This past St. Patrick’s day, my whole family is over at my aunt’s house. Over dinner, the conversation turns to ghosts and the paranormal. My mom starts telling this story about me that leaves me with chills every time I remember it. Some background info: My mom’s dad died in ‘96, and I was born in ‘98. From what she says about him, he would have adored my brother and I if he lived long enough to meet us. According to my mom, one day she was feeding me lunch. I must have been about 5 or 6. The phone rings, and my mom gets up to answer it. From the living room, se hears me talking in the kitchen. Her and I are the only ones home. My mom doesn’t think much of it, because around this time I had a few imaginary friends. She finishes the call and asks me who I’m talking to. I respond with “the old man.” Of course, this freaks my mom out and she comes back to the kitchen. When she comes in, I turn around and say “Hi, blondie!” which was my grandfather’s nickname for her. Keep in mind, I never met my grandpa, and no one else called my mom that so I wouldn’t have been able to pick up on the nickname. This event impacted my mother so much that she didn’t tell any of us this story until I was 20.