I wasn't officially due until the middle of March. She went into labor two weeks early. My Grandfather, an oilfield man by trade, was never in contact with anyone because of course, these were the days before cell phones and pay phones on remote locations. He "knew" my mother was in labor and rushed to her side when I was born. Call it a "knowing"or a fluke, but I always thought this story was odd that he would know my mother was having me at the exact time he arrived from out of nowhere. My true Father? He was out getting drunk and mistaking me for the Mexican baby born at the same time. There were three babies born that day. Me, a Mexican and a Black child. One could never accuse my Father as to being a very astute motherfucker.
Anyway, on to my strange and surreal story. On my 13th birthday or there about, I begged and pleaded for Grandfather to "read" my hand as I was want him to do throughout the years. I did this throughout the years because, like everyone, I wanted to know that even then, I was going to get married someday and have children. He looked at my hand and would draw on it with a ballpoint pen. Pointing out six pointed stars at many points on my health, heart and life lines. These lines, as he put it, were "lucky." I would be a survivor and would manage anything thrown at me. The one thing he did say, which throughout the many years, I never forgot was - "I was going to have children but my first born son was going to die." Even at 13, this distraught me. My Grandmother chastised him for saying such a thing. How could someone/ANYONE say such a thing?
Fast forward to now. I have had "near" misses as one would say, last year. Always thinking that "this " pregnancy was probably what my Grandfather meant. IF, I were to give any credence to such talk from such a long time ago.
When I found out I was pregnant this last time. I figured it was a miracle of sorts as we weren't trying and well, I'm a well-oiled clock. I ovulate at the same time every month. Still do as a matter of fact. The thing is, when Thalon was conceived, I seemed to have ovulated twice that month. Something doctors don't discuss as possibilities. "Spontaneous ovulation" as my doctor quoted me.
My whole pregnancy as I very well documented, I was in denial that I was indeed pregnant. Why? Because I KNEW I was having a boy. Not that I didn't want a boy, and we all know that I didn't find out the results until he was born but I was in denial for the shear fact that the nagging words spoken, some 26 years prior from my Grandfather, might actually come true.
Let me stop here and say. I do believe there are people that are "sensitive." I do have to admit to knowing when friends were in jeopardy and I knew my Grandmother was going to die when she was supposed to be coming home from the hospital the next day. I, by all means don't think I know shit about anything and can't predict the future but I do have to say, the day that Thalon died "the first time," my Grandfather's words flashed before my eyes while the girls and I were happily playing with him and smothering him with kisses that morning. He was strongly kicking, gurgling and cooing much like a six month old, not an almost four month old. I QUICKLY dismissed these thoughts. I remember admonishing myself for thinking such a horrible thing. After all, my Grandmother said to me many times, "my Grandfather didn't know EVERYTHING! NO ONE CAN PREDICT THE FUTURE!"
Three hours later, I found him dead in our bed. Five steps from where I was sitting the whole time at my computer, eating a motherfucking egg salad sandwich. Never a peep or cry was heard.
Now, tell me. Was this a self-fulling prophecy? Did I will this to happen? Did my Grandfather know something I didn't know? Did I know something I would never admit to myself to knowing? OR, did chance somehow find me and it's ALL a coincidence?