“There’s just enough light to cut the ornamental grasses back,” he said on his way past the doorway.
“Okay,” I mumbled, only half-listening, preoccupied with answering some emails. I heard him come back ten minutes later, having cut back all three plantings of our tall grasses.
He sat down at his laptop in the other room. “Where are my glasses?” he asked. After I told him I hadn’t seen them, I heard him go off searching for them in the basement. But he was soon back upstairs. “Oh no, I must’ve lost them out back somewhere. I’ll never find them in the dark.” He usually wore them hooked into the neck of his T-shirt.
My husband walked out back and over toward the first clump of grass he’d cut. As he bent over, peering into the dark at the thick, golden stubble, he heard someone call, “Dad?” from the fire pit area at the opposite end of the yard. He turned, confused, thinking maybe I’d come out, but then realized it was James’s voice he’d heard! He walked across the yard to the pit, where he’d dumped all the grass cuttings. Puzzled, he stood in the dark beside it, gazing around for the origin of the voice. Suddenly, he spotted a tiny glint from the fire pit—it was the stem of his glasses sticking up from the mass of long fronds. He pulled the glasses out, knowing he never would have seen them if James’s voice had not drawn him there.
“Thanks, James,” he told him, smiling.
My husband came back inside and told me what happened. I believe James stopped by just in time to lend some help. If he hadn’t, the glasses would’ve settled into the brush and been burnt up at our next fire. James seems to have found ways of helping us out from time to time.
The next night, I believe James locked the basement door. I hadn’t been down there for a while, and my husband claimed he hadn’t locked it. It’s a very old sliding chain lock, probably original to the house, a 1917 version. The only reason I could think of that James might do this was that I’d had an accident not long before—I’d fallen down our second-floor stairs and broken my leg that previous winter. Maybe James was trying to keep me away from the basement steps, just in case! He’d always teased me about my absentminded-professor ways. Just the night before, my husband came in complaining again.
“Did you lock the basement door? I sure didn’t!”
“No, I haven’t been anywhere near it.”
“Well, it couldn’t do it by itself!”
Maybe it could. I believe James is still here, trying to help us out. He knows he was all we had, our only child, and he always promised to take care of us. Maybe he still keeps his promise.
[contents]
8
Messages
My old friend Sarah was a former waitress at one of my music venues, and we shared a lot of history, psychically speaking. Much of our haunted history is told in my first book, which recounts Sarah’s series of tragedies, including the death of her fiancé. Then she experienced the ghostly returns of her loved one. Sarah remains a very good friend to this day. To make a long story short, as I read her palm after we first met, I could tell she was pregnant—before she knew it herself—and being able to reveal this unknown pregnancy, which Sarah swore wasn’t true, prompted Sarah to hire me for a psychic party at her house. This is where I come to someone’s home to do group readings for their friends.
As I prepared for Sarah’s party, while doing the preliminary clairvoyant readings I usually do, I was suddenly given a vision of a lump on her fiancé’s testicle. It was confusing and potentially embarrassing to me, as these were very young people in their early twenties. As it turned out, her fiancé, Evan, who was the father of her son, had already been to several doctors about this lump. Each doctor had told him it was harmless, but I wasn’t so sure. Mostly because I believe that when I’m shown these things, it’s for a reason, and it means something important—often it’s like a warning. Later on, Evan became ill, but before anyone could find out exactly why, he was killed in an automobile wreck. But as these things sometimes go, I wasn’t shown this wreck, unfortunately.
Sarah and I stayed in touch on and off over those several years after Evan died. Then one day Sarah called me, having decided to have another group get-together for her friends. We chatted a little and then set up her reading party. Sarah gave me each of her friends’ first names.
Before each party I like to do preliminary clairvoyant readings to try to tailor my reading to what each person needs. My clairvoyance has always manifested itself as a light that comes from all directions when I close my eyes, usually forming pictures or words. I’ve been shown everything from diseased organs to engagement rings. It sounds strange, but this is how it’s always worked for me. So I closed my eyes to see what the light formed for each name. When I came to one name on the list, Brea, the light formed the word “cancer”—and I wrote it down. But I really thought it must mean Brea’s horoscope sign because they were all young women in their twenties. I had learned early on not to try to interpret too deeply what I was shown—that the interpretation was always best done by the person getting the reading.
The day of the reading party, Sarah and her friends met me at Uncorked, the haunted wine bar owned by my friends Joe and Lorrie. They’ve always graciously allowed me to use their beautiful and private back room to do readings. When Sarah came in that day, she told me Brea couldn’t make it for her reading. I thought about giving the paper with Brea’s reading on it to Sarah to take to her. But since I thought I might see Brea when she rescheduled her reading, I tucked it away instead and promptly forgot all about it.
A couple more years went by, and I ran into Sarah again one night. As we caught up on things, Sarah told me some sad news about her best friend Brea; she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer and was in the fight of her life. At her young age, it was a rare and particularly aggressive form. By then, I’d forgotten about the earlier reading I’d tucked away. I got a nagging feeling of déjà vu, and the more I thought about it, I finally remembered the reading. I felt terribly guilty. Perhaps this could’ve somehow been averted if only she’d shown up as scheduled or if only I’d have given her written reading to Sarah.
Not long afterward, I saw Brea in a restaurant where I played music. She was a beautiful young woman, who’d had striking, nearly white-blond hair and a pretty face. We talked and I did my best to encourage her. She had a positive outlook and was ready to fight the breast cancer. By then, she had a scarf on to cover the loss of her hair due to chemo. My heart went out to her, so young, so brave.
Sarah kept me informed on Facebook as Brea fought her desperate battle. The posts were sad, and eventually, after a long, hard struggle, Brea passed away, surrounded by her family. After she died, Brea’s mother emailed me, and I tried to offer her what comfort I could—although I knew from losing my own son just how difficult those first few months are for a parent. Brea’s mother was devastated.
I explained to Brea’s mom what to watch for to know if Brea was returning to her—odd sounds, lights flashing, TV problems, crackling noises, as if electricity was sparking or paper or a plastic water bottle was being crumpled. But Brea’s mother Shelly hadn’t heard any of these things. I explained that sometimes people don’t come back at all after their deaths—they go straight to the light and are at peace. This is especially true when they know their end is coming and can make peace with it, as Brea had probably done.
A few more months went by. Finally Brea’s mother emailed me again, desperate to hear from her daughter. I could feel the pain in her email. The devastation of losing your child is like no other agony on earth. Out of compassion, I told her I would try to see something about her daughter. Though, due to the inconsistent nature of psychic abilities and mediumship in general, I was afraid to get her hopes up. Plus, Brea’s mother was in so much pain, I wanted to tread very carefully so as not to cause her any more.
After I finished her email, I sat back on my sofa and closed my eyes. And I saw … bubbles … then these bub
bles began morphing into balloons! This seemed inconsequential, even silly, and meant nothing to me, but I thought there was some small chance it meant something to Brea’s mom. I sat for a few minutes, deciding whether or not to even say anything—and finally decided I should. I emailed her to tell her what I saw. She was ecstatic. Then she explained what it meant.
“Right before Brea died, I asked her to please come back and give me a sign if she could, something that only I would know. And Brea agreed to try to do this. I think this is the sign I wanted, because no one else knows this.” Unbeknownst to me, or to any of Brea’s close friends such as Sarah, Brea had a nickname in college, before she moved to the area. Her college name was Bubbelz.
“Brea also worked in the entertainment division of a basket company, making balloon animals for children who visited during school field trips and other events,” Brea’s mom said. She believed Brea had given me this sign specifically for her, fulfilling what she’d asked Brea to do.
When I spoke to Sarah, who had never heard about Brea’s nickname or her job with balloons, she was simply thrilled. Both Sarah and Brea’s mom felt that this information was proof Brea had survived after death. Brea’s mom then told me she was making a trip to our area soon and would like to meet with me. I knew she wanted more information from Brea. I told Sarah of my reluctance to meet Brea’s mom, mostly because I couldn’t guarantee anything would come through psychically from Brea. But I also knew her pain, so I wanted to help. I also know it’s not up to me what comes through from the other side, which is one of the sadder and more frustrating aspects of having a psychic gift.
Sarah emailed me a couple months later that Shelly, Brea’s mother, was in town and wanted to get together for lunch, and possibly a reading, the next day. We decided to meet at a beautiful winery and restaurant halfway between Sarah’s town and mine.
The drive down was gorgeous—by May, spring had finally arrived in Ohio. Sarah and Shelly met me in the parking lot outside the building and we made small talk as we walked inside and were seated. We were the only ones there.
While driving down, I’d felt Brea was trying to show me something. Finally, when I closed my eyes at a red light, I realized it was a starfish. I didn’t know what this might mean, but I knew I needed to bring this up to Brea’s mother. I also wanted to tell Shelly the cancer story with Sarah there to confirm it, even though I was ashamed I hadn’t followed through.
We ordered our lunch and as they brought the salads, we began to talk. I still felt ill at ease, mostly because I was worried about Shelly’s feelings and about the grief I knew she still carried for her daughter. I didn’t want to make it any worse. But my fears were short-lived, as Shelly wanted to talk. I could relate as I’d felt the same way right after my son’s death.
Shelly believed Brea had come back to her since she’d died. The first time it was something that Brea always did—every time they were ready to go anywhere, if she was behind Shelly, Brea would notice if her mom’s hair was messed up and flick it, telling her it needed to be fixed in the back. This usually happened from Shelly having lain down on it. Brea would flick her hair and laugh, and then would always comb it for her mother. Right after Brea died, Shelly walked into the room where Brea had stayed at the end of her life. Shelly had just entered the room, when she felt someone flick the back of her hair. The window wasn’t open, the fan wasn’t on, and there was nothing else that could’ve caused it. I understood completely, as something similar had happened—and continues to happen—with my son James as well, and I told her about it.
James used to walk past the sofa—which is at a right angle to the wall so that you can cross behind it—and pat me on the head. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve felt that gentle pat on my head since he’s died. Just out of the blue, when I’m least thinking about it! My husband has felt the same thing. It was just something James did when he was alive, a lot, to both of us. We think he still does this when he stops by occasionally. It actually comforts me.
Shelly thought Brea was doing the same thing. She mentioned something else that had happened recently. Shelly was going to a flea market that Brea just loved. They’d always gone there together. Usually Shelly and her daughter arrived at the crack of dawn when no one else was around. After Brea died, Shelly searched for things to do to distract herself. So she decided to go to the flea market. Shelly went just as early as she and Brea always had, and her daughter was on her mind as she pulled up and got out. She’d just stepped out of the car, when her cell phone went off—with Brea’s ring—the sound of a doorbell. It sounded twice! There was no one else around anywhere. And no one else Shelly knows has Brea’s ringtone. Of course Shelly checked her phone, but it didn’t show any number calling. My friend Sarah also got a charge hearing about these visitations. Sarah really missed Brea too.
“Brea was just letting you know she was there with you, in spirit,” I told Shelly, and Shelly smiled. I knew it wasn’t much comfort, but at least it was a little.
Sarah chimed in with her own story. Right after her fiancé, Evan, was killed, Sarah was sitting alone at the table and felt a hand go up the back of her neck and into her hair, then the hand began rubbing around on her scalp. Sarah screamed and totally freaked out.
I asked Sarah if she spoke out loud to Evan when this happened.
“No, and now I feel bad that I didn’t put it together. But at the time I was really upset by it—an invisible hand on my neck and hair! Evan had died about two hours before this happened.”
I thought maybe this was as good a time as any to tell Brea’s mom about the info I’d gotten for her daughter all those years ago. I felt pretty awful about it because it might have made the difference between Brea’s life and death. I told Shelly about the reading I did for her daughter—the reading that she missed. I explained how then I forgot all about it until it was too late.
After I told her the cancer story, Sarah added a few things that I’d forgotten; that I’d told Brea there was something about twins. Sarah said that she and Brea had a good laugh over that later on. She wasn’t ready for more babies! After she got the breast cancer though, Sarah remembered this, and wondered if that’s what twins meant, her breasts. I think it did.
I told her I’d forgotten that part and that I only wished I’d have seen things more clearly or paid more attention to what it might mean. I was almost ashamed to look at Shelly. But Shelly didn’t blame me. I decided to tell her then about the starfish I’d seen on my way down, just to see if it rang any bells. Turns out, she knew exactly what it referred to.
“Yes, it does mean something! One time we went on vacation to the beach and I found a starfish. It was so adorable, just this tiny, living, star-shaped creature, and I wanted to take it home with us. Brea was very upset with me; she didn’t want me to take it, and of course she was right because it soon died. She was so angry with me over it, I don’t know if she ever forgave me for that.”
I think Brea was trying to give her mom and her friend Sarah a message by sending me a picture of that starfish before I met them for lunch. And I think she was trying to say that life is fragile and that beautiful things die sometimes—when we interfere, and sometimes even when we don’t. And above all, I think she used that starfish to show her mom she’d forgiven her for any of the silly things in their past.
I was filled with wonder at the strange stories I’d heard so far and what lengths our loved ones go to just to let us know they still exist after death. My dad had snapped his fingers in my face only hours after we’d found he’d committed suicide. I told Shelly and Sarah about the phone call from Maura’s husband from the grave, how he was somehow able to say hello, and then Sarah’s face froze—she said the same thing had happened to her.
It had been with a friend of hers. Sarah had a close friend who was killed; in fact, he was shot. Sarah came home from work one day and saw her answering machine was blinking, so she played it back. There
was a whisper recorded on it, but it was real fast, and she couldn’t make it out. She played it again several times, but still couldn’t understand it. Sarah’s boyfriend was sleeping at the time, and she needed to be quiet, so she waited until he went to work and could turn it up really loud. Sarah called Tess, the sister of the guy who was killed, hoping that she could help decipher the message—Sarah just felt deep inside that it was from Tess’s brother! Knowing Sarah as I do, her loyalty as a friend has always been admirable.
Sarah knew the boy who’d been shot was very close to his sister, Tess. They were very much best friends. The brother and sister ran around together, teased, and one-upped each other constantly. Tess finally arrived at Sarah’s house, and together, the two deciphered the message. It was from Tess’s brother, who’d been shot and killed—it said, “Find Tess, tell her there’s something I know now.” Tess was completely freaked out! She knew this message was from her brother, and she knew he was still one-upping
her from beyond the grave. Her brother was rubbing in the fact that he was in the afterlife and letting her know he knew more about it than his sister did. Not too long after that, Sarah played his answering machine message for the boy’s other sister, and she threw the machine across the room! Sarah yelled at her not to break it because she wanted to save it. Sarah still has it stored in her basement. It was the most amazing thing for Sarah and Tess to get this proof from beyond.
Sarah, Brea’s mom, and I talked a little longer, then paid our checks and said goodbye.
A few weeks later when my book was released, I drove to meet Sarah again for lunch and deliver a copy to her. Turns out, she thought she’d had a visit the night before from Evan, her former fiancé and her son’s father.
Sarah was lying in bed and heard a crackling sound, like a water bottle being squeezed. She opened her eyes and listened, and then decided to ignore it. Then her little boy, who was lying beside her napping, sat up. Sarah asked him what was wrong, and he said, “Didn’t you hear that crackling noise, Mom?” Sarah told him she thought she had, but that it was probably nothing and to go back to sleep.
The Dead are Watching Page 7
