Did You Hear That?

No one has ever accused me of being one hundred percent normal. Even as a child, I was a little on the strange side.

My parents noticed as did my maternal grandmother. While I’m not totally positive when it started, I was aware of being “different” when I was six years old. The year was 1953.

I’ll begin by explaining that my mom was born in England and emigrated to America with her family in 1925. She met my dad somewhere in the 1930’s and they married in 1944.

Somewhere during that time, my grandmother developed diabetes, and back then, the only medication was insulin administered by a syringe. Epi Pens as well as oral meds had not yet been invented. For my grandmother to receive her daily injections, she had two choices: a daily doctor visit, or have my mom give her the medication. Nanny and mom decided on the latter.

It was a sunny, warm day on June 3, 1953, in Brooklyn, New York where we lived, and we waited for my grandmother to arrive. Mom put the kettle on for tea. The doorbell rang and we heard my grandmother’s footfalls on each step.

Keep in mind that I was just six years old. In fact, my sixth birthday was in May of 1953.

My grandmother entered our apartment and the first thing I blurted out was, “Oh Nana. (Not Nanny, but Nana). We had the greatest time!”

She looked at my mother for a hint as to where this conversation was going. Mom shrugged and looked as confused as my grandmother.

Nanny asked, “Sweetie, where did you go?”

I quickly answered as my childish voice changed. “Why, Nana, Mum and I went to England!”

Nanny and Mom exchanged glances. Why did my voice change? I was only six, yet my voice now sounded as though my age was ten. I also sounded extremely British.

Whoa! Wait a minute! I went to England?

My grandmother asked hesitatingly, “And just why did you go to England?” She was waiting for some smart aleck reply from me.

What she received instead, thoroughly made her momentarily speechless.

I replied, “Nana, to see the coronation of Queen Elizabeth!”

After her initial shock, she asked, “Okay, where did you stay when you were in England?” She thought she’d play along with my imagination since she and my mom had spoken often about the Queen and her youthful age.

I looked squarely at my grandmother as if my patience had run out and said, “Why Nana, we stayed with Cousin Peter!”

Okay, that shocked her. She’d only spoken of her cousin before I was born so how did I know she had a Cousin Peter. She asked me to describe his house and I did – perfectly!

After a talk with my mom, my grandmother realized there was no way Mom and I could have gone to England and back in the matter of 24 hours. As I said, this was 1953.

That was the beginning of my weirdness. It only got worse (or better?) as I got older.

I just knew things I shouldn’t have known. There was no rhyme of reason for it. It bewildered, confused, and sometimes frightened my mother. As time passed, I never mentioned the people around me that weren’t there. Nor did I mention the conversations we had.

Mom always said I was a fantastic baby and little girl. I never fussed, never caused a problem, and was never rambunctious. She had no way of knowing the people she didn’t see very often kept me company.

Did I actually have visions? Not really. What I saw were shadows, except for my dreaming. Everything was more vivid in my dreams. I had “feelings,” “hunches,” later called premonitions. I seemed to instinctively know things I shouldn’t have.

Did I feel weird? No. I just took it all with a grain of salt. To me, that was my norm.

The older I got, the more instinctive I became. One day, I told my mother I saw the man I was going to marry. I was only seventeen. She asked me his name. I said I had no idea and hadn’t met him yet. Mom thought I was joking. Three months later, I brought him home to meet my parents.

They were a bit horrified that I brought home a stranger – someone not from our neighborhood. “Don’t worry, Mom. The marriage won’t last.”

She was totally perplexed. “What do you mean won’t last?”

“We’ll get married, have a couple kids and he’ll leave.”

Thinking I was still joking, she asked, “If he’s going to leave, why marry him?”

I answered, “Because he’ll give me two magnificent sons.”

Let’s now fast-forward a bit now.

Yes, I was right about everything I told my mom. We did marry; I have to awesome sons. When my older son turned ten, my husband announced he was leaving. He filed for divorce saying he wasn’t cut out to be a father. He wanted his freedom. I let him go.

Mom said, “So, that’s it?”

“Nope,” I said. I’ll be remarried. It’s just going to be a while.

Fifteen years later, I met husband #2. The year was 1992. We were married in 1993. My mom was amazed after I told her to open the envelope I’d given her in 1980 – one year after my divorce was final. The envelope contained one sheet of paper. On it I’d written, “Husband #2. Initials: RDB.” Date: sometime in the early 1990's.”

“How on earth did you know?” she wondered.

Then held up her hand in stop indication. “No never mind. I’d probably never understand anyway.”

Let’s just take a step back to 1992. August to be exact. Would-be husband #2 asked if wanted to go away for a weekend. Eagerly, I asked if I had a choice of places. He said I should just pick a place. Without hesitation, I said, “Salem, Massachusetts, Halloween.”

He thought I was crazy and asked why. I explained that was the 300th anniversary of the Salem Witch trials. While he still thought I was crazy, he made the reservations.

As I said before, I was never considered to be totally normal.

I heard, saw, and felt things he didn’t. I saw orbs in the local cemetery. I heard whispers in the old underground jail and felt tremors on walls that couldn’t be explained away.

Then on the way home, as hard as he tried to leave Massachusetts, it seemed as though the road signs kept changing. They kept leading us right back to Salem. After three hours of trying, I laughed and casually said, “Let me drive. For whatever reason, the spirits won’t allow you to leave but they’ll let me.”

I got behind the wheel of the car and effortlessly drove all the way home.

The trip still confounds him. After twenty-eight years of marriage, he is still befuddled with my intuition. I haven’t yet told him about the shadows I see flitting across the room.

Yes, I still have a vivid imagination. That’s mostly what I put on paper when I want to write. However, to be honest, what I have written here is the absolute truth.

Am I wired differently that most people? I have no idea. Maybe one day, I’ll ask one of my spirit friends.