Pappy’s Gift

A visit from beyond settles a family dispute.

JOE, MY DAD, AND HIS father, Pappy, had a special bond. After Pappy died,

Dad claimed he often felt his father’s presence. In 1957, several years after Pappy’s death, my grandmother Bo married a man named Fred. This was funny in a way because Pappy’s living brother, for whom I was named, was also called Fred. So we had three Freds at the table when we all gathered to play cards.

All seemed to be going well with the newlyweds until the new Fred’s son began to pressure his father to put his house in the son’s name. The son objected to his 79-year-old father marrying my 78-year-old grandmother. Fred assured Bo that he had written a new will to protect her in case he died before her, and the issue appeared to be settled. Then Pappy came back on the scene.

Dad was sleeping late one morning when he suddenly awoke to see Pappy standing at the foot of his bed. My father wasn’t at all alarmed.

“What do you want, Dad?” he asked.

Pappy was holding a small silver key with a white covering. He reached out as if to hand it over, but

Dad couldn’t grasp it. He tried again, but then Pappy disappeared.

My father drove to Bo’s and asked her if she’d ever seen a key that looked like the one Pappy had held out to him. They checked all the keys in the house until they found one that matched the description, though Bo had no idea what it was for. Later that day, Fred identified it as the key to his safe-deposit box.

Checking the box at the bank, they found Fred’s new will. Fred had indeed listed Bo as his sole heir, but he had forgotten to sign it.