I believe in ghosts. I saw them. In a dream.
They were as real as if they'd really been there, my grandmother and her sisters. They were standing in front of a red barn, dressed in their wedding dresses, holding their flowers, glowing radiantly white in the morning sun - dew still fresh on the lawn in front of them. I tried taking a photo but they didn't show up on camera, and when I raised my head from behind the screen of that little digital gadget - they were gone. Yet I knew what I had seen.
The illusion faded a little when I woke up, and realized that they weren't even standing in front of their own house. Where was that anyway? And shortly after my vision, we were once again at Grandma's place, just like old times. She was sitting in the living room chatting with these same two sisters, and I walked into the kitchen, looking around, thinking things were different since last time I saw her (since she died last year).
The royalty and crossword magazines were all piled neatly on the rocking chair, another heap neatly piled on a box behind it. I used to sit in the rocking chair when we came to visit, and catch up on what the princess and prince had been doing lately, or maybe read up on how to clean silver with a lemon or a bathtub with a half of a grapefruit - though the comics were always the real highlight. She threw away most of the old Christmas albums, but the 45 year anniversary edition of August & Lotta was always there, and in the last few years I read it each and every summer.
Memories come flooding back, awoken by my morning dream. I woke up happy and energetic, an hour earlier than I usually do (which is usually by the ringing of an alarm). And as I woke I slowly realized, maybe I don't believe in ghosts... but maybe I do believe in them after all. Even if they only show as memories, in our dreams.