A phenomenon I can’t describe

There is one experience I’ve had I find extremely peculiar. I would like to write it down before the memory gets too old, and I start to question the reality of it. It has not happened before or since, and it did not happen at the time when I (perhaps) needed it the most. I find that interesting. If it was all in my mind, why wouldn’t this phenomenon have come at the time when I was asking for it? Because I sort of was later on. I was begging for it come back. But it didn’t. It sort of came unexpectedly, stayed, and then left again. I have no other explenation for it. Just to write this down feels weird because the entire feeling or essence of it is so weird I have a hard time understanding it or reflecting on it. I want it to be true, but I can’t say it was true. But then again, what is truth? Millions of people walk around this Earth thinking God is truth. That this entity truly exists and no one raises an eyebrow because of it. But, I have another story – and if all these people can boast their belief like that, why can’t I tell my story?

I don’t know when exctly it happened, but it was some time in the spring of 2016, and it stayed with me for a month or two. I was still living in my old home, with my now ex-wife. I had not done anything yet about moving and so on. No one knew what was going on except for a dear friend of mine. I just carried on my life as normal, but I was using my brain extensively to come up with some form of solution to everything that would make sure I came out alright. I didn’t really know what was in front of me. I expected things to be easier than it was in the end as well.

But something happened during those days of spring. I could feel someone else around me. I didn’t see anyone, but I had this peculiar feeling of a presence. I felt it was a grandmother personality, and I was so sure that I knew who it was; my grandmother on the mother side. And through those days I was overrun by love and care that (to me) felt like it came from somewhere else than myself. Her love and care went through me, and out the physical way of me. A deep care for my own mother appeared like nothing I had ever experienced before. It was like she reflected herself through me. It was all new to me. At that point it was like I was coming to know my grandmother again, and better than I had been when she was alive. It was a very strange feeling. When writing this, I have a hard time simply using the right words for what came over me.

Driving home from my parents place a Saturday evening, I was thinking about how they didn’t know anything about what was going on in regards to my wife and so on, and like lightning a sentence just hit me; «But I know whats going on!». It was like she spoke to me. I guess to comfort me, to tell me she was there and that I could find support in her. I have no other word for it. It was like my physical body was being used to mirror her love for me, for the family and for my mother.

Like I said, it has not happened before or since. Even if the days after the experience was worse. It did not come back when my daughter was born either. It was just those weeks in the spring of 2016. I can’t call upon that entity or feeling. It came, stayed with me and then left – and it told me it was my grandmother. I can’t evoke it again.

Most people would choose to believe it, or choose to reject it. I choose neither. I take it for what it is. An experience. Was it real or was it just my brain playing tricks? It doesn’t matter, because it helped me. And it was a great experience. I hope to have it again some day. I leave everything else open.

But, if it was like my soul tells me – I give her my warmest thanks. I noticed you, and I felt you. Thank you. I miss you.

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So what the hell happened?

It is time to reflect a little. Well, “a little”. I’m sure it will be a lot. It is now October 2018. Two years since I moved into my own house after I purchased it. This after I moved out of my now ex-wifes house (it used to be our house) in September.

Two years. Two years since I slept alone in a big empty house for the first time. I missed by dogs that night, and I missed my old house. I had no idea what to expect when I went to bed that night. I was alone and confused. But I know one thing, I slept alone in that empty house for the first time that night in October 2016 because I really wanted a family, and I couldn’t get that with my ex-wife. But let’s make it clear; I did not leave her for it. It was a mutual agreement.

Stuff was painful, and little did I know that it would be even more painful in the months that would come.

I started this blog in April 2017. I was on the mend.

And, so I sit here now with my laptop in a completely different house in a different town. The house I bought in 2016 is already sold. Five meters away from me is my girlfriend with our daughter in her arms having a visitor over. My daughter just turned two weeks old. Two weeks old. My own daughter. People greet me, say congratulations and telling me I’m a daddy. Excuse me, but what? I am?

I got one simple question;

What. The. Hell. Happened?

How did I manage to fullfill a dream of mine in that short amount of time? Did I do all this myself by simply making the right decisions? Decisions are quite something when it comes to these serious matters. They were so hard that it drove me insane. It was so difficult to make the right decisions that one night in February 2017 I simply opened up a bottle of wine and drank it all within fifteen minutes. It didn’t help, but I was desperate. I tore my brains out trying to do the right things. Perhaps I actually did? Maybe I was just lucky? And I know that this is not end of hard decisions. It is simply one hurdle overcome and onto the next.

If I only could send myself a message back to December 2016 and tell myself I was doing the right things and just keep going. But, hey, that’s exactly what I did. I knew what I had to do, and I had to work towards that goal. And I did. I kept going.

There were small and larger elements to my depressive state of mind back then, but the feeling of loneliness and not having children on my own was a large part of it. Feelings of failure and guilt as well. Of simply being a failure as a man. I constantly talked myself down. But when it comes to the feeling of loss of children or missing a child, it was a like a hole in my body constantly bleeding.

Suddenly, now, the bleeding have completely stopped.

Completely.

But I still miss my dogs. I feel like I have let them down. I think about my ex-wife and mourn the fact she is no longer my dearest friend. I don’t miss her as my lover, but I miss her terribly as my friend and confidant. It hurts. I am still filled with sadness and shame when I think about that terrible phone call I had to make to inform my mother about what was going on in my life back in June 2016. However, I am so happy to see that she is over the moon with being a grandmother.

Think about that; my mom is now a grandmother. And that is the most important part of it all, the happiness I see in her eyes. I made my mom so happy.

My grandmothers coffee set

I inherited an old coffee set from my grandparents several years back. I always kept it in a closet, not being used. I never even washed them. Just stored them. I doubt it’s any sort of fancy, expensive coffee set. The value lies in the heritage. It’s made in Bavaria, Germany in what I suspect was the 1950s. It has light coloured flower decorations and “gold” around the edges. It is light of weight and it automatically makes you touch it very carefully. I say it’s my grandmothers because I am convinced she was the one cleaning it and taking care of it. Not my grandfather.

I recently moved in with my girlfriend, and obviously brought all my belongings. However, there’s almost no room for anything here so most of my books, items and memorabilia are packed away in boxes. I’ve touched upon this subject before.

I don’t know if it’s my daughter coming along that made me unpack my grandmothers coffee set or the deep desire to have something in this household that is mine. And so I brought it forward. My girlfriend wanted me to wash it before finding room for it – if there is room at all.

So I carefully unwrap the coffee cups and the plates from the newspaper wrapping and start to clean them. It dawns on me that these coffee cups have been held in my grandmothers hands so many times through the years. So many of my family members drinking from them. When looking at them, cleaning them – I was filled with a sense of deep nostalgia and a longing for my grandmother that died when I was barely into my teens. Longing for a time that is no more.

I remember times at my grandparents house, and especially extraordinary evenings when so many of my family on my mothers side were gathered together. Birthdays, jubilees, anniversaries. My grandparents had five daughters which made for relatively large gatherings of aunts, uncles and children of all ages.

I imagine my uncles and my father sitting in my grandparents living room only used for special occations drinking coffee from these cups and talking about society or politics. My grandfather pouring coffee into his cup, and slowly drinking the hot wonder liquid often not saying much. I pick up one cup and study it. I wonder how many people have touched it, been drinking from this very cup, and how many of them that are still alive. My grandfathers sibblings? Now all gone. My grandparents friends which I do not know the names of? How many? These cups have passed through the hands of so many people through so many decades.

I remember thetre was once a jubilee of some sor at my grandparents hosue. My mother and her siblings had composed a song to their parents. Most of them singing out of tune to my fathers rythm guitar. I remember buffets of cold cuts of food that evening. My older cousins laughing at me when I only went to pick up a piece of tomato from the lush table of food. I remember one of my uncles loud, but warm laugh between his soft southern accent – different from the rest of us. I remember looking up to one of my cousings about seven years older than me. I was very myuch influenced by his taste in music or interest in RC model cars. He was tall, cool and knew everything.

By simply touching the coffee cups I could almost hear my uncles and aunts talking, see my grandfather drinking his coffee and see myself as a child running around being asked silly auntie-type questions about school.

After everyone had gone home that evening,  I am sure my grandmother washed the dishes by hand. She had no dishwasher. It is a poignant feeling to know that she’s been touching and cleaning this coffee set through so many decades.

Now I was doing the same thing.

These days are long gone now. There are no more gatherings at my grandparents house. While most of the people involved are still alive, some are not and others are now at the very end of their lives. Time has moved on.