It happened on an ordinary afternoon, but the words my son spoke shook me to my core. He looked at me with his big, innocent eyes and said, “Mommy, when you were a little girl and I was a man, we danced in the garden behind the white tree.” My heart stopped. That memory was one I had never shared with anyone—it belonged only to me and my late grandfather. Suddenly, I was face-to-face with something I couldn’t explain.
When I was six years old, my grandfather’s backyard was my safe haven. There was a tall white oak tree standing like a guardian, and he would turn on his crackling old radio, stretch out his hand, and spin me barefoot through the grass. Those moments were ours alone, private and precious. After he passed away, I carried them quietly in my heart, never speaking of them to anyone. And yet, here was my five-year-old son recalling details he couldn’t possibly have known.....