It was a day just like this two years ago but I remember it as though it was yesterday. Even my husband is still talking about it. We were out for a drive, an Autumn afternoon right around 4 p.m, exploring the outskirts of Connecticut, on a road we’d never traveled before.
“Slow down or you’re going to hit a deer.”
The words were out of my mouth before I processed the thought, hitting the air like a punctuation mark. They’d come through me; they were not “of” me; not born of fear or conscious awareness. But of knowing. In my mind’s eye, I saw the deer on the right side of the road (my passenger side). And then came the words of warning. Like I said, through me, as though I was simply a conduit for the world beyond.
My husband, bless his soul, who always says he won’t get on the plane if I say not to, took his foot off the gas and let the car slow from its 55mph. In less than 30 seconds, the deer was right there, catapulting across the road from the driver’ side. My husband braked, giving the deer full access to the road. No one was hurt. Surprised. Not not hurt. But he’d come from the left side. I was so disappointed. I’d seen him on the right. Was my radar off?
But then, get this: that beautiful deer stopped on the shoulder, on my side, looked directly at us with those big brown eyes and nodded a thank you before sprinting off into the woods.
We barely talked for the rest of the ride home. And when we did, it was mostly my husband peppering me with questions like, “how did you know . . .?” I don’t know how I knew. I just did. Another message, another gift from the beyond. — ps
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