My Grandmother's Ghost

My mother saw her own mother’s ghost. I think that is why Mom was reluctant to speak of her mother. Grandma (Veronica from my post Enduring Love) died in November 1950. Mom was pregnant with me, about a year later, when she woke up in the middle of the night to see her mother standing in the doorway of the room. Veronica had on her favorite blue coat, and her ribbon hat (apparently a popular style of the late 1940’s). She was trying hard to communicate with Mom. Although her lips were moving and she was urgently trying to speak, Mom could not hear what Veronica was trying to say. She sat up in bed, leaned forward and said “What?” to her mother. At that point my father woke up and the apparition disappeared. 

Many years later (in the late 1980’s), I went to a Spiritualist church for an adventurous night out with a group of friends.  I am not a member of that church (or any church), but sometimes my friends and I would go to a meeting or two at the Spiritualist church each summer. Like many locals we would go for the fun of it when the church hosted open "spirit readings" for non-members. They were good at it, too; very spooky stuff.

In preparation, I concentrated hard all day on asking my dead grandmother to send me a message telling me what she had been trying to tell my Mom that night so long ago. It must have worked, because later that night the Spiritualist minister pointed me out in the crowd and told me that there was a grandmotherly spirit standing right behind me. He said the spirit wanted to give me her message herself rather than relate it through the psychic preacher. He instructed me to concentrate and meditate over the course of the next few weeks so that the “materialization” could take place. "Holy shit," I thought.

He must have seen the look of terror in my eyes, because he took great pains to reassure me there was nothing to be afraid of. Yeah, right. I was absolutely terrified at the thought of seeing a ghost. I thought, “OK, no problem – I won’t concentrate, I won’t meditate, and then nothing will happen.” I only wanted a freakin' message, I did NOT want to see a ghost.

I'm a big chicken about things that go bump in the night. Like a little kid, I was too afraid to sleep. I dozed fitfully, sparingly, and nervously for the next 2 nights. I was afraid to close my eyes because of what I might dream, and afraid to open my eyes because of what I might see! It's funny now, looking back on it. However, I was sincerely scared at the time.

By the third night I was exhausted. I fell deeply and peacefully asleep. I dreamed of my maternal grandmother. I clearly remember seeing her in that dream, and I know she took a long time to tell me many things. When I woke up I could not for the life of me remember anything she said, except for one message I was to give to my mother. She told me to tell my mother not to let her feelings get hurt so easily. 

I called to convey the message to my mother.  She seemed surprised and shocked with what I called to tell her, but she didn’t say much. It was a short phone call. Later I discovered that she had been fighting with her sisters for weeks because she had taken offense at something one of them had said to her, and she was nursing a serious case of hurt feelings.

I wonder if this is the ribbon hat?

Enduring Love

My maternal grandmother was Veronica, born in Chicago in 1892, and died in Lake Co., Indiana (IN) in 1950. Veronica had 13 children with William, but only 10 lived to adulthood. My aunts said she was very “organized.” What might they have meant with that word? I imagine she would have had to be organized (and strict) to manage all those children. Grandpa was a railroad worker and Grandma supplemented the family income by baking pies for local restaurants. The family lived in a community settled in the mid-19th century by German immigrants. They spoke German in the home until WWI, when Grandma forbade it lest the locals think them unpatriotic. 

Veronica was a carrier of a genetic disease, X-ALD (Adrenaleukodystrophy). I wrote about it a while back if you are interested in weird genetic diseases. 

From what I hear, Veronica was “da boss” in that family. Since her own father drank a bit too much, my grandmother did not allow Grandpa to drink beer in the house. If he wanted a beer he had to go sit on the back porch to drink it. In another story, she was making apple pies in the kitchen and was annoyed by two of her teenage daughters who were loudly arguing in the dining room.  She picked up an apple and threw it at one of my aunts, hitting her in the head. It stopped the fight. I'm sorry. I know that's extreme, but I'm a sucker for physical humor. It makes me laugh.

I can't help but admire her, although I suspect she was feared as much as loved. A woman like that? Well, her life would have been very different if she had been born in 1950 instead of dying in that year. My aunts spoke well of her. Her youngest daughter (#12 of 13, who was only 16 when Veronica died) adored her. My own mother (#8 of 13), never spoke of her. If pushed she would only say, “I loved my mother.” That was it. Perhaps my mother was afraid to talk about her because Veronica's ghost visited my mother one dark night. That will have to wait for another post.

William and Veronica, married 1910

Veronica’s mother was Catherine, born 1869 in Lake Co., IN and died there in 1935. She and Frank had 7 children. Only three lived to marry and have children. Her father died when she was a year old, and her mother died when she was ten. She and her siblings were raised by their stepfather and his second wife. 

Catherine was a sweet, kindly woman with a gregarious husband. Her oldest son’s wife died leaving him with three daughters to raise. Great Uncle Harry moved back in with his parents so his mother, Catherine, could raise those girls. I met one of the girls (my mother’s first cousin, Dorothy). She told me how loving her Grandmother Catherine was. Dorothy said firmly and with great pride: “It couldn’t have been easy to take on three children at her age, but she did!” I was proud of Great Grandma then, too, and awed by the strength of her love. She also said that when Grandpa (Frank) was being demanding, Grandma (Catherine) would whisper to Dorothy “He thinks he’s the crowned head!” 

Frank and Catherine, married 1887

Catherine’s mother was Susanna, born 1848 at Lake Co., IN. Susanna had three children with first husband, Anton, a German immigrant and school teacher. They married in 1866. He died in 1870 from the adult variant of X-ALD. She had 4 more children with her second husband, Peter, and died in childbirth at age 31 in 1879. Peter raised all her children. He remarried and had 10 more children with his second wife.

I have a soft spot for Susanna. She died young, suffered the loss of her first husband, and left so many young, dependent children when she died. She is buried in the same cemetery as her second husband, not the same as her first. That kind of bothers me, especially since the second husband is buried next to his second wife, not her. Intellectually I understand, but it still bothers me. She is mine. I like to imagine Anton was the love of her life and they are separated unfairly for eternity. This is how family rumors start. 

I was told the following photo is of Susanna, although this woman looks older than 31. However, she also looks exactly like my mother. Let's believe it really is her, okay?

Susanna (1848-1879)

Susanna’s mother was Catharina, born in a small village in the Saarland region of Germany in 1814. The Saarland was batted back and forth between France and Germany for centuries, and it seems to have been part of France in 1814 when Catharina was born. However, she spoke and identified as German when she arrived in the U.S. in 1843. She and Johann had 10 children, and she died in Lake Co., Indiana in 1886.

Catharina’s mother was Angelique (Angela), born 1784 in Germany. She arrived in the U.S. in 1843, and she died in 1859 in Lake Co., Indiana. Angela and Mathias had 6 children.

Angela’s mother was Margaretha, born 1763 in Germany, died there in 1804. She had 11 children with Michael. Four died in childhood, four immigrated to Indiana.

Margaretha’s mother was Maria, born about 1730 in Germany where she died in 1768. She married Lukas. 

I wish I knew all their stories. Thank you Sabine, for encouraging me to "bring it on." Obviously this is inspired by your recent post about your grandmother.

The more things change

Politics stink! Each side would have us believe the world will end if their candidate doesn't win. I understand dehumanizing one's opponent is part of the game. And don't misunderstand me, I feel quite strongly about my own preference for the next president. And okay, make me say it: I don't like her opponent. However, I dislike the "fear and loathing" that politics invoke even more. I have had all I can take. From here on in, I refuse to hate. Can you stand it?

I am amazed when people believe the most outrageous lies that each side spreads about the other. So few of us want to listen to the facts. It is wrong, there is no justification for it. It would be a better world if we all made our political decisions based on our heads (intellect) instead of our hearts (belief system). I'm going to start with me.

I think back to the first presidential campaign I can remember. It was when John F. Kennedy was running against Richard Nixon in 1960. I suppose it is imprinted on my mind because JFK was Catholic and I was a Catholic school girl in 1960. We were all so proud that a Catholic was running for president, which was unheard of at the time. It was a different world and there was still deep distrust for Catholics left over from the freakin' Middle Ages! I am NOT kidding. Hate runs long and deep.

I was Roman Catholic because that was how my mother was raised. Her form of Catholicism was very European. Her grandparents immigrated to the U.S.A. from France and Germany between 1850 - 1860. They settled in a large German Catholic community near Chicago.

My father's people were as Protestant as Protestant can be. His ancestors arrived in the Colonies between 1625 and 1714 from England, Germany, Scotland, Wales, Ireland, and France. My paternal grandparents were raised Southern Baptist in Kentucky and Tennessee. When they moved up North in the 1920's, they joined a Pentecostal Protestant church.

FYI, I am proud of both sides of my family and their historically different but equally profound cultural traditions. Each family had an original immigrant to America at some point in time. I try to never forget that. It was interesting growing up in a complex and diverse family.

My paternal grandfather distrusted Catholics. It was hard for him when his son converted to Catholicism to marry my mother in the 1940's. My paternal grandparents were Democrats until JFK got the Democratic nomination for president in 1960.  Then they became conservative Republicans because my grandfather refused to vote for a Catholic. I guess the idea that a Catholic would run for president made them feel like the world was changing too much. They probably felt threatened, left out. They were used to having leaders who were just like them. They thought if a Catholic became president then he would start persecuting Protestants and the Pope would become the de facto president. It sounds so silly and hard to imagine now, but that was what many people actually "believed" back then.

I was 9 years old. I was trying to understand religion, politics, and family dynamics even though my heart was aching. I was confused and a little frightened to see the people I loved at odds with each other. Luckily, both my mother and my paternal grandmother went out of their way to remain friends. They did their best to reassure us children that no matter who became president, or what church we went to, we would still be a family. It was a great example of how to respect someone you don't necessarily agree with. 

My paternal grandmother was a different age, religion, and political persuasion than me. She was also a huge influence on my life. There was not much we agreed on as I grew older and the 1960's Culture Wars ensued. However, I knew she loved me and I knew there was no ideology or barrier to that love. I also knew not to discuss religion or politics with her. 

Grandma goofing around with two of her granddaughters in 1962