Deja Vu?

A long, long time ago my grandfather had a dream about my parents and my brother having an accident on the way to Hyderabad. They were driving from Bombay to visit my grandparents. My grandfather dreamt that my parents hit the 7th pillar of a bridge, but no one was seriously hurt.
The next day when they were late in arriving, my grandmother started to panic and my grandfather told her - Don't worry, they've had an accident, but they'll be fine and they'll be here soon.

Last week, I had a dream. I dreamt of a neighbour who I had not seen in several months, and hardly ever spoke to even when I did see her. We were in church, and celebrating some event - it seemed like an anniversary of sorts. I thought it strange the next morning, because this woman was not close to me, nor a close friend of my family, but gave it no more thought.

That afternoon, my mother sent me a message saying that the neighbour had died that morning.

A few days later, I was speaking of a friend who I hadn't heard from in a very long time - and a few hours after that, he called to say hello.

For several years now, I have very strong, recurring thoughts to call a friend at strange hours of the night. And when I call the next morning or afternoon, she tells me that she had been feeling low or depressed the night before.

I'm not a great believer in the sixth sense - women's intuition, sure! But never this level of premonition.

I'm starting to scare the crap out of myself!

Do you really?

A few days ago I heard someone say about me, "Oh yeah, I've known her for years...I know her like I know myself."

That got me to thinking, how much do people really know about each other? Certainly not as much as they think they do.

One of my best friends has no idea that one strange night when I was seventeen years old, he saved my life. With a hug.

My siblings have no idea how many times I've wished I were an only child. And how many more times I've been grateful that I'm not.

A boy somewhere in America thinks nothing of the time that will remain my single worst regret.

Another boy in America will never know exactly how thankful I am for his friendship, and above all, his honesty.

My mother remembers nothing of the sheer terror I felt when she lost me, twice.

A childhood friend has no idea that I walked in on her father and his mistress when I was 9 years old. I didn't have any idea either until much, much later.

The scary/interesting thought is that everyone else I know, or think I do, is just the tip of an iceberg.

Vindicated

To my father, who once threw out several pairs of shoes belonging to my sister and I - I finally have a justification beyond any argument.

Life is too short for ugly shoes.

So there.