I discovered the following essay in my grandmother Lillie’s journal, written in the back of a small memo book, otherwise filled with day-to-day incidentals.

<<Lillie was born in 1875. This was written in 1913 or ’14, before my mom was born; she mentions her three older children elsewhere. She had very few erasures or edits, and I typed what was there, with some punctuation added, and paragraph breaks.>>

Spiritualism and mediums afford almost as fertile a field for the jokes of the multitude as does a certain popular auto mobile, yet the mysteries of the Great Beyond will always be of vital interest. Those who in moments joke lightly of ghosts and ouija boards do, at other times, yearn, always while Death chooses relentlessly here and there. Those who are here today, tomorrow vanish into the silence.

Many, just before the gates close, speak a few last words, leaving with the grief watchers a hope that all is well with the vanished traveler. These last indeed are treasured in the heart, are told amid tears to friends, are repeated far and wide, and those who never avail themselves of the orthodox way of acquiring…

<<Stops writing here.>>

Few have not experienced or heard from friends some of these deathbed scenes, some hint of the reality of the continuance of life. No one is wise enough to draw the line, to say with finality, this vision was real, this was the imaging of a desperate mind.

A man lay near death’s door after weeks of suffering, wife and daughter by his side, ‘I can see,’ he said, ‘into a place where all is harmony, all is harmony.’ ‘He must be dreaming,’ remarked the daughter to her mother. ‘Dreaming, indeed I am not dreaming,’ he objected emphatically.

‘Mother, if you could see where I am going, you would not need to grieve for me,’ said a daughter in her last conscious hours.

Everyone knows of similar cases, and the assurance that these visions are real builds up faith and sustains.

One of my earliest childhood memories is of myself sitting under a gooseberry bush by an open window, filling up on gooseberries, and overhearing my mother and a caller discussing the death of a child in the neighborhood. It was stated that the silent watchers in the death chamber had heard footsteps and rustling in the room, as the soul of the child passed on. My child’s mind was filled with the wonder, awe, and mystery of it. And I think, from that day on, my mind was always reaching out, searching, questioning to know more of this mystery.

My parents were of the very strict, orthodox church type of Christianity years ago, and during my growing years, I had little opportunity.

I had heard more or less arguments against spiritualism, and stories of exposed mediums, and the adult conversation I heard, and the orthodox books and papers I had access to, stressed the assurance that spiritualism, or any other -ism not authorized by the church, was unquestioningly the work of the devil.

I was always a silent child, and while I listened eagerly, I never disclosed my interest. Always I questioned silently and wonderingly. Is there any truth in it? Mightn’t there be a tiny bit? And why are church members so positive that the very things they try to teach can never be proved but must forever be taken on faith.

After an interminable number of wondering years, I grew up, as children have a habit of doing, and left home to earn my own living. The old ties of church restraint were too strong to allow me to actively try to gain authentic knowledge of spiritualism, but every newspaper or magazine article on the subject I always read eagerly, searching, sifting to find the grain of truth.

Then one day, I read about J. Savage’s book, Life Beyond Death. It brought me a sense of quiet calm and relief to know that others within the church, even a minister, found orthodoxy insufficient.

At that time, there were but few friends or relatives of my own who had passed over. My sister Lena had left us at the age of eleven. I was seven at the time, and only a few pictures of her remained in my mind. It seemed a beautiful and mystical thing to again become acquainted through these meetings. If Death had not stepped in and taken her from the family in childhood, her personality would have been as familiar to me as that of my other sisters. And now, after twenty silent years, she again became a real sister. That tho for silent years she had been to me but a name and a faint memory, in reality she had been with us often.

I had fearfully enjoyed a number of seances before. Single Eye, lights, flowers, music, raps, double, a noble life, guides, regrets.

<<Single Eye was an individual said to have communicated with the family through a medium, Mrs. Philena Owen, known to the family as “Auntie Fid.”>>

Besides the friends who demonstrated their presence at every meeting, there were the crowds who stood back. All these friends and relatives of my husband’s family, whom I had never seen, became nearly as well known as those here.

<<Pages cut out of the journal.>>

No longer does the thought of heaven suggest only hazy angels playing harps. But I love to picture real people living, progressing, learning, enjoying, possessing a fullness of life and joy never possible on this old earth.

<<That’s it. Just these few paragraphs revealed more about the grandma who died before my time.
In fact, I was born eight years later on the anniversary of her death, and my mother’s sister Marion always said that their mother had arranged that, so the family would no longer think of that date as a sad day.
The rest of this memorandum book is filled with shopping lists, items she bought for her children, household budgets and accounts, etc.>>

CAMP CROWDER MISSOURI

Jan 20, 1942.

Dearest Ruth:

I suppose you think I have forgotten about home cause I haven’t wrote for so long, but I have been so busy for the last 2 weeks that there has been no evenings at all, ever since I started working on the line from Tulsa to here. We don’t get back till the lights are out. The only time I had off was the night I called from Neosho and that was just a couple of hours.

You can’t imagine how good it was to hear a voice from home again although I was about half asleep yet, and with officers sitting around in the Orderly rooms, there wasn’t much chance to say anything. Being the call was transferred to camp from town it had to be reverse charges. But I sent the money to the folks the next day and told them to pay you whenever you get over there.

We are really having some cold weather here now. Monday night it was 12 below and I was on guard duty that night for 2 shifts, and then back to work yesterday morning again at 7. We stop a couple of times going back and forth to let the boys out and march a mile or so to warm up cause the back of them trucks are really cold riding these days. Have the rest of this week and next left. Then comes switchboard and that’s all inside work.

It was really disgusting to leave A. C. W. but the Army will do some funny things at  times. If I could have stayed with that I would have gone to Drew Field Fla. in another week, but now it may take a couple of months. But rating comes faster at this work and that is something looking forward to mostly for getting out of all the extra detail, as it’s called here.

Tonight we got back to camp at 5 but then a bunch were shipping to Vermont and they had to be taken to Joplin by 7, so that spoiled another evening. Stopped a short time at the bowling alley, they have some very good teams here, both ladies’ and men’s. At Tulsa, Okla. there are 2 bowling alleys, one with 20 and the other with 36 alleys. But they run 3 shifts each night so there is no time for open bowling except Sunday, and it’s too far from here to go then.

Have only seen one movie this year. That was Whistling in Dixie. If you kids get a chance to see it you should go, its very good. It was held over for a week here at camp. Mostly shows are changed every other night.

Haven’t heard from Toots lately < sister-in-law, mother of our cousin Harry > but it’s my turn to write. I am so far behind now that it will take a month to catch up again unless I start some Sunday morning and write all day. If K. P. don’t come again next weekend that’s a 15 hour job each day so they can have that for all of me.

You should see the caps we were issued when the cold weather came along. All that shows is the eyes. We all think they look worse than the gas masks but they are really warm. The fellow that sleeps next to me is on K. P. tomorrow. He said he was going to put his on tonight when he goes to bed so the C. Q. won’t know him in the morning when he’s to wake him up. Hope it works. There are lots of tricks to this game but the next thing is to get by with it.

Well I think I shall quit for now. 5 comes early in the morning. Will try try to write sooner next time.

Love T. K.

CAMP CROWDER MISSOURI

Jan 11, 1943.

Dearest Ruth,

I received your letter over a week ago, but have been out of camp for 7 days. A week ago yesterday I tried to call you from Joplin but Central said it would take 3 hours and I did not have time to wait. So, we went to Tulsa, Oklahoma.

We have been working on the line between there and here since. We slept in tents and caves every night until Saturday and when we got back here, what do you suppose the first thing I saw on the bulletin was K. P. for Sunday, the first time since I have been in the Army.

I can see by your letter that the boys at home had a good time New Years. That day was the same as any other day here. 32 of us in my Company were on 24 hour guard duty from 5 p.m. until 5 p.m. the following afternoon. I was really thinking of home that night when walking out there in the dark for four hours at a time.

When we come off duty we get all the coffee and sandwiches we can eat and sometimes a few beers if we have a good Officer of the Day or one that forget to look under the bed where the case is hidden.

Had a letter from B. Decker today, he is really sick of the place where he is, but in 3 more weeks will become Staff Sergeant so he is doing alright for himself.

12 including myself in A. C. W. were busted 2 weeks ago, the lowest with a 92 grade, and put on filed line and switchboard for what reason we don’t know yet today. But the Army will do some funny things. We were to ship out the middle of Jan. but now it will be 2 more months. But by the way some boys write us from other camps, Crowder is not bad, only for its location.

We are having some wonderful weather here so it’s nice working outside except for climbing them 40 ft poles to couple our wires. We dig them spurs in the post as deep as they can go. Sometimes one comes sliding down full speed, that makes a good laugh for the rest. I have had some good spills myself so it is fun to see the others do the same.

Well I think this will be all for now. Tell them all Hello!

Love,
Thorgel