She Had a Premonition

Go figure my mother would wait to tell me the truth about the death of one of my relatives until we are at a fundraising tea party and I am the mature age of over two decades. I am going to start this story with something called exposition, which in case you didn’t know, is when the writer tells the reader some important background information.

When I was little, a framed black and white portrait of a girl sat on a shelf near the TV. My sister and I wanted to know who she was, so we asked our mother. “That’s Aunt Jeanie,” she would say. She told us that Aunt Jeanie died as a teenager because she got a hit by a car when she was riding her bicycle. She was at the top of a hill and the sun was shining just so, and the driver of the car didn’t see her because of the light.

Aunt Jeanie was my mom’s favorite aunt because she was just a few years older than my mom. More of a big cousin, as it was. Aunt Jeanie is the sister of my grandpa, making her my great aunt. Aunt Jeanie had two sisters, Aunt Jani and Aunt Marilyn. These people will become important later.

My middle name is Jean, and all of my childhood I thought it was because my dad’s mom’s middle name is Jean. My mom told me a few months ago that it is actually after Aunt Jean (Jeanie was a term of endearment, much like Aunt Janet is Aunt Jani). My middle name seemed infinitely more important after learning this. I lived my childhood thinking that Aunt Jeanie just died because she got hit by a car. Well, there is more to the story. Apparently she had a premonition.

On Saturday I went to a church tea party in Mt. Angel (which is where Aunt Jeanie, Aunt Jani, Aunt Marilyn, my grandpa, and Uncle Bill—who is not important in this story so that is why I won't mention him again—grew up). They grew up in a special rock-studded house on College street with my Opa and Oma (German for grandpa and grandma). The tea party that I attended had a 1920s theme, so part of the event included showing old slides from Mt. Angel in the 1920s. This somehow led my mother and sister and I into a discussion of Aunt Jeanie and her portrait that sat on the shelf next to the TV.

“She knew she was going to die,” my mom told us. “She knew she wasn’t going to live past 16, so she made preparations.”
“Holy Mary what do you mean!” (only we didn't really say that).
“That was an odd thing, back then (then being 1970) for a young girl to get her portrait taken. It was very expensive,” my mom said. All of this is becoming totally eerie, because every single family member of my mom’s has that photo of Aunt Jeanie somewhere in their house. It was taken like six months before she died. Good thing she planned ahead, I guess.
“Aunt Jeanie got Grandma Terrie (my grandma who married Aunt Jeanie’s older brother) to sign a note so that she could skip school and go to the photographer. She had her portrait taken and copies made, and then she took the photo to someone to have them make a big painting of it.” Instantly my sister Jess and I want to know where the painting is, since Opa and Oma died and obviously no longer have it. Mom thinks Aunt Marilyn has it.

So Jess and I are thinking, wow, that’s creepy weird to know that you are going to die, and so you have your photo taken professionally so that people can have copies once you’re dead. But that’s not all, my mom says. Jess is like “you mean…Aunt Jeanie became a ghost?” I start to get all excited because maybe some freaky ish happened in Opa and Oma’s house and nobody every told us about it. “No,” mom said. She continued with the story.

Aunt Jeanie would talk about how she knew she was going to die young, and she told the boy who lived next door to her about it. He was all “of course you’ll live to be 16, Jeanie.” And she was like “No, I’m serious. I am going to die.” He didn’t believe her, so they made a bet. She told him that if she lived to be 16, she would pay him $50. Which is a lot of money for a bet. And then she told him, “but if I don’t live to be 16, you have to put a rose on my grave every month for year after I die.” They agreed. Well, looks like she didn’t have to pay up on that one. My mom told me that the neighbor boy kept his word and put a flower on her grave every month. “Do you know his name?” I asked. My mom told me. I dropped my mouth because I know who he is. He still lives in Mt. Angel.

“Is there anything else?” we asked my mom. Yes, there was. Apparently after Jeanie died (and before her funeral), Aunt Jani and Aunt Marilyn lost some key in the grass (a key to Jeanie’s diary, perhaps? I didn’t ask). They were looking all over for it but couldn’t find it. Then Jani said “for crying out loud, Jeanie, can’t you help us?” I asked my mom why she would say that, because it seemed weird. I don’t ask dead people I know for help. Apparently it’s a Catholic thing. Oh. So after Jani said that, there was the key, right in front of them.

On the day of Jeanie’s funeral, Jani went up to the abbey with Jeanie’s boyfriend, because he wanted to show Jani the tree where they had carved their names. Jani didn’t think there would be time to look for it before the funeral started, but went along. They were looking and looking at this group of trees and couldn’t find it. Jani said the same thing “for crying out loud, Jeanie, can’t you help us?” Then they found the carving. At which point my sister and I asked our mom if she thought dead people hung around until their funerals, and only passed on once they were buried. Who really knows. Nothing weird happened after Aunt Jeanie was buried. Well, mostly.

Something else happened, but I guess you could just say it was a coincidence. Years later, Aunt Jani and Aunt Marilyn were old enough to get married. Aunt Jani married a man who had the same month and day of birth as Aunt Jeanie. That’s got to be weird, meeting the guy you are going to marry, and then learning that his birthday is the same as your deceased little sister’s. That’s not all. Aunt Marilyn got married, too. She married a man whose birthday is the same month and day (August 24) as the deathday of Aunt Jeanie. How eerie is that? “Oh hi, I think I might want to marry you. When did you say your birthday is? Stomach jolt. That’s the same day my little sister died.” Either that is a very freaky coincidence, or maybe, and I’m just saying maybe because it’s more fun to think about it this way…maybe the ghost/spirit of Aunt Jeanie helped Jani and Marilyn meet their husbands. Because she wanted to be remembered.

My mom told me she was like eleven years old when all of this happened, and she wrote it all down. She still has the notebook, so she’s going to see if she can dig it up so we can read it. After the tea party, I told Jess “we’re going to go to the graveyard.” Because Opa and Oma are buried there too, and we were already in Mt. Angel, it was only four minutes away, and the last time we were there was like five years ago. So we went.

I drove my car in through the wrought iron gates, then we parked by this tree that we thought they were buried close to. We looked for their headstone but couldn’t find it. “I thought it was over here,” Jess said. “I know.” Maybe it’s farther this way, we thought. Then we stopped. “That one’s fresh.” We stared at the raised grass, heaped in a pile. Okay, creepy. We walked the other way. Hammelmans. Bochslers. Elderlies. Schmidt, but the wrong one. My golden ballerina shoes were getting all wet because of the grass, and it was really cold. Then I said, mostly joking but slightly curious, “for crying out loud, Jeanie. Help us.” Her grave did not suddenly appear in front of us. We kept looking, went back to the orginal place we had thought, and went back a few rows father. There it was. Schmidt. Francis, Romona, and Jean Ann. I looked down at the grave, thinking about the neighbor boy coming to leave his monthly rose. And I thought about Oma, who used to give us a quarter when we took her shopping so that we could buy these little bouncy balls out of the toy machine. And I thought about Opa, who taught most of his grand kids and great grand kids how to whistle, and would swing with us on the white bench swing in the backyard and talk about the rhubarb plant and how tasty of pie Oma made. It was the same swing that Jeanie sat on, and the same rhubarb pie that she ate.