The secret died with her

Posted by Cherelle R. on Thursday, October 31, 2013
Growing up, I heard plenty of stories about my grandmother's mysterious grandmother, Phoebe Windsor Smith. According to the stories, she often disappeared for two or more weeks at a time, then return home and say nothing to her husband except, "Hello, George Smith!" I always wondered where she went and what she did. My imagination always concocted a variety of crazy scenarios: was she a spy for the FBI? Was she having some sort of wild affair with a traveling circus performer? Was she secretly a circus performer herself? A political activist, perhaps? Or, was it just a more mundane way of escaping small-time life in Western New York and having a bit of an adventure? Or did she really do nothing at all interesting and just wanted to be a figure of mystery? Was there a diary she left? If so, was it buried in some backyard somewhere along with a horde of treasure? (Because of course, anyone eccentric enough to regularly disappear and not tell anyone where they went must be eccentric enough to bury a diary in the back yard, right?)
She died decades before I was born and old enough to be asking questions. I sometimes still wish her ghost would show up in my apartment one night and tell me her secrets. I'd keep them quiet if she wanted. After all, it's probably a bad idea to break a promise to a ghost, right?
Every Halloween, I toy with the idea of holding a seance to contact her to ask her, but every Halloween, I chicken out and resort to celebrating Halloween with a fun costume and a simple ritual. So maybe someday, I'll know her secret. Maybe evidence will be found by other family members, maybe when my time on this planet is finished, I'll be told, or I'll just know. But for now, it's the mysterious family secret, yet another ghost of a story never fully told. And it makes me wonder, will I leave any bizarre secrets for my great great grandchildren to wonder about? A big part of me hopes I do.



The secret died with her

Posted by Cherelle R. on Thursday, October 31, 2013
Growing up, I heard plenty of stories about my grandmother's mysterious grandmother, Phoebe Windsor Smith. According to the stories, she often disappeared for two or more weeks at a time, then return home and say nothing to her husband except, "Hello, George Smith!" I always wondered where she went and what she did. My imagination always concocted a variety of crazy scenarios: was she a spy for the FBI? Was she having some sort of wild affair with a traveling circus performer? Was she secretly a circus performer herself? A political activist, perhaps? Or, was it just a more mundane way of escaping small-time life in Western New York and having a bit of an adventure? Or did she really do nothing at all interesting and just wanted to be a figure of mystery? Was there a diary she left? If so, was it buried in some backyard somewhere along with a horde of treasure? (Because of course, anyone eccentric enough to regularly disappear and not tell anyone where they went must be eccentric enough to bury a diary in the back yard, right?)
She died decades before I was born and old enough to be asking questions. I sometimes still wish her ghost would show up in my apartment one night and tell me her secrets. I'd keep them quiet if she wanted. After all, it's probably a bad idea to break a promise to a ghost, right?
Every Halloween, I toy with the idea of holding a seance to contact her to ask her, but every Halloween, I chicken out and resort to celebrating Halloween with a fun costume and a simple ritual. So maybe someday, I'll know her secret. Maybe evidence will be found by other family members, maybe when my time on this planet is finished, I'll be told, or I'll just know. But for now, it's the mysterious family secret, yet another ghost of a story never fully told. And it makes me wonder, will I leave any bizarre secrets for my great great grandchildren to wonder about? A big part of me hopes I do.



Make a Free Website with Yola.