“Little girl, why are you here?” the priest asked.
“My mother sent me to talk to you,” I answered.
“Why?”
“She gave me a card thing for passing grade two.”
“What do you mean by a card thing?”
“It is a yellow card with letters, numbers and no pictures.”
“But why are you here?”
“She sent me to talk to you, because I didn’t read it to her.”
“Why didn’t you read it to her?”
“Because I can’t. I don’t know how?”
“Tell her you talked to me and that you’ll do better next time.”
After returning home, Mother met me at the door.
“Did you see the priest?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“To tell you I’ll do better next time.” “Are you sorry?”
“Yes.”
“The card I wanted you to read, was a swimming pass for passing grade two.”
I was eight years old when I received my first big premonition. One afternoon I was playing with my best friend Kim, who lived next door.
“Laura, I’m going on holidays next week,” Kim told me.
“Kim, please don’t go on holidays, I’ll never see you again,” I warned her.
“I have to go with my parents. I promise I’ll be back.”
“Try to stay safe,” I begged.
I was playing outside one afternoon. “Laura, come inside, I want to talk to you,” Mother coldly ordered.
“Kim’s dead. She drowned on holidays. They found her floating in the water. Stay away from her house and her family. They’re mourning.”
Right after receiving the news, I found it very hard.
I cried when mother wasn’t around to see. Mother went to her funeral and brought home a memory keepsake of Kim. Seeing this paper with Kim’s picture was extremely upsetting.
It was difficult to sleep at night or to eat and drink. I started to experience anxiety, I worried about drowning. I even wondered if I could accidentally drown by drinking too much water or swallowing it wrong.
I silently suffered from guilt for many years. I never told anyone what I had known for a long time. I prayed to God asking for nothing bad to happen any more.
Around nine years old, I could see neighbors bringing home babies. I was playing outside after school with Eva and Fay.
“Mrs. Strong is going to have a baby boy next summer,” I told them.
“How do you know that?” they asked.
“I can see her carrying a baby wrapped in blue,” I answered.
“She’s not pregnant, Laura,” piped up Fay.
“No but she’s going to be. Just watch,” I replied.
“How do you know the baby’s not a girl?” asked Eva.
“Girls are always wrapped in pink. When I’m not supposed to know, the baby is wrapped in white,” I stated.
“How do you see that?” asked Fay.
“It’s like watching a TV commercial, without the sound.” I said.
“Does this happen while your sleeping?” Fay asked.
“No, this happens when I’m awake.”
Another afternoon we were playing outside and I blurted out:
“Poor little Christopher is going to die.”
“Laura, I’m telling. That’s not a nice thing to say,” Fay scolded.
“But he’s going to get sick and die,” I stated.
Within days he was dead. He died of meningitis.
When I was ten, Mother ran out of food and money. I ate rolled oats, white sugar and water for a week for breakfast, lunch and supper. I brought a margarine container with cold oatmeal to school for lunch. The other children made fun me. This was the same week that newspaper replaced toilet paper at our house.
I was often subjected to bullying at school, because I was different from the others. I would often daydream in class. My buck teeth, clothing and lunches were often made fun of.
I was a different child. I had dyslexia and learning disabilities as a young child. I didn’t read, write, or do math until I was almost ten. I remember telling a friend during a school draw that the next prize was mine. Within seconds my name was called. I received a five dollar prize! I knew more about my classmates’ unspoken life events than I did about what was being taught in class. I found their energies very distracting.
I tried to shut down this special part of me out of fear and anguish. The gift never fully went away; it was always there, just like breathing. I attended mass every Sunday and said my prayers daily.
My mother, Amelia, became a school teacher when I was twelve.
At thirteen, I was visiting Kevin, a friend who was in the hospital. A dying man in the same room started to ask for water.
“Laura, can you go help Al, he needs a sip of water,” Kevin said.
At first I was reluctant and uneasy due to fear. I had never seen anyone in this physical state before. Al resembled a skeleton with skin. After helping him with a couple sips of water, he quietly started talking to me and thanked me before I left.
The following day at school a weird, cold, sickening sensation went through my body. My teacher stopped the class.
“Laura, you’re very pale, Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I responded. I knew Al was dead.
Right after school, I headed to the hospital to verify what I already knew.
“Al’s dead; he died this afternoon,” Kevin informed me, as I walked into his room.
At fourteen years old, I attended the same school Mother taught at. After running into debt, she took on a second job, returning home after midnight on a regular basis. A normal day consisted of going to school, doing homework, watching my siblings, cleaning, and cooking. On the weekends I worked at McDonalds. I often corrected Mother’s classroom assignments, which she was behind on.
I was a very sensitive, shy, insecure teenager, but responsible and dependable. Mother was a very moody, controlling, angry, violent person.
One evening she happened to be home, which was rare. After supper I was helping her with the dishes. She started questioning me about school. Suddenly she became irate, while I was answering her, she kicked me. For the first time in my life, I retaliated. I kicked her back. She punched me. I punched her back. Next, she tripped me and pinned me to the floor, her hands wrapped tightly around my neck with both thumbs in my Adam’s apple. She was choking me to the point that I couldn’t breathe. I could no longer struggle. Everything in my vision went black. I silently prayed to God asking him to take me to heaven. I was on the verge of passing out when she finally let go.
“Get up! Get up now!” she demanded.
I gradually sat up, which was not fast enough for her. I was weak after what she had done to me. She picked me up by my hair and threw me into the concrete hallway wall.
After being abused for many