Some things have no answer.

One night, i woke up on hearing strange squeaking noises from my baby

daughters' room which was next to my bedroom. They were three and two years old at the time, and I
was raising them as a single father. I went to their room, turned on the light and saw my mother's
rocking chair. I stared at it as it rocked forward and back a couple of times before stopping. It was the
source of the squeak. It was also in a corner far from the bed. I felt no fear: just a sense of wonderment.
Both girls slept together in the upper bed of their bunk beds. They were sound asleep, hugging each
other as they usually did. There was no way the older one could have made it down to the floor, sat in
the chair, and cljmbed back up without waking both her sister and I.
In the morning, my older daughter told me grandma had visited her in the night, and had rocked her in
the chair before returning her to the bed. She said grandma told her to tell me that she loved us all very
much, and that she and her sister were very lucky to have each other and me taking care of the family.
That evening, in the original peoples' tradition, I burned a bit of copal (the incense we burn for the
creator), and we all thanked my late mother for her concern and love for us.