I Feel Too Much
Firstly, I don't believe I honestly have any psychic abilities, but I am a mass of emotions and feelings.I do often "feel" others pain and fear. I always have. I have tremendous empathy for abused, neglected, mistreated children. I have always assumed that this moment in my life played a significant role in developing my preoccupation with protecting children.
When I was five years old, my mother walked out on my father and was living with a sexual deviant, whom we will call "Ronnie" to protect the raping, psychotic SOB.
She made the decision to leave me (an only child) with my maternal grandparents to remove me from the unhealthy situation. During my childhood, my grandparents owned and managed an apartment complex. Shortly after placing me with my grandparents , my mother gave birth to Ronnie's illegitimate child. Sometime later she moved into one of the apartments that my grandparents owned after having a spat with her predator boyfriend, Ronnie.
Her and my 7-8 month old baby brother lived upstairs in an apartment, just a staircase away from where I was still residing in my grandparents home, because "Ronnie" was fond of showing up unexpectedly in the middle of the night. It was decided that it would be safer for me to remain with them rather than with my own mother.
At five years old, I quickly adapted and before long I had a morning routine that included running upstairs to see my mother and my baby brother, before I left for the bus stop in the morning.
It was an ordinary, typical school day for me, so after getting dressed and having breakfast, I scampered up the staircase to say goodbye to my Mom and kiss my baby brother before heading off to school. When I entered the apartment, it was quiet and dark, which was not unusual. My mom had a habit of staying up very late and then sleeping in til the following afternoon.
The apartment was more like one large room, with different areas sanctioned off for the kitchen, bedroom, living room. The only room that a real door was the restroom and , of course, the front entrance. My mother slept on a queen size mattress and box springs that were placed on bed rails, with no headboard or footboard. The bed was pushed up against a wall, partially against an old window . The building was built before the second world war, the ceilings were very high and the windows were enormous and had large 4 inch window sills jutting out out from the wall. My brother's crib was not far from my mothers bed.
Per usual, I immediately ran over to his bed and began adjusting the blankets, in an attempt to wake him up, but to my surprise, I couldn't find him. I began searching around the small, one bedroom apt.. Even looking in the kitchen and restroom, to no avail.
Mystified, I finally went over to the bed and gently shook my mothers leg and asked, " Where is Wade? I can't find him. Where is he?" She mumbled something and rolled over. I don't know what made me think to walk around the bed, perhaps it was because I knew that she sometimes let him sleep in her bed with her when he cried and she didn't feel like getting up.
I went around the bed and checked under the blankets. Nothing. For some reason, I leaned over the edge of the bed and looked between the mattress and the wall. There was perhaps 3-5 inches of space between the two of them, except ofcourse, where the window sill was, the gap was much wider there.
I will never know what made me look down. Maybe something caught my eye, perhaps , it was a gut feeling. I can't remember. But there on cold, bare floor, lying partially hidden beneath the bed, was my baby brother.
He had these strange grayish blue splotches all over his body, I was going to pick him up, but when I reached down to touch him , his skin felt strange to me, cold. He did not move at all when I tried to get my hands around him. That is when I knew something was seriously wrong with him. I panicked and immediately began trying to shake my mom awake. I kept saying, "Why is Wade on the floor?" I don't know how many times I repeated the question. I just remember that it seemed like it took an eternity for her to really hear what I was saying. When she finally heard me and it finally sunk in, she jumped out of the bed, grabbed his little body from off the floor and took off running down the stairs to my grandmothers house.
I don't remember much of what happened later, I know my mom had to go away to a hospital and when she returned, some months later, she was very different. She seemed like she didn't want anything to do with me. I didn't understand why at the time, but as an adult, I have wondered if when she looked at me, if she remembered her tragic and fatal mistake.
As for me, I have had the same re-occuring dream for 30+ years. I dream that I am trying to rescue children from danger. Sometimes I am in a war zone, trying to hide a group of children from the enemy, sometimes I am locked in an empty warehouse with several children and there is a serial killer hunting for us. The details vary and the locales often change, but the theme is constant, I am responsible for rescueing a group of kids from some unknown evil.I