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Tuesday, January 15, 2013

The usual

No, it's not Monday but my daughter had a bad pickup last night.

She came to me sometime around 2 or 3 in the morning. Startled me awake. "I'm scared of my room," she said to me.

She's 17 years old.

I asked her why, and she said she didn't know. So I moved over, made room in the bed (shoving my husband up against the wall) and that is where she spent the rest of the night.

She wavers between believing and not believing on what's going on. I watch her go through the things I went through - except on a more minor scale - and unlike my own parents did for me I do my best to be there for her. When she's having a believer day we'll talk about the things she remembers on her trips out - building machines mostly. It's close to what I did/do but not quite.

She approaches things better than I did, too. I'm a coward, always will be a coward. If confronted with something I'm likely to turn around and run the other way. But one night when she was staying up late to finish a project for school and weird things happened in the house while everyone else slept, she shouted at things to shut up she was trying to work. No time for nonsense, my daughter. Not even from ghosts.

So when she's creeped out by her room after waking up and tells me she felt like something was staring at her, that if she opened her eyes she'd see something she didn't want to see I'm going to take it seriously. And I do. Even through times when MUFON researchers were shown marks on her body after a pickup and they blew us off. Even when she scoffs at me about "that conspiracy shit" and doesn't want to hear it. She deserves someone to stand by her that can understand and relate. Because I used to wake up in the same way. Sometimes I still do, after a bad pickup.

Now her example is used by researchers as evidence that abductions follow bloodlines. But bloodlines are only part of the truth. I still remember the night my children were "picked", the night they were each given a gem inside their body (each a different color) and how sad I was. They weren't picked because they were mine, although I'm sure association with me made them easier targets. They were picked because they were smart. That I remember, too.