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The Buenos Diaz Psychic Network

By Gloria Diaz

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Fort Wayne Reader

2005-10-31

There are things that happen to me every so often that make me think there’s something else going on that is bigger than all of us, a life force of some kind that we can’t understand. Some may dismiss it as coincidence, but sometimes the situation is downright spooky.

Several weeks ago, I was sitting with a group of people who shared what the names of their pets were. One woman said she had a pit bull named Dora. Now, Dora is not a name you hear often, nor does one associate it with a pet, especially a pit bull. I went home that night and checked e-mail, and in my in box
was an e-mail from a very old friend (we met in kindergarten) named Dora. What are the odds? I haven’t heard from Dora for years, had no idea where she was, had forgotten her e-mail address. So when the woman said her dog’s name was Dora, was this a sign that an old friend would resurface?

A few months ago, I was on Coliseum Boulevard, sitting in front of McDonalds. I was waiting for the light to change, when I remembered a childhood incident. My mother, who was driving our 1968 Chrysler Newport, had run out of gas in probably the very same spot where I was sitting. Why I thought of that moment, I don’t know. But about 30 seconds later, what do you think was in the opposite lane, heading west on Coliseum? A 1968 Chrysler Newport, the same color as our old one. This happened shortly after my mother died, and I can’t help but think it was, as a former friend might describe it, my mother’s way of saying “hello.”

Years ago, that same friend of mine and I were looking around an antique mall. What did I find but a purse exactly like the one my father brought me from Mexico when I was a kid. Of course, I bought it, not realizing I still had the original purse my father brought me. Dad was saying “hello,” I couldn’t ignore him.

Nor can I ignore my dreams. As a kid, I thought I was psychic, because I’d dream about plane crashes, and they’d come true in a few days. The one that stands out the most vividly was the time I dreamed about a 727 from an airline I’d never heard of that crashed in the woods.

A week later, an Avianca Airliner went down in a wooded area. It as a 727. I was 13 at the time. What adolescent girl is familiar with what commercial airliners look like? I guess I was, because the year before, our family had gone to Puerto Rico. Three weeks before we left, an American Airlines DC-10 had crashed on takeoff from O’Hare airport. I was obsessed by the type of aircraft we would be flying on when we took our trip. I was relieved to find out we would be flying on a Boeing L-1011, NOT a DC-10.

And no, I didn’t dream about that one.

Another strange experience happened in high school. This guy was bothering me, and since he was in my homeroom, I couldn’t escape him. I hated him. I was wishing something bad would happen so I didn’t have to deal with him. Shortly after wishing, he ended up in a really bad car accident that kept him out of school for weeks. He was so messed up, he had to relearn stuff like the alphabet.

Consider yourself warned.