Psychic Gifts


You know, I didn’t want to reflect on 9-11, but ended up having my walls ripped down and having to look at what happened that day.

It’s actually a little frustrating to me. On Facebook, everyone is posting horrible pictures and talking about sadness and support and really dredging up the drama. I put up my shields and skip past the pictures, hoping the day will soon be over so that we can back to the normal dribble and poster sharing.

But, while out on my 4 mile walk, I decided to check in with Facebook and a post from someone that I highly respect took my breath away and completely ripped down my walls so that I had to remember that day. After reading his post, I just stood there on the side walk and cried. I cried for him, his pain, his loss.

The day personally affected him in a major way. You see, he worked for the airline of one of the high-jacked planes. He had been on that exact flight just 2 days before and many of the crews that were lost, he had personally trained and certified. It could have so easily been him on that plane, but instead was people he knew.

Soon after 9-11 and because of that horrendous day, he decided to become the Security Executive Officer for the airline and held that position for 12 years.

I forget, or maybe I want to forget, how many people were effected by that act of evil.

I have compassion for everyone involved and don’t want to belittle the day at all…but the feeling is overwhelming.

As far as I know, I didn’t lose any family in that destruction. But, it affected me in a different way, in a way that I don’t usually talk about as some people will not believe or think I’m crazy. Hell, some days I do feel crazy until it happens again.

It seems that the Universe has chosen me to be a psychopomp. Someone that helps others cross over. Lucky me, I also get to see and feel the fear someone has right before they die, during, and after. This happened in the Oklahoma City bombing and again when the Twin Towers came down.

Her name was Diane and she was running down the stairs. She is the one I remember. The pain, the screaming, the noise of the explosion and the building falling in on itself. I’ll never forget the sound. But, I did my job and I held her hand as she ran. Then, when it was time, I helped her cross over. I helped many that day, but she is the one that I remember the name of. I shut out the feelings after her and did my job.

Then, I cried. And then I put up the walls to protect myself.

I have a lot of walls in place. Another layer.

Sometimes I want to research her name to make sure that she was real and I’m not crazy. But, if I found her name or her picture, I know me, I’d obsess over it, over her. So, I don’t look.