A Soul Met Twice

You know when Michael Scott said “I’m not superstitious. But I am a little stitious”? Well I don’t believe in reincarnation, but, man, I’m really questioning some things lately.

I’m just going to say it: My daughter might be my grandma Meyer. 

I know, I know, I know.... no, Samantha. You're a whack.

I know she’s not. I know that. I know. 

But hear me out…

The day before I officially found out I was pregnant was the day my dad went into surgery to remove a cancerous tumor from his bladder. I hadn’t slept well that night because I had a sneaking suspicion I was pregnant, and I was so worried about him.

But in a brief moment of peace that night, I had a dream that a man - who I just knew was a saint - held a basket with a white covering and inside was a cooing kicking baby. And he told me that my dad would be fine and dad would know this baby. He said more than once that the two would be very very close.

I could really elaborate on this dream, but long story short — dad was and is fine and I was pregnant and dad and Heidi have been very close since the day she was born. 

As soon as I found out I was pregnant I started grasping for names. I always said that we will have no repeated middle names in our house. So I knew Marie, Joseph, Lou, and Rose were out.

But after going through so much with dad at this time, I had prayed so much to Mary and my grandma Meyer (Dad’s mom, Marie) that they both were on my mind 24/7. Mama’s fix everything. And they did here. And I was so so grateful.

I couldn’t get out of my mind that this baby was a girl and her middle name had to be Marie - for Grandma Meyer and a form of Mary... it just fit and was on my mind each day.

We had our boy name picked out before Calla was born and the girl name was just a middle name for a long time.... like 9 months.

Allen and I tossed a few names around, and he was in love with the name Heidi. I was on the fence.

The whole 9 months.

And when it came time to meet our bundle (on the Feast of Our Lady of Fatima or The Miracle of the Sun) - talk about a WHOLE other story about Heidi), I looked at her and didn’t know her name. (The other two girls we did.) 

When Allen and I were left alone with this sweet October babe, he looked at me and said, “Okay, who is she?” I said, “You can pick as long as her middle name is Marie.”

And that’s how Heidi Marie came to be.

After a few weeks of growing into her face, dad kept calling her little Marie. We tried to find baby pictures of grandma, but they either weren’t of her too tiny or they were too blurry.

As time passed, baby Heidi grew red tight curly hair (just like Grandma Meyer) and her face began to have the shape of Grandma’s. 

I tried to tell myself she is not her. Don't peg kids into something. Don't.

But it was so obvious sometimes.

And then she started talking.

She has done and said things over the last 6 months or so that stop us often:

She cleans everything.

That’s not your grandma, Samantha! She’s mimicking daily activities she sees.

Okay.

She loses her mind when you waste food.

Okay, maybe odd… but doesn’t mean anything.

Fine, I agree.

She is obsessed with my dad.

Nope. That’s a granddaughter thing. 

Yes, but this is a little different.

She likes to sit on the porch or in the recliner and rock. Do nothing really. Old lady it, let’s just be calm and sit here kind of rock - frequently doze off.

Come on. Kids allll do that.

True.

I like to talk to my kids right as they doze off.

I probably sound nuts, but I ask them - just before the drift away - what Heaven is like. And then wait for a reply that never comes. I whisper things like, “I know you know about it. Just tell me.” And they are all milk drunk smiles as they flutter their heavy eyelids. 

I once asked Heidi, “Who sent you to me?” And she smiled half sleepily. And then I said, “Why did you come here?” And in her dozing she said, “For Papaw.”

Still not convinced?

Okay - one more:

The other day when playing tea party, Calla prepared a grand feast.

She invited Heidi and myself.

We sat down and I complimented her cakes. She said thanks, her husband helped make them.

I acted all cute and blushing girly exclaiming, “Oh! You have a husband! What’s his name?” To which Calla said, “He doesn’t have a name yet.” And I laughed and that made Heidi laugh. I then jokingly asked Heidi if she had a husband. She said yes. And I asked what his name was and clear as a bell- plain as day- she said Victor.

My grandparents always (to their face or when talking about them) were and are Grandma and Grandpa Meyer and Grandma and Grandpa Springmeyer. 

My grandpa’s name- Marie’s husband- was Victor.

I’ve never said his name (and if I did I would have very likely said Vic as that’s what he went by) and I always refer to him as Grandpa Meyer.

I asked her again who her husband was and she said Victor.

I asked the girls where that name came from- a book? A show? Something at the sitter’s? Had they heard the name before? 

Shoulder shrugs. "What's the big deal about that name mom?" "Is that a bad word?"

Heidi - smiling as she played with the fake donut and miniature spoon - went on about her day.

She is not my grandma. 

Really.

She is not. 

As I write this she is scolding the dogs.

Stamping her foot at them.

And watering flowers. 

And plucking weeds.

She’ll come dry dishes in a bit because it is what she does.

She’s not great help yet, but I can tell by her spirit and determination that she feels so compelled to help.

And her tight red curls and round cheeks will follow me into the bathroom and take a bath with me and wash my back. “Feel good? More ope? (Soap)” because that’s just the Heidi way. Her love language is so obvious- she’s a giver. A caretaker. An old soul.

Maybe - if I believed in reincarnation- maybe, just mayyybbe she would be a soul I could say I met twice.

With love always,

Samantha