my daughter was two and a half. she'd just started putting sentences together. one evening im sitting in the kitchen, shes playing in the other room. I hear her talking to someone. kids talk to themselves, to their toys, whatever.
but then I listened more closely — she was clearly responding to someone. pausing. laughing. like a real back-and-forth. I went in — nobody there. shes sitting in the corner by the window, looking toward the armchair. the armchair is empty.
I ask, who were you talking to? she says, grandpa. I say, which grandpa? both her grandfathers are alive, she knows them by name. she just shrugged and goes, the one sitting over there. points at the armchair. I say, theres nobody there. she looked at me like I was stupid and went back to playing.
I would have forgotten about it. kids say all kinds of things. but then it kept happening. several times a week. always the same spot, always that armchair. one time I asked, what does he look like, your grandpa? she goes, old. wearing stripes. and then she pointed to her wrist and said, he has something drawn here. I nearly fell over.
my grandfather died eight years before she was born. I barely remember him — I was about six. but I clearly remember he had a tattoo on his wrist. an anchor or something, I didnt really understand it as a kid. and he wore striped shirts — I remember that well, he had a few of them.
there are no photos of him in our house. my husband and I moved to another city, all the family photos are back at my parents house. there is no way she could have seen any of this.
I called my mom. told her what my daughter had said. she went quiet and said, yeah. dad had an anchor on his wrist. gave it to himself when he was young.
then it just stopped. at some point she quit talking to the armchair. I asked, wheres your grandpa? she said, he left. and that was it. never again.
shes seven now. doesnt remember any of it. says she doesnt remember any grandpa by the armchair.