The Lady in the Red Hat

Happy Halloween from PsychicFlashes.com and @SweetNan1 on Twitte                                                                                              Happy Halloween

 

How did I know someone across the street was going to die, you may well ask? Because I saw the Lady in the Red Hat. As soon as I saw her, It all came flashing back to me. My mother had seen her. My grandmother had seen her. My great-grandmother had seen her. And now, this “knowing” had come to me in a burst of energy that almost knocked me off my feet.

Like a vein of gold, psychic energy runs through my family as far back as we can trace. It is more prominent in the female side in an everyday sort of way, but the male side carries it in a different form. I have two brothers, David and Brother Jim. Brother Jim, a minister, is strong in his gift, and uses it to assist the people, sometimes complete strangers, who by some means are drawn to come to him for guidance. His kindness and patience is endless, as is his wisdom. His gift of prophecy is strong, and to me, frightening.  I believe he has a pipeline to heaven.  He knows.  He just knows.

My brother David passed away some years ago. He grew up to be a big, ruggedly handsome man who worked jobs involving hard physical labor, and he liked to drink and fight. About six months after his death, he proceeded to call each member of the family. We all recognized his distinctive raspy voice immediately; there was no mistaking it.

I told one of my longtime Twitter friends about these phone calls. He was amused to no end, and remarked that it must have been one hell of a phone bill.  Well, I guess it was toll-free. At any rate, David is now my spirit guide. He does come through with some good information sometimes, but as he was in life, he is irresponsible, playful, and inconsistent. When I need him, I can’t find him most of the time. Then when I am busy with other matters, he pops up, wanting to talk, tease, and vent his frustration and anger. Some newbie to his plane had made sarcastic remarks, and David was making plans go “kick his ass into the next galaxy!” Oh, yes, that’s my brother, all right.

 

 

 

 

But back to the lady of death, I think my grandmother saw her more times than any of us. She and my mother have left me a clear picture of what happens when the lady in the red hat visits. Picture a quiet neighborhood street in the 1940’s – a pretty tree-lined street with attractive, well-kept wood and brick houses. Almost all had big front porches with steps leading down to a sidewalk and front yard. A popular trend in those days was a rose garden in the side yard, and these lent both fragrance and beauty.

There were not very many cars in view. If the family had a car, the husband drove it to work every day. The women stayed home to cook and clean. There were no TV antennas sprouting from rooftops, although some families did have primitive black and white sets with rabbit ears to coax scratchy images to appear. I remember when I first saw a television screen. Liberace was performing, and I asked Mother, “Who is that pretty man?” Some households also had a telephone shared with their neighbors via a party line, and although nobody would admit to doing it, listening in on other people’s phone calls was a major source of entertainment, followed by gossip and much hilarity.

I wondered a great deal about the family legacy left me. I can’t say I was obsessed, but certainly intrigued enough to border on it. I know my mother had more to impart to me before the cancer took her so suddenly. But I had quite enough on my hands trying to balance my normal life with my paranormal life. It is like walking on eggshells all the time to keep the two from merging, however slightly. I supported myself by working as a medical assistant during the day. I seemed to be good at it, and have a naturally gentle nature. However, I had to struggle not to show reactions, good or bad, because the minute I touched a patient, I knew much more than I wanted to know.

And at night, I gave psychic readings. I had a select following who were willing to come to my home for a reading, even if they lived in another state, or indeed, another country. They knew if they “outed” me, they would never receive another reading, and all had profited in some way from their readings.

 

When I saw the lady in the red hat, I was relaxing with a cup of tea at a table next to a front window. What came to mind were the Salvation Army ladies of yore with their neat gray suits, dark stockings and dark low-heeled shoes.

She walked at a moderate, purposeful pace, looking neither left or right. She walked down the sidewalk and when she came to the Misses Jensens’ home, turned without hesitation. She made her way up the walk leading to the front door, climbed three steps to the front porch, and proceeded to knock on the door.

I was mesmerized, and at the sight of the red hat she wore, air seemed to whoosh out of me, my legs grew weak, and my whole being dissolved into a hazy gray mist.

I wakened later, lying in my own bed, with no recall of undressing and going to sleep. Clarity began to trickle back like rain dripping off the eaves. I knew the younger Miss Jensen, Margaret, was dead. She had had an aneurism near her brain stem, and it had suddenly given way.

This was not unusual knowledge for me to have. All my life I have known when a person would die and the reason for the death, but in this instance, it felt different. Very different.

The usual preparations were made for Margaret Jenson. She had some relatives coming from out of state to attend the funeral, so it took slightly longer than usual. Condolences were sent, flowers were ordered and delivered, mountains of paperwork was signed and filed, death certificates requested and paid for. The will left everything to Margaret’s sister, Eileen. They had lived in the home they owned jointly for almost thirty years.

I hated to go to funerals. The psychic sensations of both the living and the dead would envelop me so strongly I could barely function. I had not been to a funeral since my mother died; it was just too painful. But I had known Margaret and Eileen for years and years, and it would have been unthinkable not to attend my neighbor’s funeral.  As you may have noted, funeral attire has changed greatly. No more stark black suits and black hats with thick veils, just simple dark colored clothing was suitable now. I remembered that I had a blue and gray silk dress that was just a little too long for me put away in a spare closet; if my memory served, that would do very well with some medium heeled black slingback shoes that were comfortable.  I would not attempt to walk on grass in high heels again.  I learned my lesson on a rainy day long ago at Forest Lawn

I had an odd feeling as I went to the spare bedroom and looked in the closet. I couldn’t bring myself to look for the blue dress. My eyes were drawn as if by force to the top shelf where a red pillbox hat with a small red veil rested upon a box.

 

It has taken me years to come to terms that I am the Lady in the Red Hat; the Lady of Death. I never have any memory of my visits to various homes, and I don’t know if I am visible to others during my calls. Now I know why I sometimes wake up in my own bed soaking wet or freezing cold. It was more than simple sleepwalking.

It causes me to wonder if both my mother and my grandmother, and perhaps even farther back than that, served as the Death Lady. I tried to ask David, my spirit guide, about it, but he just laughed at me and said I would find out when I was supposed to find out. But he did tell me that there were many, many people who performed the death notification function, silently, unknown, and so secretly they themselves didn’t know.

I would advise you to go and look in your closet. You may want to fortify yourself with a little cooking sherry first.

Bye for now from Sweet Nan.

 

 

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