When I was little, I apparently was able to see, sense, and talk to spirits. The ability slow diminished over time and now I can only sense and see them if I'm caught off guard.
So this is a story my mother told me about when I was 3-years-old (I'm 21 now).
I was a chatty 3-year-old. I would like to talk to people and I'd also be rather blunt with what I said. I could easily make friends, to much of my mother's delight, with older and younger kids. I was never alone or lonely.
My mother had just given me a bath for the night, made sure everything was locked and the alarm was on before telling me to play by myself so she could shower. I apparently had told her that I was going to play with the new friend I made and she laughed it off, thinking I was going to play with the new Barbie that my great grandma had gotten me.
A short time passed and my mom got out of the shower, got dressed, and was ready to put me to bed. I was nowhere in the house. My mom checked everywhere, but she simply couldn't find me. Hearing some laughter coming from our backyard, she looked to see me on my swing set. (Now, some background to this, I had two swings on my swing set. One swing was low to the ground, so I would be able to get on by myself, and the other was rolled up to be a little higher, just so I wouldn't try to George of the Jungle from swing to swing.) She rushed out, making sure to disarm the house and unlock the door, and found me on the taller swing - the one I'd never be able to get up on by myself. I was swinging happily, with the lower swing next to me also moving like it had someone on there. My mom was scared, snatching me up, asking me what was wrong, how I got out there, and how I got up on the swing.
I explained to her that I was playing with my new friend, like I had told her, and she helped me climb onto the big girl swing. I also exclaimed that my new friend was a year older than me, she always wore her nightgown, and she said she lived down the street from me. My mother rushed me inside, locking all the doors behind her and asked me what the name of the girl was. D'Anna.
My mother was shocked.
The year I was born, 1996, a little 4-year-old-girl was raped, murdered, and stuffed into a trashcan right down the road from where we lived. Granted she died in February and I was born in June, I would have never met her. Our paths would have never crossed. My mother remembered how nice the little girl was when she would come up to play with our neighbors.
I don't remember how I got out, or how I got up onto that swing, but I remember how nice D'Anna was and how she smiled.
If you want to find out more about D'Anna (or proof she even existed) follow these two links: