Did you ever look into the bathroom mirror and wonder who was staring back?
With an evening off work, I decided to catch up on what I’d been missing on TV. I switched on a new series, Medium, and sat down to watch. It wasn’t five minutes into the show that I realized how true to form they were portraying the medium this time. She was experiencing some doubt and confusion about her “gift.” She began expressing her feelings in words, that up to now, I’ve only allowed to exist in my thoughts. You see, I have seen dead people walking and I do have premonitions. The first time I didn’t think much of it; just a dream.
Weeks later, Uncle Russ’s grandma passed on. I still didn’t put it all together until the night we went to the funeral parlor. Not even when I entered the front door did I see what was coming. It only hit me when walked up for the viewing; clear as the night I had dreamed it. I was facing Uncle Russ, and we were talking, when everything from that point on began replaying on cue. To my left was the open casket, yet from my side view I couldn’t see the face of who was laid to rest. Looking directly over Uncle Russ’s shoulder, behind him in the alcove sat Aunt Anita, sipping coffee, talking with Aunt Lorraine. The inexperience of my youth couldn’t comprehend. Stop this madness, I thought as rush of panic flowed throughout my body. I’d had isolated moments of Déjà vu before but this time it wasn’t ending in a short minute. Caught off guard, I couldn’t control what was happening. I’d dreamed this entire scene only a couple of weeks ago. My composure dissolved. Tears flowed down my face while the rest of me was frozen in fear. Everyone assumed I was crying as a natural reaction to my grief for his grandma’s passing.
Dad walked up to calm me and escorted me outside. Walking through the parking lot, he attempted to distract me from my overwhelming emotions. I began explaining my dream and how everything those last few minutes was a reenactment of that vision. Continuing toward the car, with a knowing smile he assured me that he believed I was telling the truth. While opening the car door, he added, “It would probably be good if you didn’t mention this to anyone else, because they might not believe you.” I took his warning to heart and didn’t discuss what happened again. Now, with me settled in the car, he went back to the parlor. I waited alone, staring through the clouds. My thoughts began questioning who I was in this world. I couldn’t understand why this was happening to me. The notion that I might be evil crept into my thoughts. I began wondering if a person could dream something into reality.
We didn’t bring it up again, and after returning home I went straight to my room and got ready for bed. I lay there. All I could do was keep repeating my prayer to Source asking to never let me dream again. I really didn’t want to experience any more visions and I wanted Source to know this, to get the point, right up front, no thank you. I was done with it all. My fear kept me awake that night; fear of having another sad dream that would relive itself in my immediate world of reality some weeks later. I just kept repeating in my mind – why me? I don’t remember it ever happening before then, but who knows, when you’re a kid fantasy overlaps reality and you can’t always see where the line is drawn.
Over the years, the premonitions kept showing up without warning. I’d have a dream. I’d think, “It’s only a dream,” in hopes it wouldn’t come true. I’d let it go, and then, bam! It hit me. It’s really happening this time; followed by the all too predictable aftermath of questions. I still didn’t know why it was me instead of someone else; someone who knew what they were doing. I didn’t know what I was to make it mean, if anything at all. If I were to tell someone I couldn’t be sure what repercussions to expect. Bringing the subject up in discussions might give someone else the opening to mention they had similar experiences and then we might learn for each other. I would need to plan how and what I said; approach the conversation gingerly, without giving away my real reason to want to find out more. No one was talking back then, so neither was I. Only a few members of our immediate family knew of my “gift.”
But there were times when I came to realize the meaning of “a blessing in disguise.” Once, I knew my sister Martha needed help. I kept calling one evening, only to get a busy signal. I couldn’t explain my feeling of urgency to my husband, John; I could only tell him that we needed to get to Martha’s apartment right away. I didn’t know what I was going to face, but I knew I wanted him there for support. He was miffed, to say the least, that we had to go out since we were already settled in for the evening. Grudgingly, he helped me get the kids out of bed. We carried them to the van, still in their pajamas. They slept through the short trip to Martha’s apartment. All the way John was beside himself at how this was really so unnecessary, just because I had a “feeling.”
As we drove into the parking lot, an ambulance, police car, and fire truck were parked haphazardly at the entrance. We left the kids sleeping in the van, locked the doors, and quickly made our way through the crowd of professionals. It was Martha all right. She had an epileptic seizure. A build-up of medicine was causing her to have hallucinations, and had accidentally set the apartment on fire.
About an hour later, with Martha on her way to the hospital, we quietly walked back to the van; sitting there, gathering our thoughts. John looked at me for the first time with questioning and fear of the unknown in his eyes.
Who had he married? Why didn’t I explain my experiences in detail before? He began to speak in a solemn voice, telling me that if I ever told him we needed to check on Martha again, I wouldn’t be getting any argument from him.
After arriving home, we put the kids back to bed and had a long discussion. As we talked, unconnected pieces of the past began to fall into place, showing him the clearer picture. He recalled how I knew ahead of time about my bridal showers when everyone swore they hadn’t said a word! I told him back then that I knew, but he didn’t understand what I meant when I said, “No one told me, I just know.”
A few years ago the subject did come up in a discussion with one of my aunts. My gift isn’t a deep dark secret any longer and others in the family have had these experiences. In fact, one aunt came right out and told me my mom had an added sense about things as well. She died when I was only six. No one ever talked about her in conversation. Memories of her were too hard for them to articulate. Now, in my forties, I was finally hearing about her deep dark secret. Looking back on it now, I can understand my dad’s knowing smile that day in the parking lot.
Now, when I look in the mirror and wonder who I am, I still see a mystery and a lot of unanswered questions. I know now that I’m not evil. Yet, I still wonder why I have this ability. I know if you are given a gift, it’s a waste if you don’t use it. I’m still not sure who I should be helping. I often wonder if I should interfere or just let things play out for themselves. If I introduce something to redirect destiny and cause a different outcome, I don’t know yet where that precious balance is where I could just cause the tiniest ripple and not create a monsoon. One of my frustrating concerns is that it has been trial and error all these years. The most perplexing issue is my need to find a sanctuary of friends who can accept me. A heavy responsibility comes with this gift. I’m not here to do parlor tricks, and still am very selective about my conversations on the subject. I haven’t found a “how-to” book that meets my needs yet. As far as guidance goes, it’s hard to separate the charlatan from the mentor. I continued watching the show while all these issues resurfaced, yet this time I felt connected, not alone, and the dark side of me just became a little brighter.