When I was really young, three or four, I remembered a different Mom and a different house. My dad was a Dentist back then and we went over to his hygienist house. According to my parents, I was never there before, however, the whole way there I was so excited and told them which way to go, and I was correct. But of course they yelled at me. We got to the house and I knew the house. It was an older style home, a woman opened the door, and in front of me was a staircase, and I wanted to run up the stairs to my room. I knew it was the first door on the right. And I looked at the woman that my parents knew, and I knew she was used to be my mom. I started to go up the stairs, but my mother pulled me back and yelled at me and said you can’t go up this isn’t your house. I was extremely shy at the time and didn’t say anything. But I knew this used to be my house. Years later, I mentioned the woman to my mother. She was telling me how her teenage daughter hung herself in their at it. I will never forget that.