Illustration by PJ 2007: The Birch Tree, symbolizing life itself
Hi! My name is Pamela. I live in San Antonio, Texas with my husband of 18 years, Guy, and our 3 dogs. :) I was born and raised in New York City. I grew up in a house in Queens that was buzzing with paranormal activity for all of my childhood.
First of all, my grandfather passed away on April 16th, 1962, of a stroke. My mother, a nurse at the time, was at his bedside when he died. I was born 4 years later, on the same day. I lived in the house with my mother and my younger sister, Cookie, upstairs from my grandmother. We didn't know for many years that the room we slept in belonged to our great grandmother, who died in her sleep in the same room.
My family has a history of foreseeing the future in dreams, and feeling and seeing things other people can't. You might call us, hyper-sensitives. It has taken years for me to accept the fact that this is what I am. I have had so many experiences that I don't know where to start but I've learned why they happened; there was an incredible amount of anger and tension in my house. My mother and grandmother did not get along at all....they would go for months without speaking. My mother was an alcoholic and suffered from depression. My grandmother was sick with diabetes and high blood pressure, and she survived breast cancer.
At age four, I saw something white float across the hallway; it looked exactly like the spirit that floated down the stairs in the movie "Poltergeist." I told my mother, and she believed me but she didn't try to investigate what I saw. I wasn't frightened by it either; I was more fascinated than anything else.
Things continued to happen all through my childhood, but the worst places in the house were the attic and the basement. The washing machine was in the basement, and whenever I was done with the laundry, I always felt the need to run out of there, like something was behind me about to get me. And I'd slam the door and lock it. The vibe in that room was very uncomfortable and most evil. The attic always seemed as tight as a tomb; even with the windows open, there didn't seem to be any air flowing there. All there seemed to be was residual tension with all the relics of my mother's unhappy past; her wedding gown, her shoes, my cousin's uniform and boots from when he returned from Viet Nam....Cookie and I loved to play in the wedding gown, but it always seemed to break my mom's heart just a little when she saw us in it.
As I got older, more started to happen. I heard dishes being banged around in the kitchen as I tried to sleep. About the same time every night, my mom and I heard banging on the walls in the living room. I was taught about the Bible and how God would protect you from these kinds of things if you prayed, but most of the time I was too paralyzed with fear to remember when these things would happen. The scariest thing that happened was when I heard heavy footsteps coming down on the attic stairs, down the hall, towards our room. I was so terrified I ran down to my grandmother and told her someone was in the attic coming to get us, and I had left Cookie upstairs. Cookie slept like a rock, she never heard a thing! But Grandma, up in age now, went with me all the way upstairs with her flashlight and a fireplace poker, and banged on the walls of the staircases, yelling at whatever was bothering me to come out. It was deadly silent, but just being with Grandma made me feel safe. We checked on Cookie and she was okay. I could feel that whatever was there was gone. She drank a hot cup of tea with me, and then she gave me her Bible and told me to sleep with it under my pillow that night. Whatever it was making all that racket that night didn't come back again.
Three months after I turned 18, my grandmother passed away. I saw her sitting in the living room like I had my whole life one day, only to realize that she was already gone. It all made me wonder if all the things that I'd seen and felt in that house was all just my mind playing tricks on me. No....it's all just sound proof to me that there is something that goes on after we pass this life. I was with both my mother and my grandmother when they took their last breath 21 years apart, at the same time of day. Nothing is a coincidence to me....part of the reason why I was put on this earth was to see them through.
I don't experience much anymore, but I still feel things when people talk to me or if I go into a place I've never been, if I see a picture, and I still have prophetic dreams. I'm also thankful that my mom and grandmother didn't dismiss me when I told them I saw or felt things....I'm so glad they believed me. People need to open their minds more; children are so open to these kinds of things happening to them, and they can feel so desperately alone when they don't have their parents' support.
So, that's my two cents. Thanks for listening!!
"Art never dies. Energy never dies. Love never dies." - Amerie
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