Thirteen
When I look back over the years with my grandmother and three great aunts, I am still amazed at the strong psychic abilities and the little magicks they did with no questions or raised eyebrows from anyone. Great Aunt Leta set a candle in the window over the Winter Solstice holidays to “guide our lost loved ones home for the holidays.” Great Aunt Glade, still wearing her corset at age one hundred, seemed to know ahead when she would get visitors. And my grandmother talked to her deceased youngest sister who often appeared at the foot of her bed. Except for my father’s dowsing abilities, the psychic traits seem to have skipped a generation. Even then, the families of my two paternal aunts and uncle showed no talents—just my father’s children.
Even my mother had death warnings of those within her family during World War II. Goddess knows, nearly all the men in the extended two families and one aunt were in the military during that time. Aunt Viola, my favorite aunt, was killed over Northern California co-piloting a B52 bomber that came in for repairs. We lost no one else, but had a few wounded.
We weren’t any monetarily rich family, far from it. We were rich in psychic abilities though. One night when I read tarot cards for my mother, I missed laying out the possible future card, and my mind froze. I knew she had no future. The rest of the cards said her death would come in a few years, and it did. She passed over in her sleep.
I am thankful that I inherited my psychic traits from the Corbin and Smith families and had the opportunity to see this family accept them as normal. My ancestors set my feet on the path I follow today.