Have You Come Back, Grandma and Grandad?

I sit by your knee, drinking a warm cup of tea. Grandad is sitting in his chair with his foot on his stool, watching the television.

"Knit one, Perl one," you say to yourself, whilst I sit here watching you, and listen to the click, click of the knitting needles in your hands, as you carefully observe every stitch being mindful not to drop one. You tell me that you are knitting a blue baby cardigan for my auntie who is expecting a baby any time soon.

"How do you know it will be a baby boy?" I ask you, smiling at the excitement of a new baby male cousin.

"I don't know, darling. We won't know until the baby is born. Blue suits a boy or a girl. It looks beautiful on babies, that's why I chose it," you explain to me.

I ask you if I can have a go, but you tell me that knitting can be very hard for a beginner, so you pull out a roll of blue wool and some knitting needles, and you spend a whole hour teaching me how to knit squares.

"Look Grandma, I can do it!" I say excitedly as I show you the tiny square I have knitted.

"There are no holes in it. I didn't lose any stitches!" I say beaming.

"Well done! That's beautiful," you tell me and start clicking your needles again.

I sit quietly, resting my head on your warm knees as I watch television whilst you knit. I feel comforted, but something seems strange about this situation. I think back to a week ago, and I remember my mum holding me, sobbing, telling me in the gentlest way possible that my beloved gran had passed away.

"Grandma's not in pain anymore. The angels are looking after her," she told me while hugging me, as tears fell down her cheeks.

If you're with the angels, why are we sitting here? Why did the warmth of your knee, and the nylon of your long blue skirt feel real? How come we are knitting together, and why is Grandad sitting with his feet up watching the news?

I decide not to think. I put it down to a nightmare. I was always scared of losing you and Grandad, but I am happy that it never happened.

"Can I go out into the garden, Grandma?" I ask you.

We go through the white door, that leads from your lounge to the little white concrete open shelter, where I find my usual little black bench and sit on it while you tell me funny stories. I watch the washing sway on the washing line and admire the beautiful, tall, pink roses that Grandad planted yesterday.

Was it really yesterday?

I don't know. Maybe it was this morning when Grandad decided that the weather was good enough for him to do the garden.

It doesn't matter. What matters most is that I am here with you, and you are both well.

"Time for tea!" Grandma tells me.

We go back inside the little bungalow.

Everything is real here, the red flowers on the wallpaper, the warm smell of Cinnamon Rose air freshener that you just sprayed around her lounge, the soft feeling of the couch cushions when I sit on them, and even the skin and bone of my Grandma's visitors as they shake my hand.

You prepare tea together. There are ham sandwiches, chocolate cupcakes, salad, and blueberry muffins.

I try every variety offered, and I can taste the savory bread and ham, and the sweet, sugary flavors in every bite.

"That was scrummy," I tell you both.

I head into the kitchen to do the washing up, as I always do when I visit You. I can feel the warm, soft, soapy water on my skin, and the hard, cold ceramics of the plates we just used.

I hum a happy tune as I wash up. I always hummed this tune when I visited you both.

So far, I have seen you every night, which is strange because Mum only usually visits once a week. She seems very busy with work recently. I don't mind though; it's nice to see more of the people I love.

"I'm finished," I say as I walk into the lounge.

I give you both a big cuddle, followed by a kiss on the cheek.

"Time to go," Mum tells me.

"Have you come back, Grandma and Grandad?" I ask.

I wake up in my bed.

I am sure I was just with you.

I grab the soft quilt to confirm that it is real, and then I see your picture on the wall, dated 1988.

I realize that it was just a 3:00 A.M dream.

The same dream that I have had ever since you both died.

I grab my soft, quilted pillow, and I cry, then I say,

"I'm never saying goodbye."

I still dream the same dream at the same time every night, but I have been taught a valuable lesson.

"You are not gone. You are watching me, guiding me, and always loving me. You are the spirits that get me through life and shine a light that gets me through everything that I do."

Everybody passes over eventually, but they do so to exist in another life beyond the clouds and the stars, where they can watch you with love, and guide you through your own difficult path in life.

No matter where I am in this world, you are always with me; and you show me, every early morning at 3:00 A.M.