You can't change the past, or so everyone says. But maybe you can. My history with my grandmother was forever altered in one afternoon, and when it happened she had already been dead for 12 years.
Grandma Bessie, on my mom's side, and I were never close. Bessie hadn't acted as if she liked me much, almost from the start. I remember being about three and reaching up for a hug, my arms encircling her waist. It was the last time I ever tried that. Her body remained stiff and unyielding; I might as well have hugged a mannequin.
As I grew older, Bessie expected more and forgave less when it came to me. She had a hang-up in particular about doing dishes, expecting me to immediately jump up from the table to start them as my last bite was being chewed. If I paused, even to brush my teeth, she scolded me for being ‘lazy.'
I didn't realize at the time that her odd behavior had nothing to do with me. Bessie and her sister and five brothers had grown up around the turn of the century in a family who ran a boarding house. The hours were long and the work was hard. Much of it was women's work, i.e., cooking, washing, doing dishes ‑- and a larger share was assigned to Bessie as the oldest. She took up the slack for her sister, Kate, who was known to duck out on her chores. Rather than complaining to their parents about this inequity, Bessie suffered in silence, holding poisonous resentment toward Kate. And two generations later, toward me, as I was somehow a reminder.
In her last years Bessie mellowed considerably and she was nicer to me. Now I was an adult and doing my own dishes, so maybe that made me okay. Towards the end Bessie became confused. One day she pointed to a dress in her closet. "Kate bought me that dress." She said. I'd given her the dress on her previous birthday, and Kate had been dead for 15 years.
When my own daughter was born I named her "Katie," perhaps a subtle way to show Bessie how I felt. But by then her mind had slipped to the point that she was unable to comprehend the news that she had a great-granddaughter, and she died a few weeks later at the age of 93.
In the years since Bessie died, there have been occasions when some tuned-in friend of mine would point out that she was with me, and I would shrug it off. Why should she be? Another psychic told me she thought Grandma was curious about my interest in metaphysics, and again, I found it hard to believe. She had certainly shown no interest in spiritual things when she was living. The family joke was that the only reason Bessie, an accomplished seamstress, went to church was to show off a new dress.
Then twice in the same week about 12 years after Bessie's passing, two different people picked up on her presence. The latter was a trained Kahuna healer from Hawaii whom I had approached in hopes of getting to the bottom of some of my longstanding issues. Her announcement, "Your grandma is here," came as the healing commenced. Bessie did not appear as a ghostly apparition, but I have no doubt that her spirit essence was there. I could feel her presence in the room and it raised goose bumps. Bessie had come to set things right.
I never knew how profoundly her rejection had affected me until then. There were secret worries, Maybe I did something wrong or there's something bad about me or else my grandma would love me. And then there has been a pattern of drawing into my life women friends who have jealousy towards a sister, and who have projected it onto me. Also throughout my life, the quickest way for anyone to manipulate me into anything has been to infer that I'm a lazy person. Tears rolled down my cheeks as the full impact of this hurt rose into conscious awareness.
I also got in touch with images of a Polynesian past life Bessie and I had shared. She was my grandma then as well, and I was a small boy who had wandered into a cave and was trapped when the tide came in. Although even then she was a stern, no-nonsense woman, I saw how much she loved and cared for me, and how she worried for my safety. And I recalled that when I was an infant in this lifetime, Bessie had saved my life. Someone had laid me on my back alone in the next room and suddenly she'd gotten the urge to go check on me. I was choking and she rolled me over and patted my back, dislodging phlegm and restoring my breathing.
As I sat with the Kahuna healer and the spirit of my grandmother, the real truth touched my heart. Bessie may not have been able to express it while she was in body, but she really did love me after all. The healing gave her the chance to let me know how sorry she was that she'd missed out on joys we could have shared. For the first time in my life, I felt her love for me and it filled the room. As I let go of the pain, cleansing waves of forgiveness surged through my being.
Before, I used to feel a vague pang of resentment whenever I thought of Grandma Bessie. Now when I think of her, it is with fondness. And wherever she is, I know in my heart that she feels the same way.