Gold Coast Drive

I was around 19 years old when my paternal grandmother passed away, having lost a two year battle with lung cancer.  Just prior to passing, she had decided she was well enough to take a trip down to southern California to visit her daughter and young grandson, my aunt and cousin.  While on the trip she contracted pneumonia, became very ill and was hospitalized.  
Her condition was serious and life threatening.  My father, mother and sister planned a trip to visit her in the hospital; however I was unable to go.  I was working a retail job at the time and could not get the time off.  I may have been able to work it out, but I don’t remember really pushing for it.  I could say that it was, in part, because my grandmother had been sick for a few years by that time and often it was touch and go, so I didn’t think it was that urgent.  I could also say that my grandmother and I had never been close.  There were many grandchildren in our family, she seemed was very loving toward them all, but I never felt that from her.  My memory of her is cold, bossy and an overall feeling that she despised me.  I saw her display the same behavior toward my mother, who I grew to understand; she never felt was good enough for her son.
Shortly after my family arrived in southern California, my grandmother passed away.  I was sad that I could not have been there to say goodbye.  A part of me had always hoped to make peace with this woman, but I would never get the chance.  I always felt small and unimportant in her presence, the old adage of children being meant to be seen and not heard, comes to mind.  
A few days after her passing, my family arrived home.  A few days after that, my grandmother’s body had been transported to town and the funeral followed.  I don’t recall too many details from the service.  I had a very hard time getting time off work to attend and had to return immediately afterward.  I remember that my mother, a beautician, who had previously done the hair and makeup for the deceased and who had done my grandmothers hairs for decades, did her hair and makeup for the service. I still feel sad when I think of that.  I saw my mother trying very hard to please this woman in life and even in death.  
During that time in my life I suffered from a condition.  I was never diagnosed with anything, as our family was the type who only went to the doctor if we were bleeding to death.  Whenever I would have an episode, as I would call it, both my ankles would get very cold, not only internally, but also to touch and they would ache tremendously.  It was very painful and would sometimes bring tears to my eyes.  My typical method of trying to stop the pain would be to put on socks for warmth, because heat seemed to help and to crawl into bed, hoping the socks and blankets would warm up my feet enough that the pain would stop.  Mostly it did not work.  It seemed almost impossible to warm my feet and as long as they were cold, they would ache.  I believe my mother thought it may be some sort of arthritis, but like I mentioned before, I never saw a doctor about it.
On this particular night, I was lying in bed, suffering once again from an episode.  I remember that if felt the worst it had ever been, that night.  Lying there, begging for it to stop, suddenly I felt warmth surround my legs just above my ankles, moving slowly downward toward my feet and then my toes.   The pain disappeared as instant as the warmth appeared.  It enveloped my feet and seemed to move in a massaging motion.  It almost felt as though invisible hands were rubbing my ankles and feet.  At the same time, I felt an overwhelming sense of peace.  While what was occurring shocked me, the general feeling was calmness and I easily drifted to sleep.
When I awake the next morning I recalled the events of the night before.  Though I tried, I could not find a good explanation for what had happened.    It seemed almost supernatural, but I didn’t want to believe it was.  For the most part I tried to forget the event, annoyed by its lack of rationality.  I am a very logical thinker.  If something doesn’t make sense, or there is no explanation, I tend to dismiss it.  This makes me for the most part a sceptic.  After this experience and having experienced others that could not be explained, part of me knew that the only explanation was paranormal.
It wasn’t until over a decade later that I would get an explanation and it came one day after, for the first time, I disclosed the events of that night to someone else.  I was visiting my mother in Virginia, she, my sister and I were sitting around discussing some of our paranormal experiences.  All of us somewhat sceptics, the see it to believe it type, but still so very curious.  Mostly I was asking my mother about the house they had lived in before I was born, my family having moved out of it only two weeks before my birth.  I had always heard stories about it being haunted and I had received a lot of the information second hand through my sister, who was only 2 ½ years old at the time they lived in the house, so the information was vague at best.  I wanted my mom to tell me the details.  
After sharing my story of that night, my mother tilted her head to the side and casually says that while my grandmother was in the hospital, she would rub her feet.  She said it was very cold in the hospital and she would massage lotion into her feet, trying to keep the blood circulating.  I had no knowledge of this, as I did not join them on the trip, but suddenly it made sense.  I had experienced the event just after my grandmother’s funeral and I never did get to say goodbye to her.
I was a little freaked out about the experience the night that it had happened, brushing it off as just being tired or the possibility that a condition I had suffered for, for years can magically disappear one night after suffering the worst episode to date, but with the possibility of knowing it may have been my paternal grandmother visiting me one last time, now I find it almost comforting.