My mother lived with certainty that our family suffered under a potent generational curse. In her youth she experienced what she believed to intensive paranormal activity, and she was involved in witchcraft and occult practices.
As I understood it, she had a relative who had been a witch of significant skill. At some point in her dealings with this relative, my mother had upset the woman and was subjected to a curse.
Perhaps it made sense that she would end up marrying and starting a family with a man whose family-name bore some obscure curse.
While growing up our daily lives were rife with strange events that seemed all too coincidental. The weird and strange never seemed to stray too far from us, and my mother’s genuine belief in her curse was understandable.
Strangely enough it was also her belief that days regarded as ill-fated provided a certain amount of relief from the effects of whatever curse hung over our family. These few special days generally proceeded about with caution by others seemed to bring about good luck for us.
Today, both Friday the 13th and the night in which the full moon reigns, would have been held in high regard by my mother…an almost holy day. It would have been seen as a sacred time where we could let down our guard and enjoy life.
In her honor:
May you have a hallowed Friday the 13th filled with joy and the kindest of good luck; and may the light of the full moon illuminate your way through the frightful places along your journey.