“Well, you might think that I’m the one sleep deprived. Or crazy,” I said, grabbing her attention again. “But, did you just lose your grandpa?”
That obviously got her attention and she simply stared at me with wide eyes.
“Ye … yes. How did … ?”
“It’s sort of my thing,” I replied, waving my hand like it wasn’t anything big. “He’s standing next to you and looks quite worried.”
Looking beside her, and obviously seeing nothing, she eyed me curiously. “He died a few days ago, and every single night since then I’ve been having dreams.” She hesitated a mo-
ment. “Well, not even dreams. It’s hard to explain.”
“Visits,” I said. “They’re visits, not dreams. He stands next to you and is talking to you, right? And you can remember every single piece of information right down to the clothes you both are wearing.”
“Yes!” she said, looking amazed.
“They aren’t dreams because he truly is standing right next to you, and he really is trying to get through to you.” I looked over at her grandpa to get some information and continued. “He says that he had been trying to have a heart to heart with you for a while, but you were too busy.”
Her face crumbled and tears began to fall. “I didn’t even go to the hospital.”
“Please, he doesn’t want you to feel guilty or sad. That isn’t the point of his message. He wants you to know that you will be the best preschool teacher ever, but you need to start setting priorities.” I sighed before I continued, but Mr. Antsy Pants was making sure all information was given. “He isn’t fond of your boyfriend, and he says that he knows that he talks down to you and is emotionally abusive. That is the reason you’ve been avoiding your family. You’re afraid to hear the truth. He wants you to take control of your life again and know that he will be there for you as you find your identity.” I looked at her grandpa to make sure I didn’t forget anything. “Oh, and he loves you and is happy that you have the key.”
The girl swallowed hard. She pulled out a necklace that was tucked under her shirt and showed me a small charm … of a key. “He gave this to me when I was about ten years old. I put it on the day of his funeral. The dreams … visits … started that same night.”
“Listen to what he has to say. Keep a notepad by your bed and write down the information. Our loved ones on the Other Side are there to help; we just have to ask them for the guidance and assistance. The heart-to-hearts don’t have to end when the physical body leaves.”
She offered me a hug and, shaking her head in disbelief, walked back to the counter. And I sat down to write.
My clients come to me to help validate that their loved ones are okay on the Other Side. You don’t need me or any other medium; you simply need to learn how to shut out the static of this world to listen to your angels, guides, and loved ones. When we panic or feel as if the world has turned on us—when we need advice and healing the most—the white noise becomes even louder. Ironic. The reason for this is vibrations. When we panic, we lower our vibration, which puts us out of sync with the vibration that we need. By cleaning the negative filter, you can rise to a higher vibration, which can help push the messages through clearer. Think of it like this: When you panic or get frustrated, the windows around you begin to fog. You can attempt to wipe them, but they will continue to fog unless you utilize a tool (a defrost button) to unfog so that the light can shine in with clear messages. Tools can include meditation, writing/journaling, exercise, massage, talking with a friend (not complaining, but talking), or taking a bath or shower. Or maybe even sipping a Frappuccino.
[contents]
thirty-four
With Love
Very often I have clients in my office who ache that they weren’t able to say that last “I love you,” or feel that the person they lost might not have known how they felt. Sometimes the littlest thing in life changes something forever. Don’t live with regrets. Live with love.
He was dying and she wasn’t quite sure what she would do without him. The heart surgery was do or die, but the surgeon had already warned that the chances of survival weren’t good. All they could do was hope for a miracle and go through with the surgery.
Nick and Betty married when they were just eighteen years old and soon after had two sons they both doted on. Except for Betty staying in the hospital after having the boys, they had never been apart, so leaving Nick in the hospital, fighting for his life for the past week, had been absolute torture for Betty. She asked if she could sleep in the chair next to him, but the nurses reassured her that he was well taken care of and that she needed rest, too. Reluctantly, she would go home, pet their Maltese, Patches, and sob herself to sleep, praying that God would give her the strength and give Nick the strength to survive.
February 14 was, ironically, the date of Nick’s surgery. It also was their wedding anniversary. She tried to believe it was an omen of good luck. After all, heart surgery on Valentine’s Day had to mean something. Or so Betty tried to convince herself. She said her goodbyes to him as they wheeled him into surgery, her bright blue eyes sparkling with tears.
“XOXO,” he said to her, smiling and giving her the thumbs-up.
Betty laughed. Nick rarely said “I love you,” but instead would say “XOXO.” She gave him a final kiss and watched until the large white double doors closed and he was out of sight. Her sons, one on each side of her, led her to the waiting room. They had been forewarned that if he survived, the recovery would be long and it would probably be a few days before he was cognitive. Betty didn’t care. She would wait; he was worth it. She loved his tousled gray hair and his sparkling green eyes. She loved his five o’clock shadow and the way that he left his coffee cup on the table, always making stains. She loved the way he smelled after his walks Up North and how he would nuzzle into her neck, keeping her awake with his soft snores. Sure, they fought, but the good always outweighed the bad. She could never understand the pettiness she saw on talk shows, or even what she heard from her coworkers at the office. If you love, you love forever and you love no matter what. Or as Nick would say—XOXO. She couldn’t wait to hear Nick give her that thumbs-up and tell her, only the way that he could, how he loved her. XOXO.
Betty didn’t want to upset the kids or grandkids, so she kept taking deep breaths, pushing the sobs away, and just stared at her book, never turning a page.
It had been three hours since Nick was taken back and the doctor came in for an update.
His words sounded muffled as he told the family that it didn’t look promising and they were doing everything that they could, but to expect the worse. Several hours later when Betty held Nick’s hand, trying to avoid the many tubes and wires, she knew. Even though he was technically alive, she didn’t feel his spirit. He was gone. The clock ticked to 12:01 a.m., February 15, and Nick took his last breath. She knew that he’d waited to cross so that their wedding anniversary wouldn’t be thought of as his death date.
Betty functioned only by keeping busy with funeral arrangements and consoling her family and friends. After all, it was how Betty was. But the night after Nick was laid to rest, she sat down at the kitchen table where they had shared years of laughs, tears, and worries along with pounds of coffee, and she laid her head down and asked God to take her too, and if He wouldn’t to at least give her a sign that there was an afterlife. She was doubting. Even though it was Nick’s heart that gave out, it was hers that hurt.
A basket of sympathy cards was in front of her and she thought perhaps if she began to go through those and write out her thanks to those who attended the funeral, she could keep her mind occupied. Several cards in, she noticed one that had familiar writing on it. She mostly saw it on grocery lists and not on cards, but she took the letter opener and gently opened it. The card was an anniversary card from Nick.
Dear Betty,
You know that I never have been one for
words, but even though I am away from you, I had to let you know …
XOXO,
Nick
We receive letters from Heaven each day. It might not be in the form of a piece of paper or a note card, but if you just listen you might hear that XOXO.
[contents]
thirty-five
Sally
A brisk Friday in the spring of 2008, I opened my office door to greet my next client. Her name was Sally, and she offered a bright smile as I gestured for her to sit down on the brown wicker couch. Sally was dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt adorned with embroidered butterflies. On her head, she wore a fuchsia bandana. It didn’t take a psychic to know that she was battling cancer.
I have always had a difficult time reading for those with cancer—it physically stings me to look at those stricken. I have been a psychic medium since my first memory at three years old and have been around death several times over, but when I looked at Sally—well, something was different.
“Did you want a general reading?” I asked, already knowing what her reply would be.
“No, Kristy, what I want is for you to tell me what heaven is like.” Sally’s blue eyes brightened as tears ran down her cheek.
I pulled my chair closer to her and took her hands in mine, offering as much comfort as I could give.
“I know that I am dying and I know that it is soon,” Sally sniffled and then raised her shoulders in pride. “I don’t want to know when … ”
“Good, because I won’t tell death dates,” I said.
I wrapped us both in the blue light of healing and began.
The reading ran well over our allotted time, and I was very grateful she was my last appointment. During that hour plus, I brought in her husband and other family members. I knew that her end was mere days away as those on the Other Side gathered in waiting. We discussed the pets that she would reunite with and laughed about how she would be able to nag her husband again. We cried, laughed, and cried more. Sally’s sense of humor remained intact and I was truly awed at her courage.
When I walked her to the office building’s front door, she grabbed me in a hug and thanked me.
“I will let you know when I get to the Other Side,” Sally promised.
“Please do,” I responded with a smile. I shoved my hands in my sweater pocket and pulled out a rose quartz stone. I didn’t know when or how it even got there, but I took that as a sign and handed it to her. “For your trip.”
She took the stone, rubbed it lovingly with her thumb and index finger, placed it in her purse, and left.
My weekend was filled with the normal chaos that a family of four kids, a husband, and five dogs bring about, not to mention a calendar of clients. It wasn’t that I didn’t think of Sally, but I didn’t want to dwell on her end, which truly was her new beginning. Sally had two children and five grandchildren, and I knew what they would be going through, as I had lost my own mom two years before. Sally and my mom shared one thing—they had the same name. But even with being a psychic medium and being very grateful for the gift, I was very sensitive to the sadness that went along with it.
Tuesday afternoon I ran out to our mailbox; bill, bill, advertisement, card … The return address simply stated “Heaven” and I smiled as I opened it.
Kristy,
I just wanted to thank you again for giving me peace during my transition. I will be sure to tell your mom that you said hello and give her a hug from you.
Love,
Sally
Something pulled me to open the obituaries, and sure enough, Sally’s picture smiled back at me. Her crossing over date was noted as Monday, three days after our appointment.
Well over a week after Sally’s passing I ventured out to the mall to do some window-shopping. As I was browsing at the trinkets, a lady who looked to be in her mid-thirties came up to me.
“Excuse me,” she said, nervously pulling back her shoulder-
length brown hair.
I looked at her, puzzled.
“This may seem crazy,” she said.
“Try me,” I urged, curiously.
Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a stone and handed it to me. “Something tells me you had to have this. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t leave the store without doing this.”
Taking the stone from her, I grinned to see that it was a rose quartz. Not the same one that I gave Sally, but a rose quartz just the same.
“Not crazy at all,” I replied in awe. “Thank you.”
“No, thank YOU. I was hoping you weren’t going to think I was nuts!” The lady laughed and walked away without allowing me to give her validation.
What I have discovered in life is that there’s no such thing as a coincidence, only universal synchronicity. I don’t believe that it was a coincidence that my client and my mom shared the same name, and I don’t believe that it was a coincidence that a complete stranger walked up to me in a public location and handed me the same kind of stone that I had given Sally. Oftentimes we get so caught up in the drama of the outside world that we become blind to the signs all around us. Whether a penny you pick up at the gas station or a feather you “mysteriously” find on your car seat—your angels and loved ones from the other side are continually showing you their love.
My mom didn’t know that I worked as a psychic medium until just a few weeks before her death, and this occurrence made me feel as if she accepted me for who I am.
As I stroked my new stone, I knew that my mom and my client were hugging and Mom was showing her around the place.
[contents]
thirty-six
Haunting the Haunted
My entire life has revolved around the paranormal. If it didn’t find me, I sought it. Lunch hours were frequently taken at the local historical cemetery where I would have peaceful conversations with those crossed over, and ghosts-in-waiting. Not once during my excursions did I stomp and storm about, forcing them to show themselves, or demand them to make lights flicker on my meters, or enforce that they move a toy. Well, it did (and still does) help that I am a medium and can see, sense, hear, and communicate with those on the Other Side of life. But just like many other people, I have watched my fair share of paranormal shows. Some I love, some I tolerate, and then there are some that I just shake my head at in total disgust. If you have attended any of the ghost tours, ghost hunts, or overnights that I have hosted, you know that the first thing I say is that ghost hunting is as exciting as watching paint dry. And the next thing that I say is to respect the spirits and ghosts. We live as one, under a different sky, a different paradigm, but still as one. So yelling and screaming in their home, or at them, and requesting that they do circus tricks … well, it just doesn’t cut it. It is disrespectful. Even snapping zillions of photographs, as if you are the paranormal paparazzi, is ridiculous.
Over the past few years, I have found so-called haunted locations noting on their contracts that it will not be allowed for anyone in a group to cross-over a spirit. That they like their ghosts. I wonder if they would feel the same way if the tables were turned and they missed the last train to heaven. How they would feel being kept hostage? It is wise to think of paranormal situations as if the person is standing in front of you. Would you tell that person, “Sorry, I like the money that I am making off of you, therefore you aren’t allowed to leave to be with your family?” Although I have come into contact with some soulless people in my lifetime, I doubt that many would have the guts to say that. So just because you cannot see these beings, why do so many feel that they have a stake in keeping them hostage? They don’t, and shouldn’t, and for those who do, just know that there may be a lovely karmic situation for you when you pass.
So is ghost hunting entertainment or really something more serious? In 2012 I took a group of ghost seekers to the old historic Jackson Prison (1837–1935) in Jackson, Michigan, that is now ca
lled Armory Arts Village. What once held inmates in four tiers of prison cells is now a beautiful artist community with apartments, condominiums, and art studios. But kept intact are solitary confinement cells and the old tunnels where unimaginable things happened to the prisoners, for it was “out of sight.” I am cautious where I take the public, as I have gone toe-to-toe with a demon and survived (obviously), but it is nothing that I would ever recommend to a novice or even an expert investigator. I didn’t feel awful about Michigan’s first state prison. It felt like a safe place, and I was assured by tenants that although there is so much activity, it has never been negative.
The night wasn’t too eventful until Jackson lost power after a drunken driver ran into a transformer. Most of the group left after that (whether tired or scared … we may never know), and we were left with a core group of investigators interested in venturing down into the tunnel once more. As we sat crouched and waiting, we all began to feel as if we were the ones hunted. The energy shifted into something that felt almost mocking. With our instruments lighting up, and a toy car being moved with ethereal hands, we heard whispers. To break up the tension, we decided on a sing-along, which entertained both the group and the ghosts. At one point, we received a message from a man who wanted to cross over. He was done being stuck. He was done hiding from his judgment, for possibly he had already served it and knew it. So I did what any good investigator should do—I asked the group to help me cross him over. The energy shifted; it lifted. Many in the group sniffled. I cried. I didn’t cry because I was afraid that the next group that I brought in might be ghostless; I cried because we’d helped reunite this spirit with his family and friends after so much time. He may have never received that opportunity if it wasn’t for us. Not once did I think of just walking away from him. Call me a sucker, or a helper, or even a healer; I would refer to the whole group as ghost Samaritans. And maybe that is why the power went out. And maybe that is why we decided to venture down there instead of someone’s apartment, which was on the itinerary. There is nothing random in life; there is always a reason.
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