It started with the car ride.
He was in his usual spot, strapped into his car seat with his pacifier, looking out the window like he always does. Normally, he’d be humming or saying things like “doggy” or “uh-oh.” But that day, out of nowhere, he pulled the pacifier out of his mouth, pointed out the window, and said—clear as day—“That’s the place from before.”
I thought maybe I misheard him. He’s not even two yet. We’ve never been to that part of town with him before. I asked, half-laughing, “What place, baby?”
He turned to look at me with those big, curious eyes and said, “The place with the blue door. From before.”
My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t explain it, but I felt a chill run down my spine. My toddler was still learning how to form sentences. He hadn’t even said much beyond a few words up until now. So, for him to say something so specific, something I’d never mentioned or even seen him encounter, was unsettling.
“Sweetheart, what do you mean?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, despite the rising unease in my chest.
He pointed again, his little finger pressing against the car window as he said it again, this time with more certainty, “The blue door. From before.”
I glanced at the road. There was a small, old building on the corner with a faded blue door, nothing remarkable about it. It hadn’t been there long enough for him to have memories of it, and certainly not something that could explain his statement. But my mind raced. Was it possible he’d seen something from the past, some faint recollection of another time? Or was it just a fluke, a random word he’d picked up?
I tried to shake it off, but the nagging thought wouldn’t leave me. The rest of the drive was a blur. My mind kept drifting back to that moment. It seemed impossible that he could be referencing something from before, especially at his age.
When we got home, I brushed it off to my husband as just one of those odd, toddler things. But even he couldn’t stop asking, “You’re sure we’ve never taken him to that area?”
I was certain. There was no way he could’ve been there. Still, the thought of what he’d said kept swirling around. I kept telling myself it was probably just a coincidence, a strange jumble of words in his developing language. But deep down, a small part of me wasn’t so sure.
The next day, things got stranger. We were having lunch at the kitchen table, and he suddenly stopped mid-bite, staring at the empty chair across from him. His face was serious, his eyes wide. He pointed to the chair and said, “That’s where she sits. She’s coming back.”
I froze. “Who, sweetie?” I asked, though I was already starting to fear I knew what he meant. He’d been too young to remember anyone specifically, especially anyone who wasn’t part of our daily lives.
He blinked and looked at me as if I should already know. “The lady. With the red dress. She sits here.”
Now I was really getting uneasy. We had never had any woman over to sit at the kitchen table in a red dress. Not recently, not in any recent memory. My husband looked up at me, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion.
“Who do you think he’s talking about?” he asked, his voice tinged with concern.
I couldn’t answer. It felt like the pieces were starting to align, but they didn’t make sense. It wasn’t possible. Was it possible? Could a child that young be picking up on memories from another time? Maybe he had a vivid imagination, sure, but everything about his tone and certainty felt… real.
I didn’t mention it again. I wasn’t sure how. But it lingered in my thoughts. That afternoon, I decided to try something. I went up to the attic to search through some old family photos. Maybe I was looking for something to confirm my suspicions, or maybe I just wanted to put the whole thing to rest.
I hadn’t thought about it in years, but while digging through boxes, I came across an old family album I hadn’t seen in ages. It was from a time when I was a child, full of pictures of family gatherings, birthdays, and vacations. I flipped through it mindlessly at first, but then something caught my eye.
A woman in a red dress. She was sitting at a table, laughing with my parents and a few relatives I vaguely remembered. I stared at the photo for a long time, trying to recall any details, but I couldn’t. I didn’t recognize the woman, yet she looked familiar, like a ghost in the background of a life I had long forgotten.
I pulled the photo closer to examine it, my heart racing. The woman had dark, curly hair and a warm smile. She was holding a glass of wine, and she seemed completely comfortable, as if she belonged there. But the strangest thing was, she was sitting at the kitchen table—the exact spot my toddler had pointed to the day before.
My breath caught in my throat. Could this be who he was talking about? A woman I barely remembered from a photo? But then, how could he possibly know about her? He hadn’t even been born yet when this photo was taken.
I rushed downstairs, the photo in my hand. I sat down next to my husband and showed him the picture.
“This… this woman,” I started, feeling a lump form in my throat, “she’s the one he’s been talking about. The one in the red dress. But I don’t remember her. How could he?”
He looked at the photo, his face going pale. “I know her,” he whispered, almost to himself. “She was an old family friend. She… she passed away when I was little.”
My heart sank. I stared at him, unsure of how to process what he was saying.
“Wait, what?” I said, voice trembling. “How is that possible? How could he know about someone who passed away long before he was even born?”
He sat there for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the photo, deep in thought. Then he looked up at me, eyes wide with a mix of disbelief and fear.
“I don’t know. But I think… I think maybe your son is remembering something from a past life. It sounds crazy, I know, but you’re not the first to talk about this kind of thing. People say children sometimes have memories of things they shouldn’t. Maybe he’s somehow connected to her.”
The words hung in the air like a weight. I didn’t know what to make of it. Past lives? It sounded like something out of a dream. But then again, how could we explain the uncanny way my toddler was identifying people and places he couldn’t possibly know about?
As the days passed, the strange occurrences continued. My toddler would point out random objects in the house and say things like, “That’s where my teddy sleeps,” even though we had never put a teddy in that particular spot. He’d point to a vase and say, “That’s where I put my flowers. From before.” The eerie repetition of his statements was too much to ignore.
Then one afternoon, after a particularly strange incident where he had asked about a red car that had never been in our driveway, I decided to do something I hadn’t thought of before: I reached out to a local psychic. I didn’t believe in this sort of thing, but I couldn’t help but wonder if there was something more to my son’s words.
I won’t pretend that the session made everything clear, but it gave me a sense of peace I hadn’t expected. The psychic told me that children, especially at my son’s age, are open to the world in ways we can’t fully understand. They’re closer to the “other side,” she said, and sometimes they carry fragments of memories from past lives.
The idea seemed impossible, but somehow it didn’t feel entirely wrong. It was as if the universe was reminding me that there’s much more to life—and to death—than we often realize.
I don’t have all the answers, but I’ve learned something important from this experience: Sometimes, the mysteries of life don’t have easy explanations. We may never fully understand why things happen the way they do. But as parents, we’re tasked with guiding our children through the unknown, no matter how strange it may seem.
And sometimes, it’s okay not to have all the answers.
If this story has made you think about your own experiences, or if it has reminded you of something strange but beautiful in your own life, I’d love for you to share it with others. Maybe you’ve had a moment like this, or maybe you know someone who has.
