From: "Leonie Windmill" email@example.com
Date: Wed, 02 Aug 2006 16:20:35 +1030
Location: Sydney, Australia
My siblings and I decided to throw a 70th birthday party for our mother in March 2000. It was to be the first "big" celebration in the family since our fathers death in 1995.
It was a big party; children (five of us), husbands and partners, grandchildren (with and without partners), great grandchildren, extended family, life-long friends, cateres, a marquee, the whole works. My siblings decided I should give the speech as I am the more outgoing of the tribe (even though I am the youngest!).
During the speech, I began to feel a bit light-headed and stumbled over my words for a few moments (probably a second or two). I felt my (then) husband grab my hand to steady me and quickly finished my speech. Once it was over and our mother had thanked everyone, my husband pulled me aside to ask if I was OK because apparently, I didn't look well.
I told him that this would be my mother's last birthday. I knew that if I had her at 71, I would have her until she was 101! But I knew, simply knew, that this was to be her last birthday with us. He told me not to be ridiculous, but I just knew in my heart that this was true.
Unlike my father who experienced a long, drawn-out, painful death, my mother, apart from the odd cold, had always experienced good health, and apart from a couple of slight ailments courtesy of her age, she was in great health.
I knew I couldn't keep this "knowing" hanging around me and dragging me down, so I simply filed it away. I also knew I could do nothing to stop it.
On a Tuesday in December 2000 I received a phone call from one of my sisters telling me Mum had had a suspected stroke and was in hospital undergoing tests to determine the extent of the damage. I rushed to Sydney to be with her. She was alert but it was obvious rehabilitation was necessary before she could go home. On the Sunday night, Mum experienced a massive stroke which took her life the following Wednesday.
When I saw my estranged husband (we had separated six weeks before Mum's passing), I yelled at him, "I told you! I told you!" and he just held me and said he remembered.
I have only has this feeling one more time and it was with a friends step-father. We were at his 60th birthday celebrations and I told my friend, "Remember that 'knowing' I had about my mother?" He looked at me and nodded. Later he asked, how long? I didn't know, but it was only three months later that we were attending his step-dad's funeral.
I have "felt" many things before, but these two "knowings" were much more powerful and I knew I wasn't able to stop their outcomes. Perhaps it was because I was so close to my Mum and so much like her that made me read her, or maybe she (or someone else) was trying to prepare me. Why I was able to read my friend's step-dad, I don't know. I'd only met him a few times previously, maybe I was susposed to prepare his step-son. I do know that I never wish to experience this type of "knowing" again.