FOLLOW THIS BLOG! And . . . The Ghost Chaser’s Daughter
╰☆╮☆♥*¨*• 💕💕 •*¨* ♥ ☆╰☆╮💕💕 •*¨* ♥ ☆╰☆╮
On Christmas morning, 1955, a train hit the car my grandfather was driving. He was on his way home from work to unwrap presents with his family. The wreckage of his car decorated 500 feet of railroad track outside Hillsboro, Ohio in the days before crossing signals were mandatory.
That’s why I’m reading ‘Pelican Road’ by Howard Bahr.
How many lives were changed that day, I’ve often wondered. Certainly that of my grandmother, aunt, mother and all of us.
But I never – until now – gave one iota of thought to the lives of the railroad crew.
Within one year, because of whatever psychic trauma involved, my mother and I began seeing his ghost. My grandfather’s apparition would pass in and out of our lives for nearly forty years. After my parents died we children left behind, for other owners to deal with, the house that his ghost inhabits. That house has sold four times in the last six years. That’s true.
So now, and for whatever ‘goes around, comes around’ synchronicity of life, I find myself reading about the lives of the railroad workers on an ill-fated Ride to Death, and wonder again about that Christmas morning 1955 and how many more lives were changed than I imagined back then as a five-year old missing my grandfather – on Christmas morning.