I've been reading here for awhile and have really enjoyed reading everyone's experiences. My youngest child is a bit of a night owl and this site has made the time sitting up with her much more enjoyable. Thanks!
I thought I'd make my first entry one of the short and warm fuzzy variety...
My maternal grandmother was a wonderful woman who I was very close to. She was smart, stubborn, and funny. Honestly she could be a bit of a handful. I just loved her to pieces. Her and my father however did not get along quite so well. Although they did have a genuine affection for each other, their personalities didn't mix well and they got on each other's nerves. Often I think she would intentionally grate on him just for the sheer enjoyment of it.
When my grandmother became ill with cancer the family rallied around her and when it became clear she would not recover family members (supported by hospice care) began gathering at her home to say their goodbyes, assist with her care, and help her die peacefully and surrounded by loved ones.
After she had passed a few family members took small items from the home that brought them comfort. When you are deeply grieving it can be strange what becomes meaningful to you. For my mother it was a coffee mug and a small porcelain knick knack that had a motion detector in it so that it would play "You Are My Sunshine" when activated. My grandmother had kept it in her small bathroom positioned so it would play whenever someone would enter the room. As far as I can recollect it always worked just as expected.
When we returned home my mother placed it in the window above her kitchen sink. That's when it started behaving erratically. Instead of being triggered by motion it seemed to be triggered by certain activities. Arriving home, going to bed, getting up in the morning. It felt very much as of my grandmother was saying "Hello!", "Goodnight!", "Good Morning!" It became something we expected and we'd even reply appropriately when it played it's little tune. ("Hi Homma" "Goodnight Homma, love you too")
One day the little knick knack stopped working all together. My mom was understandably very distressed by this and my father responded by doing everything he could to try and fix the little gadget. He worked on it for quite some time but eventually had to give up, apologetic and quite frustrated. He put it back together and set it back in it's place on the window. No sooner had he turned his back to walk away that the silly little thing started playing again!
I know that someone more cynical than myself would chalk this up to coincidence and a cheap knick knack. Maybe that's true. For us though, we have no doubt it was my grandmother taking one last opportunity to push my father's buttons.
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