My Mom on The Gift of Knowing
I believe that I was given the gift of “knowing” about certain things or events before they occurred. My earliest recollection was when I was about the age of three. I saw a white envelope that was edged in black and asked my mother if I could please see it. She looked at me rather strangely and told me that she had no such envelope. I was not easily discouraged and continued to pester about said envelope for at least two days. She became increasingly agitated by my constant questioning regarding the envelope when lo and behold upon the arrival of our mailman on the third day, here came said envelope. I joyfully shouted to my mother “see, I told you that you had a white envelope with black on it”. My mother did not look impressed, quite the opposite, she gave me a look of almost horror. I remember feeling that I had somehow done something wrong.
As an adult and looking back on this incident I can certainly understand how my mother must have felt. What kind of child is this who sees something before it is actually here.
The next incident was when I was five years and eight months old. My dearest cousin Shirley had come with my aunty Alma (her mother of course) to spend the summer months with our family as they had done for several years in a row. We were only four months apart in our ages. Shirley was to turn six in September while I would turn six on the 31st of December. What a wonderful fun filled summer it was. Then came the dreaded day when Shirley would have to return home by train to Prince Albert with the promise to return for Christmas holidays. I felt fine about all of it until Shirley and aunty Alma got into a taxi which would take them to the train station. My mother and I were standing on our front porch waving good-bye when Shirley pressed her smiling face up against the taxi window. Like a knife to my heart I realized that I would never see her again and so I started to scream to my mother don’t let her go cause I will never see her again. My mother scolded me and told me to stop acting like a baby and go to my room. Of course you will see her again when Christmas holidays arrive. I continued to cry and insist that I would not see her again. Finally in desperation as the taxi drove away my mother smacked by bottom and sent me to my room where I lay on my bed and sobbed for hours.
Well, while on route by train to Prince Albert, Shirley became quite ill. By the time they arrived home and got her to a hospital, she died of black diphtheria and double pneumonia. The morning she died which was somewhere in the neighbourhood of five a.m. my sisters Alice and Lorna, my brother Roland who was seventeen months older than me, and myself all shared one very large bedroom which had what would later be referred to as a picture window. We were all awakened by a loud banging noise on said window. Alice jumped up and ran to get our mom and dad. The moment my mother entered the room she raised the blind on the window and a very large black bird was flying into the window. It would hit the window, retreat and then return to hit the window once again. I can still see and hear my mother as she raised her hands to her face and cried oh my God someone has just died. Within a few hours a telegram arrived announcing Shirleys death. I remember thinking to myself, I tried to tell you not to let her go home. Why didn’t you listen to me. They brought the body back to Winnipeg in a sealed cedar lined coffin. Due to the nature of the illness that claimed her life, the coffin had to be sealed.
The funeral was heartbreaking. In those days parents took all their children to every family funeral and so there I stood amidst my brothers, sisters, and cousins as we watched my aunty Alma throw herself across the coffin as they were lowering and screaming my baby, my baby. I think my heart broke that day into a million pieces. A cousin of ours whose name was Delores was the only one of us children not crying. My oldest sister Alice asked her why aren’t you crying Delores. She replied very matter of fact like why should I cry I will see her shortly. Delores died three weeks later of encephalitis.