She was the first psychic I ever met. The littlest, too.
At her third birthday party she made the prediction, “I’m going to be a year older.”
As though by prophecy, she turned four a mere year later. Then she predicted, “I’m going to be a year older.”
No one had the gift like my little girl. She always knew I wanted strawberry ice cream for dinner, whether or not I agreed. She always knew what movie we were going to watch. And every year she predicted, “I’m going to be a year older.”
She was only wrong once. I miss her guidance so.