Memories...and, one of my reasons for belief in reincarnation..

I just turned onto the Ellen DeGeneris show, which I love by the way, after meditating and sleeping most of the day--in all honesty, mostly sleeping, because as I have mentioned in my latest post, which really is my "reality"..awake or sleeping?:)..anyway, she started to talk about a card trick and all ended up with was, "which was real", or something of that nature...all this started me thinking of when I was about 8 years old, around April or May, right before my father died when I was 8 years old in June, of 1953...we had just arrived in America in 1950 when I was 5 years old...I was born in a displaced persons camp after my mom escaped the communists not knowing she was pregnant with me....she gave me up for adoption when I was one year old to an older couple ( also in the DP camp)  who made it easier for them to come to America if they had a child...especially, an Estonian child---their preference...which I was;)  (still speak, read and write Estonian after all these years:);)...back to why I am writing this little blog..my father lay dying in the back room of where we were living...it was a house of about 4 floors--888 Asylum Ave., now torn down--I went to West Middle School, still there:)  that housed airline stewardess..guess they were learning to become one..not sure;  there were two attorneys by the last names of Rachlin, from New Britain, and Scoler--Atty. Scoler owned the best restaurant in Hartford!  It was on Farmington Ave., now, long gone..both of the gentlemen were lawyers;  for some reason, they sponsord my father, also a lawyer and judge in Estonia, to come to America.  He and my mother, a pharmacist in Estonia, did menial jobs in the four story house..my father got rid of the garbage, cleaned the yard, snow, planted flowers, which I still remember---daffodils and tulips in front of the house...next door, a beautiful, old house, which is still there and has many offices now, etc.,--- in there, lived an old lady with a black cat..I visited them daily...she always had brownies or cookies for me:) she was one the kindest souls in my life at the time...back to my father....I watched him die, day by day...Mr. Scoler, who came by to visit each day, always gave me handfuls of silver:  shiney, silver ones:)...five and ten cents went a long way then:) I would look for my roller skates if I couldn't find my red scooter..they were made of shiny steel or hard stuff like that..finally found them; then, it was off to find the key to tighten them up..another hour or so:)  off I went down Sigourney Street to a little grocery store and bought penny candy, ice cream, etc.,...that was my heaven!! Then, my father died....I rode my scooter across the street to the Baptist Church on the corner of Asylum and Sigourney Street..had no idea of the demonination, made no difference..it was God's house:)  the doors were always open back then and I went in, sat inside, and was "HOME"....no human, ever, had talked to me about God...came to America, all that I have said happened, But, yet ,He called me.. "come,  talk to me"...I listened....all this, for myself, really speaks of God's love, for me and for all of us..but, in the interest of why I shared all of this is that my belief in reincarnation enforces all of it, to myself, and, also others, I hope.  Again, since I have no memory of the DP camps, and my father was diagnosed with cancer as soon as we arrived in America, nobody, ever, had spoken of God; yet, my soul was telling me to go to that little red church ( a little faded now)...that "information" was from other lifetimes.  My love for Him has gone back a "very long ways.  Each day, my prayers go out to Him that we all start opening our souls and hearts to Him and ask that He helps us to "remember" of all that we already know deep inside....God bless us all and may He keep our hearts tender and gentle with each other...even if we find it hard to do so:)