Psychic? Witchy? Only sporadically and seemingly without purpose.

When I was at my mother’s house, I woke up on Saturday, January 23rd, and thoughts of my grandmother’s death drifted past the bed I was using upstairs.

She died in the house my mother lives in now.  The house I was visiting.  The house my mother grew up in.  The house my dad died in a few years ago.  Same room as my grandmother.

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I was trying to piece together what season she died, who was there.  I was living in the same state at the time, with “-” and my 1-year-old son, while “-” took the LSAT and applied to law schools.  I don’t remember either of them being in the house when my grandmother died.

I remember my mom, her two brothers, and I think my dad, praying over my grandmother’s newly deceased body, and my mother closing the door to the back room and saying, “Well, let’s get you cleaned up and dressed.”  The coroner came and took my grandmother out in a body bag.  Before that, I’d only seen homicide victims taken from houses in body bags on TV.  I wanted to say, “Can you unzip that just a little?  So she can breath?”

Hmmm. I couldn’t place the season.  The month.  The date.

My grandmother “gave” her body to science.  She thought she had a disease that someone wanted to study.  We have never received, nor gone after, the autopsy, but when I was home this last time, somehow my mother thought that it turned out that my grandmother actually didn’t have the disease they thought she did.

Tracking down that autopsy sounds like a perfect job for my mother’s oldest sister.  So far, though, no one has tried to get a copy.

About six months after my grandmother’s death, I had a dream that she came to a family gathering at her house.  Aunts, uncles, cousins, all there, balancing paper plates and drinks.  There were dining room chairs set around the perimeter of the living room to accommodate everyone.  I couldn’t tell why the family had gathered.  My grandmother took a seat in one of the dining room chairs with her plate.

She looked uneasy.  That could have been because each family member in the dream was whispering to another family member.  They were saying, “What is she doing here?  Doesn’t she know she’s dead?”  She finally figured out what was being whispered about her and stood up.  She looked sheepishly at everyone and left.

It was so odd that I called my mother and told her.  She paused for a long time.  Then she said, “Your sister had the same dream.”

Weird.

“And, we received your grandmother’s ashes in the mail yesterday.”

Weirder.

At breakfast on Saturday, January 23, 2016, my mother said to my sister and me, “Do either of you remember that your grandmother died 23 years ago today?”

Weirdest.

I’ve only had a few of those incidents happen.  I also saw a “ghost” car go off the road ahead of me once.  I stopped to help, but it wasn’t there.  I also seemed to “know” the minute I was pregnant with each of my children.  “-” used to call it “witchy.”

Could I cultivate this “knowing”?  Maybe.  Would I regret it?  Maybe.  I know someone who is much more “psychic” than me.  She said recently that her prophetic dreams are never about happy things.

Moving on

 

 

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