Ghosts love me. They always have. I have a lot of stories of paranormal experience, ranging from the merely strange to the truly frightening, but this one is sweet. It is my only sweet one.
About four years ago, my grandmother got very sick and had to go live in a nursing home, so my family took in her pets. She died a year later. Having such a strong paranormal connection, after she passed I expected to feel her presence. When I cleaned out her house, when I wore her jewelry, when I wore her clothes (she had the most beautiful clothes and I kept everything that fit me), or even just when I thought of her. But I had no such experiences and after a year or so, I stopped looking for them.
This summer, her dog Tiny Tim also passed away. On my birthday, for that matter. It was pouring and unseasonably cold for June, so we waited into the night to bury him, hoping the rain would stop. It didn't, and we buried him in the garden well after dark. Tim had been practically my dog since Gram got him when I was three, so naturally, I was very distraught. I stayed out in the pouring rain crying at his little grave long after my parents and brother had gone in the house. I was out there alone, soaking and cold, when I felt warm air around my shoulders and caught a whiff of my grandmother's perfume on the air. She always wore a very particular perfume that came in a little white bottle with a dove on top; there is no mistaking the smell. The perfume hung in the air as long as I stayed by the grave.