The Sixth Sense

There are those who say we all have it, a sixth sense, a kind of extra sensory perception that surfaces unexpectedly at exceptional moments in our lives. Others would probably write these unsettling experiences off as coincidence. I’ve had three such experiences and I’m curious to know if any of you have had anything similar happen to you.

Let me first tell you that I do not pretend to be even a tad psychic although after reading this you may conclude that I am a little psycho. Or, like me, you may become a believer. Anyone who has read my “Other Deadly Things” series knows that Carrie has dreams that occasionally turn out to have some basis in a reality to come. We authors often draw from bits and pieces of our own lives. Carrie is not me and like me she is not prescient, but there is that sixth sense…

When my middle son, Bob was seventeen, he and a friend decided they wanted to take a tour of Brown University in Rhode Island to see if this was a school to which Bob would like to apply. My husband and I drove Bob as far as Worcester, Massachusetts where we planned to visit family for the day. Bob’s friend, Joey picked Bob up there. The plan was for the boys to stay overnight with a friend who was a Brown student and then drive back to New Jersey the following afternoon.

6th_senseMy husband and I arrived back home pretty late that night and almost immediately went to bed and fell asleep. At about three a.m. I suddenly woke with my heart pounding, to the sound of our two dogs barking and the doorbell ringing. Bob was at the front door calling to me, I was certain of it. When I managed to pry my eyes open, glance at the clock and sit up, the ringing had stopped and the dogs were sleeping. Nonetheless I got up, grabbed my robe and went to the door. No Bob. What’s the matter with me? I thought. The kids aren’t due home till late afternoon. Still the dream had seemed so real.

At around eight in the morning, the doorbell rang and the dogs began barking. When I got to the front door, there was Bob looking exhausted and disheveled. Why was he home so early when we had insisted the boys drive back in daylight? Well, it seemed Joey’s mother had called. Joey was in trouble, something to do with poor grades and he was to come home immediately. At two in the morning, they left a party to which they had been invited and began the drive back. Bob fell asleep on the back seat. Joey fell asleep at the wheel. The car flipped.

How the two of them escaped injury or worse I will never know and I can only thank God or a passing guardian angel because the car was totaled. I asked my son what time the accident had occurred.

“About an hour after we left the party,” he said. “Around three, I guess.”

How to explain it? Call me crazy, but I will always believe that I heard my son calling to me at the moment that car flipped. Is it that there is a bond between mother and child that remains unbreakable no matter how old the child? Or could it have something to do with the maternal instinct? I don’t know.

But I had a similar experience when my youngest son Doug, jumped off a cliff into a lagoon in Hawaii, didn’t step out quite far enough and caught the back of his head on a rock as he went down. Again I woke with my heart pounding. This time I remember having had a disturbing dream but it had nothing to do with Doug. I do, however, remember saying to my husband that the last time I woke in a panic, was the time Bob and Joey’s car flipped. Shortly thereafter, the phone rang.

The third time I was at Cornell where Bob was now a student. It was parents’ weekend. My husband had not wanted to come, pleading a conference he needed to attend. That was unusual in that he had never missed a parents’ weekend for any of the boys before this. It was still dark when I woke, again with my heart pounding. This time my dream was crystal clear. I saw my husband in bed with a young, blonde woman.

No maternal instinct at work here and probably not even my famous (or infamous) sixth sense. Undoubtedly that night my subconscious mind was messaging my conscious mind a wakeup call.

But how did I know the bimbo was young and blonde?

Speaking of bimbos, why is everyone getting on Hillary’s case for calling Monica a “narcissistic loony-tune?” This is not in any way to excuse Bill or my ex for their narcissistic womanizing, but having walked in shoes somewhat similar to Hillary’s, I thought she was being rather kind.

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4 Responses

  1. I don’t believe in that stuff either, except of course when it happens to me. One night, back in the 60s, I woke, or thought I did, to see my father standing at the foot of my bed. He’d been dead for about two years by then, He was looking at me sadly, shaking his head, and saying, Oy, Rochelle. The next morning I found out that my Aunt Minnie had died.

  2. I’ve heard too many similar stories not to suspend my disbelief. In the only instance from my own life, however, I knew Grandpa was dying when I “saw” him during my yoga meditation. I said good-bye, and he faded away. He didn’t, in fact, die for a couple months, but he was only semi-conscious at best most of that time.

    Monica was a “narcissistic looney-tune.” Good on Hillary for saying so.

  3. Eerie, but thoroughly believeable.

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