An Escort To The Light
So, there’s this weird thing about me. I know when people are going to die. I have predicted almost every death around me since I was a kid. I say almost because I was wrong once. Only once and that was when my mother died. I thought it was going to be my close friend’s mother, not my own. But that’s a different story, one I may never tell. I wish I was always wrong, but I’m not. So, if we have an emotional connection, just know that I will know.
Some people have said it’s a gift, but it honestly feels more like a curse. I don’t even believe in curses, but if I did, this would probably be one. It doesn’t feel the greatest to know. What am I supposed to do with that information? I still haven’t figured it out. But I do know that part of my soul escorts your soul to the light.
There are a few different ways that I get this information. A knowing or a feeling, which means it’s a done deal, or through a dream, which means it’s a changeable outcome. I greatly prefer the dream because it’s like a warning for the person and usually comes with a timeframe around the situation. I am able to provide them information on what they need to be careful of and for how long. Not the easiest phone call to make. I’ve made this kind of call twice. I still struggle with it.
The first time I knew someone was going to die was a little different than the rest and it’s never happened like this again. I was a young teen in middle school and I kept having reoccurring dreams about my great-grandmother. I would wake up in the morning and tell my mom that I had a dream about Mamo and that she was going to die.
We had a rocking chair in our family for over a hundred years that every baby had been rocked in. In my dream, I would sit in Mamo’s lap in the family rocking chair and she would tell me stories about when I was little. She would also tell me stories about my mom and my uncles when they were little. She told me we wouldn’t see each other again in this life and that was why she wanted to spend some time with me. She wanted to make sure I knew she loved me.
My mom was always surprised at the stories I would tell her that Mamo told me in my dreams. Some she had forgotten about completely. She didn’t really know what to do with any of this information, except try to make me feel better. My mom would call Mamo on the phone so I could talk to her and see that she was ok. I don’t know how many times this happened over a year or two, but it was a lot. Same dream, different stories and then a phone call.
As time went on, the dreams seemed to happen more frequently, to the point where I was obsessed with my great-grandmother’s health and wellbeing. For my 16th birthday, my grandmother bought my mother and I tickets to come see her and my great-grandmother. I really wanted to go, but I told my mother we wouldn’t see Mamo.
My grandmother planned a really cool trip for my birthday. We flew from Hawaii to Tahoe, where half of my family lived and where we met up with my grandmother. We were going to drive from Tahoe to Wyoming, where my grandmother and my great-grandmother lived, and go to Yellowstone. I was so excited to see my family, but I was also afraid of what would happen.
The day we had planned on leaving Tahoe for our adventure, we got the call. I will never forget it. It was about 6:30 in the morning. As soon as the phone rang, I sat up and yelled not to answer it, as if not answering the phone would change the outcome. My mother, who was sleeping next to me, opened her eyes and asked if I was ok. She probably thought I was having a nightmare, something I have been plagued with my whole life. I was shaking and starting to cry. I could hear my uncle talking to someone on the phone and I told my mom that Mamo had died and that was the call.
We never talked about the dreams anymore. No one really brought it up at all. It was one of those things we just stopped talking about. We did not go to Yellowstone. We did not stop at cool places on the drive from California to Wyoming. We went to a funeral for my great-grandmother.
In my early 30s, I started to physically feel things in my own body that belonged to the person who was going to die. One of the most tramatic, for me and the other person, was the death of my friend’s unborn child.
I used to go to my friend’s house for dinner and game night every Sunday. Our kids and husbands were also close. It was always fun and we looked forward to the wonderful meals and fun times we had there.
My friend was about 5 months pregnant when the feelings started. My throat started to hurt when we were over visiting and I just didn’t know what was going on. It felt like a slight pressure around my neck. I didn’t think much of it in the beginning, until it got worse with each week that we went over there.
One night we were having a birthday party for another friend and I kept focusing on my pregnant friend’s throat and the more I did this, the more my own throat felt choked. I noticed that she had a necklace on and I asked her to take it off. I explained that in Hawaii, where I am from, pregnant women didn’t wear necklaces or closed ended leis because by doing so, the umbilical cord would wrap around the baby’s neck. It’s one superstition that I believe in, especially now.
The more we talked about this, the more my neck felt choked. I pleaded with her to take her necklace off. She refused, telling me that her husband gave her the necklace and for her it was good luck. I flat out told her that I thought her baby’s umbilical cord was wrapped around it’s neck and that she should go to the doctor right away.
Of course, she thought I was crazy. I thought I was crazy, but once I said something, the pressure on my neck went away. I no longer felt choked. I felt relief, but the baby didn’t. I begged her to go to the doctor and she insisted that everything was fine and that in less than two weeks she had an ultrasound appointment. There wasn’t much else I could do.
Less than two weeks later, my friend delivered her 5 and half month stillborn son. It was one of the saddest days I have ever had. There was nothing I could do for my friend except comfort her. Just writing this makes me tear up.
We remained friends for several months after that. Until one day, her husband showed up at my house with every single thing I had ever given her. He brought it all back, with no explanation, nothing. That was the end of our friendship. Later I learned that she was pregnant again. In a way, I understand it, but it wasn’t something I did, it was something I tried to prevent. Like I said before, sometimes it feels like a curse.
When I tell people about this gift or whatever you want to call it, they usually say one of two things- either tell me when I’m going to die or if you know when I am going to die, don’t tell me. Sometimes I wonder if telling anyone is a good idea. I’m still not sure. These days the only people I tell are my family, unless I’m positive it’s a changeable outcome. So, don’t forget, if we have an emotional connection, just know that I will know and my soul will safely escort yours to your next adventure.