why I was being disciplined. After she calmed down, she would approach me, claiming she did it because she loved me.
At seven, a strange bearded man came to the door handing mother Christmas presents. I wasn’t much of a reader but as I struggled to see whose gifts they were. I noticed my name on a gift tag. A three letter word was printed under my name. After repeatedly sounding out the letters of the word was Dad. By then he was gone.
“Was that Dad?” I asked.
“Is he coming back? I want to see him.” Mother remained silent. I was upset and started to cry. I missed him and loved him very much.
At the end of grade two, I brought home my final report card. Mother handed me a card, wanting me to read it to her. I sat looking at it, but couldn’t read it. Minutes later she became angry. She grabbed me by the arm and led me to the door.
“I want you to walk to church and tell the priest what you did. If you don’t, there will be no supper tonight.”
I walked over to the church, hoping the priest would be there. I wondered if I would be able to get in. I arrived at the church, the door was unlocked and I went in. The priest came out of an office area.
“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,
