The Child Who Calls to Me

Copyrighted by Lorna Tedder. Originally published in Third Degree and Rising.

Although my daughters are teens now, they still call me the same thing they did as little girls. “Mommy.” Except around their friends. They try to be cooler then and just not call me anything.


I like being called “Mommy,” so as they’ve gotten older, I’ve never discouraged it or insisted they call me “Mom” or—heaven forbid—”Mother.”

Sometimes I get into a very serious, raging protector, Mama Tiger kind of funk that scares people. Especially men. Especially oblivious men. Especially oblivious men with small children in their care.

It’s things like the guy on a bike who rides 30 feet ahead of his little girl on her tricycle, and this is on the sidewalk next to a highway and the kid is riding with one wheel off the edge and close to turning over and oh, I just can’t stand it! Or the latest…the dad walking next to a busy street near my office building, his 2-year-old son toddling behind him by a good 20 feet and Oblivious Dad staring off into the distance at someone or something across the parking lot in the other direction. Argh! I just want to jump out of my car and scream, “Hold that child’s hand!”

It doesn’t help that I’ve been hearing voices. That doesn’t happen often and it’s usually in twilight sleep. But another family member has heard it, too.


I’ve heard it a few times this year—in my home and in other places I’ve been—but regularly this week. A little boy, I think, but I’m not certain. With children that age, it’s hard to tell. Definitely a child, though. Somewhere between 3 and 7, I’d say. The voice sounds a little like Aislinn’s but it’s not Aislinn.

For much of the past week, I have been hearing this child’s voice in my home. Even when the girls aren’t there. Even when the dog isn’t there. Whether I’m in the home office, on the treadmill, napping on the sofa, in my bedroom, in the garden. The TV is off. The radio is off. The sound is muted on the computers. None of the neighbors have small children. It’s not the ice maker or the freezer or the dishwasher or the washing machine. It doesn’t sound electronic or recorded.

Very early in the year, I was on the sofa, eyes closed, meditating—and one of the kids came and hovered over me my face, then said in a small child’s voice, “Mommy?” When I opened my eyes, no one was there. I’d seen the shadow cross my closed eyes with the sunlight pouring through the windows. I’d thought it was Aislinn, but she wasn’t even home. And Shannon was in her room on the other side of the house. Yet I was certain of the physical presence next to me while I was meditating. The voice stopped for a while—during that time other family members heard it, though—but it has come back in the past month.

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I’ve heard it throughout the week, but last night, it woke me. From right next to me. At 4:54 AM. It was clear and resounding, and I woke, wide awake and blinking. Head clear. Rested. The house was dark with no moon visible through the windows but just enough light from the street that I could see the lack of shadows in the room.

At first I thought it was Aislinn, but this voice was too young. The girls were still soundly, peacefully asleep. And I was alone with my pillow.

I’m thinking of trying to contact this child in a meditation to find out more. I’ve encountered children in the Ether before, but most of them run off to play with horses nearby or go to the Light. I had one little boy in the Ether to come to the other woman in circle with me once because he recognized us as “Mamas” and sought us out. Others in my family have had similar experiences with children in the Ether, so this is not completely unheard of.

But the voice is sweet and the child isn’t scared or angry or in any way upset. If I had to define it, I’d have to say it’s…loving.

In any case, tonight I’ll invite him to my forest for a little walk and I’ll see if I can help him find his way.


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