I was always under the assumption that I had had a broken foot when I was a small child. I remember being in a park and getting too close to a palomino horse pulling a carriage. The horse stepped on my foot. Later, I recall slipping something down inside the cast time and again to relieve the itching. My mother assured me that I had never had a broken foot, but my ankle has always been weak. I have turned it over numerous times, once so badly that I was hospitalized for two days.

Another time, I remember my father taking me to a place that looked like a mausoleum. We descended about ten steps where he proceeded to remove a small box from a stone wall. In it was a baby that was petrified or something similar. It was a human form, of that I am sure, and it was very small and really shrunken. Most of all, I remember the smell of the place. It was very old and musty smelling. The place seemed too old to have been in this present time. My father was not one to take me out on his own, without my mother, and I am sure that she was not along. I was very sad to be there, and so was he, it seemed. I have no idea what this experience was other than a memory from a former life. My father thinks that I am a little wacky and denies that it ever happened.

Jonnie

Jsur700541@aol.com