It was a hot day that day in August 1972 as we sat in our living room in our apartment on 62^nd Drive in Rego Park , New York . The temperature  had been soaring for days. Even with the air conditioner full blast, I was drenched as were my twelve-year old daughter and thirteen-year old son. We were sitting in the living room, watching television, hot and sweaty even though we were only wearing light shirts and shorts. Night had crept up suddenly, as it does on a hot summer night, and although it was only nine o'clock , the heat was so oppressive that all three of us were nodding off as the television set droned on. I got up from the easy chair, yawned and, said, " I'm going to take a cold shower and then I'm going to bed. It's just too hot. What about…?"

I stopped in mid sentence, shivered, and hugged myself for warmth. I felt clammy as the perspiration froze on my body. Suddenly the room had become cold, absolutely frigid, and icy. It felt like a crypt. Stunned, I stepped back and fell into my chair. I looked at my children who also were shivering, and then I seemed to forget that they were there, and where I was. Although I saw nothing, I felt a presence and felt a light touch on my shoulder, but I was not afraid. 

 

Later, my son and daughter told me that they too had felt the room turn cold, but they neither sensed nor saw anything. My son had checked the air conditioner, but the air was no colder than before. Yet, the room, for a few minutes, was almost unbearably cold. They told me that I was crying and talking to myself but they could not understand what I was saying because I was blubbering and talking in Greek.

 

But I was not talking to myself. I was talking to the presence in the room. It was their grandfather George, my father-in-law, who had died the past March. He was a proud man who loved me. When his son divorced me in 1969, in order to marry his girlfriend of many years, George was distraught and had not gone to his son's wedding. He remained distant to both his son and his new wife.

 

Although my children saw their father and their grandparents, because of the children, I had minimal contact with my ex-husband, but absolutely no contact with his family. In 1971, Grandpa George was diagnosed with terminal cancer and I heard that he was in the hospital. I was distraught. I had not seen him in two years, and if I went to the hospital, I was afraid that he might realize that he was critically ill. 

 

When he had his first bout with cancer in 1950, the news was kept from him. The family felt he would become despondent and unable to cope. In those years decisions such as this were common. He had survived both the first illness and a recurrence two years later. With the present diagnosis, both the physician and the family again felt it best to tell him nothing. I wanted to respect their wishes, but more than that I did not want to hurt this man whom I dearly loved. So I did not go to the hospital. 

 

A few months later, when he passed on, I did go to the wake and to his funeral. Although I had paid my respects to the family, I had not seen George while he was alive and had not said goodbye to this man who truly loved me. Even though I felt that I had made the right decision, I felt both angry and guilty. It  constantly bothered me and I could not forgive myself.

 

On this August evening in my ice-cold living room, I did not see my father-in-law, but I felt his presence and I heard him. I sat back in the chair and realized I was no longer shivering although I could still feel the cold. 

 

           I heard George's voice say, "Zaphra, don't be afraid. It's me." He did not speak to me in English. He spoke in Greek, the language that we usually spoke to one another. I was crying because I was sad and not frightened. As best as I can remember this was our conversation.

           I answered, "Oh dad. I am not afraid but I am so sorry. Please forgive me. I feel so guilty and angry. I should have come to see you in the hospital all those months that you were there."

"I know you wanted to, but, I know why you didn't come."

"But, I should have. So many times I thought about coming when the children were coming to see you."

"I know that, my child. I know that. It was for the best. It would have been painful for both of us if you came. You made the right choice. That is why I am here. I understand why you didn't come. You could not. I know how troubled you have been."

"I am so sorry, dad."

"My child, you have nothing to be sorry for."

I felt a soft brush on my cheek and, as suddenly as it had become cold, it became the same August day of perhaps five minutes before. I was relieved that George knew why I had not seen him in his last days here on earth.With this realization came peace of mind for me as well. 

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