“Do we continue to share our time with the same souls, being reborn, year after year, time after time, within the same families, as brand new people; people who know one another; people who remain with you throughout time?”

On a Saturday night a few months ago, my son, child number four, and I sat in front of the television and watched a show about the ‘supernatural’. I forget the name of the show as I am not a huge fan of such shows, finding they are sensationalised by the producers, no doubt to draw viewers in with the unbelievable topics portrayed.

This particular show, however, did not slot into this category. The show may have been called “Celebrity Ghost Stories”, or some such name, as those chosen for the show, in which they shared their amazing but true stories, were celebrities.

One of the stories had my son gripping his seat, whilst declaring that he hated watching these types of shows, because they were too scary and would give him nightmares. But he didn’t leave the room, being so transfixed by the story being told.

As the story unfolded, the female celebrity told of an incident which happened many years ago in her home, when two little girls had appeared out of nowhere, and began to laugh and skip around one of the rooms in her home, laughing and playing together. Yet she didn’t know who these two girls were, she had never met them.

One night some time later, again, she heard children laughing and singing outside of her window at her home. She looked outside and saw the same two girls, playing together and having a lovely time as they chatted and laughed in their carefree way.

Fast forward to some years later, when the woman was married and had two daughters of her own, and she remembered the incidents from years ago, as she watched her two real daughters, playing together and laughing. She recognised the two girls she had seen before, many years earlier, as being her own two daughters!

My son heaved a sigh of relief. This woman hadn’t claimed to have been possessed by the spirits of two evil spirits, or any other such other gruesome ending to her story. My son declared that he had enjoyed her story, said goodnight, and off he went to his room.

What my son didn’t know was that I too had been mesmerised by the story, but for another, more personal reason.

In my early twenties I had longed to have a child, but my husband had other ideas, claiming we should wait until the “time was right”. In our home in Sydney, we had two spare bedrooms, the one at the back of the house being painted in light blue, and the room I had intended being the babies nursery, when my stubborn husband finally decided that it was the right time to start a family.

At first, I brushed off the faint smell of babies powder I could smell each time I went into the room, but as time progressed, it was there constantly, when I stood beside the window, looking out into the garden.

Within a few weeks, the laughter started.

I could hear the most beautiful babies laugh I had ever heard in my life. And I knew it was the laughter of a boy. He came to me a few times, and even though I didn’t actually see him, I heard him, and knew him. And he would talk to me at the most unexpected times.

Late one night, as I drove home alone, after a visit with a friend, the child told me that everything would be okay, that I shouldn’t worry about anything! His laughter and child’s voice rang in my ears, as clearly as if he sat right there beside me in the seat in my car, speaking to me.

The months passed by and he didn’t speak to me again, but I knew he was there, constantly.

It came as no surprise to me when I found out that I was pregnant with my first child. I didn’t think about the child’s laughter and voice during my pregnancy, but I knew my child was a boy. And, I knew him; we had been together before.

Right throughout the months of my pregnancy, to me, my son was Sam, although I knew my husband wouldn’t agree to the name, as it had been the name given to my father, grandfather and great-uncle. My husband didn’t want our family tree to appear “boring” with the same names repeated generation after generation.

When I saw my son for the first time, his soul was so familiar to me. There was no doubt in my mind that we knew each other, and now I could see him, touch him and knew what he looked like. Those seeing my new baby for the first time would often comment that he had an “old soul”.

His nappy change table sat right under the window in his blue room, right in the spot where I had smelled his baby powder, and as he grew, and I heard his laughter, I heard the exact same laughter of the child who had visited me, long before my son was born!

My eldest son is, and always has been, my rock; he makes everything alright for me. As a toddler, when we would park the car in a large shopping centre, I would worry that I might forget where I had parked the car, and my son would tell me not to worry, it would be alright, he would remember where the car was.

And so it has continued throughout his life. He makes everything alright for me. He tells me not to worry; he takes care of things, just as he did before his birth.

My next two children were daughters, and I could always rely on my son to watch out for his sisters, with his attitude of don’t worry, and casually, quietly and efficiently taking care of minor details that the two girls would overlook.

The day my son’s baby brother was born, when he was twelve years old, I was positively bursting to tell my boy that he had a baby brother. When I told him, as he stood beside my bed in the birthing room in the hospital, he told me he wouldn’t have minded being the only boy, he would love the new baby just as much as he loved his two sisters, regardless.

My new baby grew and his big brother played with him and cared for him constantly, just as he had played with and cared for his sisters.

And as time progressed, he nick-named his little brother George.

The name caught on, and for quite some time George was the alternate name used for my youngest child, and everyone knew who we were referring to. George suited him.

A few years ago, as I traced my family history and began to discover the names of my ancestors, I learned that my grandfather, Sam, had been a twin. The name of his twin brother, who had passed away at only one year old, was George.

Sam and George; the alternate names for my two sons. 🙂