Before I tell my story, I'd like to give you a little bit of background about my son. First I need to mention my daughter and son have different dads. I was 35 when I got pregnant with my son; after having lost 3 babies in less than a year. Dalton was my second, and last, miracle which explains my profile name. Now, enough of that.
Dalton didn't speak clearly until he was 4. At 2 he started "talking" but not in a language that anyone understood. Even those of us who were in daily contact with him didn't understand a whole lot of what he said. He made animal noises like you wouldn't believe, but as for talking. Nope, didn't happen. As he got older, it started to concern his dad and me. My daughter talked at 18 months and even though I knew all kids are different, I was really starting to wonder if there was a speech problem.
Before enrolling Dalton in speech therapy (which he ended up not needing), I consulted with a woman who most would consider to be "unconventional" and she told me when Dalton was ready for me to understand him, I would. Now, she never met my son in person, just through me. She also told me (whitebuffalo - this is why the tears when I read your story) that my son has been on this earth several times before; that he has an old soul.
I told this woman one day Dalton was "talking" to someone I couldn't see or hear, in a language I couldn't comprehend, and that I didn't understand one blessed word that he was saying. We don't have any friends, neighbors, relatives who speak another language, so it wasn't that. He was clearly conversing with someone in "their" own language. During this "conversation," Dalton turned to me and spoke very clearly. I don't remember what he said, it really isn't important, but I remember how shocked I was because just seconds before he was talking in an unknown-to-me language, and then turned to me and spoke clearer than he ever had. After I told her that, she told me not to worry. That Dalton was talking to the Angels and, of course, they have their own language. Apparently I wasn't meant to be a part of that conversation.
I don't know why I didn't ask him who he was talking to. Maybe because he did it so often, I was just used to him talking like that. She also told me Dalton is very "in tune" to me and that his destiny is to be a healer and I am supposed to make sure he finds his path.
This woman also told me my son is one of the Crystal Children (which I knew absolutely nothing about; had never heard those words in my life) and explained that there are Indigo and Crystal Children and that Dalton was part of the latter group. I asked her if all children were one or the other and she said, "Not all children are Indigo or Crystal; just those who are chosen." And she explained to me that we are in the age of the Crystal Children. She said that Crystal Children are most recognized by their eyes. I never really thought too much about Dalton's eyes. Yes, they were beautiful, but I just figured that was because of his dad. She recommended a book dedicated to Indigo and Crystal Children; having been told I have a special child (Of course he is special! How could he not be? He is my son!) I bought that book before leaving her shop. Shortly after being told about the "eyes," my son and I were at a strip mall and a woman passed us. She turned around, came back to us and told me my son had the most beautiful eyes and she couldn't "get over" how amazing they were. They were almost mesmerizing, she said.
A week before I turned 40, something very bad happened in our family. (No, it wasn't me turning 40! I'm one of those women who proudly states my age. Could be because my son is still little, don't know. But my age doesn't bother me.) This affected me so strongly that I was afraid I would never recover. The sadness I felt was so overwhelming at times I felt it was going to consume me. A few months after this happened, I was rocking Dalton to sleep; probably more as comfort for me than for him. Anyway, I was sitting with my head back against the rocker/recliner, eyes closed, trying not to think about anything. Absolutely nothing. I was so tired of being sad. I just wanted peace right then. It was one time in my life I think I was able to put everything away and just bask in the love and comfort of my child.
Dalton was lying on my lap with his butt against my belly, head on my right arm, and legs against the left arm of the rocker. (Sounds uncomfortable when I describe it, but it was the way he always laid when I rocked him.) I was just gently rocking us and had been for awhile when he suddenly spoke. We hadn't been talking at all, just rocking, and I wasn't expecting him to say anything. I honestly thought he was asleep. I couldn't understand what he said because he was facing away from me, so I said, "What did you say, Little Man?" He turned to me, sat up, and placed his hand on my face and said "Don't be sad, Mommy. I'm okay. You'll be okay, Mommy, don't be sad." That's when I cried.