My maternal grandmother was a practical, down-to-earth woman, having been in a subsistence farming family throughout her life. If you didn't grow it, you didn't eat it. If you couldn't trade for it, you didn't have it. They grew their own food, butchered hogs and chickens, wore clothing made of blue homespun and later from feedsacks, made soap from ashes and rendered lard, made medicines from the plants that grew wild. There was never time in her life for fantasy or wishful thinking.

And she was religious, having attended the Ozarkian community "meetin' house" church all her life; she would never 'tell a story'---lying was seriously evil in her eyes, no matter how small the 'story'. Nevertheless, she experienced paranormal phenomena all her life. She took it in her stride, figuring God was in his heaven, and knew what he was doing, so it was all right by her. In fact, she considered one particular experience to be a sort of gift from God...

I tell you all of this to explain why I am so sure her experience was not a fantasy, or an story made up to make herself feel better. I am sure that she experienced just what she said she did. She was probably the most pragmatic and trustworthy person I have ever known.

I heard her tell this story to my mother, her daughter. She didn't hide it, nor did she broadcast it. I made sure to be unobtrusive, because as a youngster(about 12 or 13 at the time), you never knew at what interesting point in a conversation they might notice you listening, consider the subject to be unsuitable, and ask you to leave.

Grandma and Grandpa had been married since they were very young--they had been together all their lives. They were in their 70's,I believe, when grandpa died.They had eaten breakfast, then grandpa headed to the front porch like he always did. Grandma would clean up in the kitchen, make a fresh pot of coffee, and join him on the front porch to talk and pass the morning together.

As he left the table, grandma asked grandpa if there was anything else he wanted. "Just a cup of coffee," was his reply, and he headed through the small house to the porch. Before he got there, he fell to the floor,dead. The doctor told grandma there was nothing she could have done: he was dead before he fell. But grandma still worried. Of course it was hard for her---she missed him terribly, and felt bad that she never even got to say a final 'goodbye' or 'I love you'. But that is not what bothered her the most. She was worried and upset; for some perverse reason, she couldn't forgive herself for not fulfilling his final wish--for a cup of coffee. Somehow, to her, that was a promise to a dying person, and she felt very guilty over not being able to carry it out. She was a reasonable person, but this nagged at her night and day. She couldn't shake the feeling that she had done something unloving and irresponsible.

One night, several months after grandpa's death, she was laying in bed, going over it all again, wishing she could have somehow given him that last cup of coffee he wanted, when in he walked. Grandma said she wasn't frightened at all, but a little startled. She said her first thought was a sinking feeling that maybe he didn't make it to heaven all right; he seemed to be able to know what she was thinking, and assured her all was well, but that he was worried about how she was worried over the cup of coffee. She said she got out of bed, made a pot of coffee and took it out to the front porch, where they sat and talked things out.

She said it seemed they talked for hours and hours, but eventually, he told her it was time for him to go. Before she even asked the question, he said, no, he wouldn't be able (or wouldn't be allowed, I'm not exactly sure which) to come back and visit any more, but that he would be waiting for her. She woke the next morning, thinking what a strange, realistic dream she had had---until she went out to the porch and saw two chairs pulled uand TWO COFFEE CUPS.

She never worried about that final cup of coffee again.

I believe it happened. I just can't see the woman I described to you as unstable enough to sit on the porch talking to herself all night and drinking a pot of coffee out of two cups, can you?