I've been trying to come to grips with the fact that I am a "psychic" for quite a long time now. Actually, most of my life would be more like it. I hear people who are not physically present. I smell smells that no one else smells. I feel the presence of the dearly departed and of spirit guides, angels and others. Using the word "psychic" to describe myself is a concept so foreign to me that it might as well come from the planet Uranus because "psychics" are those folks who do the lecture circuits and help police solve murders and mysteries - not me.
I am the oldest of 3 the surviving kids my parents raised. One sister died before I was 6 years old. She was born with a tumor that turned out to be a then incurable form of cancer, Wilm's tumor. She was the dearest, sweetest little sister a kid could have. I remember her as a special angelic girl. She was also horribly sick for most of her life as I remember it. When she died we kids were told that Lis went to live with Jesus and God in heaven and that we had to be very good children so we could live there with her after we died when we were much older. I asked my folks several times why I had to wait to see her when I knew she was with us and trying to talk to us every day. That went over like the proverbial lead balloon. My butt sat in a chair in the corner for several hours over a period of days for that thought. It was a truth, but, still, not something either of them wanted to here, let alone learn that I was experiencing it.
What really got me into trouble though, was my insistence that Lis was visiting me at night after I had been put to bed and told to go to sleep. She really was coming to visit me. I saw her. I hugged her. I laughed with her and sat talking on the bed with her from about 3 days after her death till she told me she wouldn't be coming back to visit any more because she had to move on. For those of you curious as to how long she visited - 42 days - 6 weeks - the time it takes to go through the Buddhist Bardo of Becoming - that's how long she visited me every night. That is also how long my parents would swat my backside once or twice and tell me for the 2nd or 3rd time to "hush and go to sleep for cryin' out loud already!" Daddy told me once he did see her - one time - but, that I needed to stop saying that I was talking to her because Mom was so upset at her death my talking about seeing Lis was tearing Mom apart. Mom never did see her. Nor did she think it was a good idea to be sitting up on the bed every night talking to Lis about death, dying, what both of them felt like to experience, what it was like in heaven, what I would be when I grew up, and the fact that I would be something special to many people and be able to help them just by being myself. That last bit didn't make sense to me then. I'm still trying to figure that out all these years later.
So, to put it plainly. I wasn't even 6 years old yet and my sister died. I became aware that I was psychic. It's an odd combination. But it was just that. She died and I became what I am now, psychic.