Years ago, I worked for a wonderful woman who was a great boss and a good friend.  She had struggled for years to conceive a second child.  One day in a staff meeting, she grinned and told everyone the news, she was finally pregnant.  As soon as she said it, a wave of complete nausea settled in the pit of my stomach.  Dear God, I knew without a doubt she would loose the baby.  I was heartbroken for her.  Yet, she was laughing and joyful sharing her good news with the group.  What could I do?  I forced a smile on my face and congratulated her.

Each day watching her anticipate the new life within was torture.  My knowing that it would end badly did not help her at all.  Even though we were close, I could not tell her.  What would be the point?  Even if she knew she could not change the outcome.  So I hid my sorrow and played along.  After a few months of agony the inevitable crisis finally occurred.  Over the weekend, she had started to hemorrhage badly and was rushed to the emergency room.  Not only did she loose the baby, but she almost bled to death.  She had to have emergency surgery to stop the bleeding.

Did I make the wrong choice?  Was I supposed to warn her?  Even if I had, I don’t think she would have listened.  I am convinced telling her would have ended our friendship. This painful experience left me with so many unanswered questions.  What is the purpose of knowing the future if it can’t be changed?

I do feel that there is a broad sense of meaning in the universe.  But I am not convinced that our individual experiences are micro-managed by a puppet master.  To me it feels more like a maze that we are challenged to navigate with the tools we have been given.  Back then my future sense only surfaced rarely or maybe I only paid attention when it was dire. So most of the warnings I received years ago were related to death.  So rather than welcome the warnings, I felt burdened by a knowledge I did not feel ready to share.  All I could do was stay close and spend as much quality time as possible with those who seemed to be at risk.  As I look back now, maybe I was missing the point.

As I have learned more about the unexplained, I see so many possibilities.  Rather than telling them about the warnings, maybe I should have intervened.  Should I have helped them prepare for death in some way?  Should I have comforted them and reassured them that death is only a step on our journey?  Should I have tried to heal them?  As bizarre as that may sound to modern folk, there is research to suggest it is possible, not to mention thousands of years of tradition.  But even now years later, with a much stronger sense of the reality of the immaterial world, I still don’t know.

This is the reason I am sharing my stories.  I don’t have the answers, but I can’t be the only person struggling with the questions.  I would love to hear from the others who are on a similar journey.  Maybe together we can find some answers.