Twenty years ago I was expecting my first child. That first child turned out to be twins. But I knew that. Very early on, when the pregnancy manifested itself I had a sense that I was carrying twins. I had spent a considerable amount of time on fertility treatments and so this was a big achievement, actually being pregnant. I remember getting ready to go to my first ultra sound and standing in front of our main bathroom mirror and singing a little sing song to myself, as I am apt to do, making foolish rhymes and crazy sounds with accents. I sang to myself that I was having twins. Later that day, that is what the ultra sound proved.

We lived in a house that had belonged to my husband’s uncle. We had bought the home from my husband’s parents who had inherited the house. My husband had remodeled it and upgraded several things in the house. It was a small three bedroom ranch on a corner lot.

My husband’s uncle had been older than his brother, my husband’s dad. The year was 1989. His uncle had died in 1983. Uncle Harold was married to Aunt Tutz.  Harold was the favored son. He could not go to WWII due to a childhood injury. His mother coddled him due to this, so the story goes. It seems he wanted to marry a Catholic girl and his mother went nuts. He wanted to have a dozen children and was a happy person, full of life. Well, somehow he was not allowed to marry this Catholic girl and oh my Polish. It would have brought a tragedy upon the family; she was neither German nor Lutheran. It was very common in that generation to want people to marry their own kind. Right. He also wanted to be a mortician and she put the strangle hold on that. Interesting profession.

So he did not marry for many years. When he finally did marry, they did not have any children. I don’t think his wife could. I don’t know how long they were married, but they loved each other. He worked for the city and everyone knew him. He spent a lot of time listening to German music at Han’s Bavarian Lodge, and drinking beer. Oh, and this girl was not German or Lutheran.

His wife became sickly and she actually died in the house. The house was a cute little cottage like place. The couple who had owned it originally had bought it as a model home. It was their little cottage and when Harold and Tutz bought it, they kept a relationship for some time with the prior owners. It was a happy little place. For reasons I won’t go into here, this was not my dream house. However, that being said, it was meant as a stepping stone and we were very happy there. Our children were born and this was their first home. We lived there 7 years. We had planned on five originally. But, I am getting ahead of myself.

The pregnancy started getting very complicated. Closing in on the first trimester, I could no longer walk or do anything like that. I had to be on bed rest. I was fortunate to spend this time at home. It was kind of lonely at the time. I had to lay on my left side for my blood pressure and I was hooked up to a monitor. Yes, complex hoo-hah. My contractions were sent via phone lines to some place in Colorado, where nurses and technicians would read them and call me if I needed to drink more water, or contact my doctor, etc.

I watched a lot of television or spoke on the phone once in a while, but mostly I just rested. For six months I laid there, it sounds like a long time, but I don’t remember it that way. I had a number of complications that cropped up; I won’t bore you with all the medical details.

Suffice to say, my husband learned to cook and manage not only our business, but the household. He is a wonderful man.

Our bedroom had its own private bathroom. It was a cute little green room. It was about as big as a broom closet, but it was very handy for me in my condition. So imagine this room with imported Dutch lace drapes on two windows, a tall dresser and nightstand and a king sized bed with a brass headboard. This was my tiny domain.

One afternoon I was drifting in and out of sleep, kind of lying for a while on my back. Imagine my surprise when I open my eyes and see a man standing next to my bed. He was wearing a flannel plaid shirt, had a mousey brown hair and glasses and dark pants. I was startled and kind of at ease. I don’t know how to explain it. I shut my eyes and opened them again and he was gone. The whole thing felt like it almost did not happened. But I knew it did. I fell back asleep and did not even dream about it. When I work up I called my husband and told him what had happened. He asked me to describe the clothing and how the person looked. He calmly told me that it was probably Uncle Harold checking up on me. He thought he might have been concerned. Uncle Harold lived in his plaid flannel shirts.

It kind of made sense. His wife had died in the same room after spending months in bed due to her illness. He had died years later while sitting on the patio, reading his newspaper one summer Sunday morning. The fact that I felt no real fear, just surprise, seemed to confirm to me that he was this friendly, concerned uncle. He was just checking up on me. I had never met him; he died before I met my husband. However, upon seeing a picture of him years later, I recognized the man who had visited me. There were pictures from my husband’s family that we did not see or inherit until after the death of his parents.

I am the kind of person who is sensitive. I know things, sometimes feel things. I can vision things by drawing or dreaming them. I have had some interesting experiences because of this heightened sensitivity. I feel things about places and sometimes objects. There has been a lot written about places possibly keeping memories. I believe this is possible but does not always occur. I don’t usually see auras often but people have seen them on me. I also tend to do what I say is calling people to me. I think most people can do this, but I seem to be aware of it. I have dreams which are more like movies or plays. I get up remembering specific things on occasion which seem to prepare me for something in the next few days. I also meet people in these dreams on occasion who are deceased. They interact with me and sometimes give me an idea of something to communicate to someone else. Which I have done. I have drawn pictures of things and then found them. In one case it was a house. We bought it the day we first visited it. Later we learned that the land it was on once belonged to ancestors in my husband’s family. It was part of their farm. The cow pasture. We had no idea that the family had lived in this town. Shortly after we moved in, there was a newspaper article about the land we were living on and we learned of the connection. We knew that some branch of the family had settled in an area north of here some miles away, but not here.

When driving, I will tell my husband who is usually at the wheel, an animal will appear, or some other obstacle. He has learned to listen to me because most of the time I am right. I just get an immediate feeling that something will be there, and sometimes I can say what it is.

All of my children have heightened sensitivity and sometimes we can communicate this way non verbally. I think it comes from living in a close knit family and there is a lot of familiarity and so we sometimes see it as something more complex than it is, but I had this with my one sister, so I am not sure. It could be the real deal.

As a child I could sense out of body experiences where I could feel that I could get in and out of my body. Sometimes I would focus on something to bring me back in. I have not been too aware of this as I grew older and cannot remember doing this intentionally past about 3 or 4. It was very intense and I remember it very well.

,

In what I consider a dream, I awoke very frightened. My parents had moved us to a new town and I was about 7 or so. I slept in a lovely room with my sister who was closest in age. In this dream state or dream two elderly people, who did not seem too happy had been sitting in my closet. They were oddly dressed and the woman was sitting to the right of the man, the man closest to the door opening and they were sitting as if the sliding door to the closet was the glass door to a train passenger car. I saw nothing of a train or what they were sitting on. They looked at me and somehow nonverbally communicated with me that they had come for me. I felt terrorized and told them I would not be going with them and they needed to leave right away. They disappeared. Now, the thing is my grandparents on my mother’s side were deceased, but these people looked nothing like them. It had dark foreboding written all over and I knew to admonish them. I have never identified them. I only know that I did the right thing. Now, the property that house was built on was an onion farm. The people who worked on it were often Hungarian people who did not speak English. They were trucked in for a day to pick asparagus or onions in this town from Indiana. My grandparents on my father’s side lived in Indiana and were Hungarian. They were alive at this time and these people did not look like them. It was normally women and children who came to work these farms. So if this place had a memory, perhaps it was a set of grandparents trying to collect a child who had been left behind on the truck farm when it was time to go back to Indiana. This house stayed for most of its existence, the first 30 some years at least, abutted to a large open field where wild asparagus grew. I picked it as a small child with my sister while we were playing safari out back. I can still see those two old people in my head, the woman was smaller and wore a kerchief, the man thin and both were gaunt. Their clothes were shades of black and brown and they seemed covered up in a way, just their hands and faces showing. The woman had her hands in her lap and the man seemed to reach out with one hand for me, like he was going to help me aboard. The house was built on lot 13 of the subdivision.

Image: Lakefront Real Estate; Mr. Lakefront

Copyright 2010 SheilaTGTG55