How to Help Your Grieving Friend Through the Holidays

At the time of Spencer's death, he was working at Digital Domain in Venice California. Digital Domain is a company that does special effects for movies. He and his coworkers had been working on a movie for weeks; seven days a week, sometimes as long as fourteen hours a day.

Thanksgiving weekend came and they all got four days off. Spencer of course, wanted to go snowboarding for the weekend, so off he went to Mammoth, with his friend Noel from work.
His girlfriend and his brother we're also going to go, but changed their minds just before it was time to leave.

Him being gone, and my son Jon being with his best friend who was home for the holiday from college, I decided to take my friend up on her invitation to come to Connecticut. I'd never been to her house, and it was the perfect time since my kids had their own agendas.

The entire weekend that I was there, I felt odd. My stomach was churning and my skin was crawling, and I kept thinking about Spencer. My friend Jeanne was very busy introducing me to all of her friends there, so even though there were a lot of distractions, I was constantly aware of the creepy feelings I was having all over inside of me.

Sunday night, Jeanne and I went to a movie and afterward, stopped to browse around the local bookstore. We bought a pack of Gypsy Fortune Telling Cards, just for the fun of it. Or so we thought.

We went back to her warm little home on the lake on Candlewood Isle, made some tea, opened up the cookies that we bought, and sat down to play with the cards.

We shuffled the cards, laid them out, Jeanne went first. The final card in her spread was the 9 of Spades - unexpected death was the interpretation of the deck. We shuffled again and laid the cards out for me.. the outcome card again - 9 of Spades. We just looked at each other.

We went to bed. I was sitting in my bed writing on my computer. It was 11:25 pm and all of the sudden I just began weeping my guts out. I felt like my heart was being ripped out of my body and I was suddenly all alone--just an unbelievable sensation of loss overwhelming me physically, mentally, and emotionally. I wrote about it, but I had no idea what was happening.

On the west coast, in the desert in southern California, at 8:25 pm on the 395 two lane highway was one of the most horrendous accidents that officials there had ever seen--and my son was killed.

At 2:45 am, the phone rang. I woke up, had no clue where I was and I jumped up and answered the phone. The man on the phone asked for me and identified himself as a deputy sheriff from Lost Hills Sheriff's Station, which was just down the road from where we lived in California.

I said, "Oh my god, where is Jonathan?". I thought that Jon had gotten into some kind of trouble with his friends. He said, "It's not Jonathan ma'am, it's Spencer." My heart stopped. He continued, "I'm sorry ma'am." I could hear in his voice that my Spencer had been killed.
He had no details and told me that the coroner would be calling me in ten minutes.

I sat on the edge of the bed sobbing my guts out when I heard, "Mom. Mom. Mom." It was Spencer. "Mom. I'm okay." He showed me how he, in his words, "popped" out of his body. He showed me the accident. He showed me the truck that he and Noel were in, crossing over the middle line of the highway and colliding with a tandem big rig. He assured me that he was fine. I listened and then just lost it.

The phone rang. It was the coroner. He described the same accident.

That morning, Jeanne took me to the airport to catch an early flight home. I had to fly first to Chicago, then to LA.

My flight to Chicago was pure hell. I couldn't stop crying. At one point I was standing near the lavatory, telling the flight attendant why I was crying, and why I needed to get off the plane quickly to catch my closely timed connecting flight. As I was standing there in my distressed state of being, a man walked behind me, and as he did, he grasped my hand; lightly, firmly, and with care. So much love came through his touch, it calmed my whole being for that instant. I didn't even see his face.

When we got to Chicago, I had to run all the way to the plane. That airport is a nightmare on a good day. I just made it onto my already boarded plane, which they were holding for me. I plopped down in my seat, a total mess. It was a plane where there are two seats together on each side, and a bunch in the middle. The mad next to me, in his late 30's was a criminal defense lawyer. I apologized for my state and explained. He immediately put his knee against my knee and kept talking. My attention went to his touch. He then asked me if he could hold my hand to his chest. I said, "Yes". He held my hand to his chest for three and a half hours while he talked to me the entire way across the country. His hand wrapped around my hand, held on his chest, his knee pressed into my knee, gently but firmly, kept me from losing my mind for the full time of that flight.

When I got home, there was a house full of people waiting for me. Let me tell you something. When my son, my friends, and anyone else; previously known to me or not touched me, I was okay. As soon as they let go, I was not.

When people told me, "Oh, he's in a better place, or he's okay." I would become angry and confused. "Really? Would you like to tell me where that is? Where could be better than here? Nowhere thank you very much!" Don't EVER say this to anyone who has lost someone they love. You don't need to say ANYTHING! You can't say anything that's going to make things okay or better. The words don't exist because it's not possible.

Don't ask your friend or family member what they want. They don't know! And, when you ask them it just sends them spinning.

Don't ask them how they feel. They feel the worse they've every felt in their entire life. Don't ask.

Don't put them in a position where they have to make a decision about anything. It's confusing. He or she is probably secretly trying to decide if he or she wants to go on living, so don't ask stupid questions.

I know all of these gestures are done in love, and often because we feel uncomfortable. However, they are not helpful.

Touch your person. Simply touch him or her. Sit down on the couch next to him or her and just be there, touching side-by-side, or lay your hand on his or her knee or hand. If your friend is in a chair, sit on the floor in front of the chair and touch his or her foot. It doesn't have to be bit, it just has to be meant.

Feed your friend. Food, touch, warmth, love. That's it.

If you friend is further along in the grieving process, share stories about their loved one and things you remember. People are afraid to bring them up because they think it will make you sad. Believe me, we are already sad. So, don't worry about that. Tears are little drops of love. It's okay. Cry together and laugh together, and honor the sacred opportunity that you have to simply be with someone you care about who is going through something, that unless you've experienced it yourself, you have no idea what is going on in there.

Bless you for caring and loving enough to read though all of this.

Grieving Through the Holidays

I have been blessed with such wonderful friends. This weekend, being the weekend that Spencer died, so many calls of love. I am so grateful for everyone of them.

It's not easy for our friends when we lose our loved one. Their hearts ache for us, and they don't know what to do. Being there is probably the only thing they can do; a simple touch, a gentle word that expresses love, a smile. It's very simple really.

I spent a lot of time this weekend talking with some of my dear friends, and remembering what it was like when Spencer first died. It's truly amazing that we live through such things, and it's the people who are close to us, our loved ones, that help us get through.

Sometimes we don't even know that until later.

My life is so rich and so filled with blessings, many of which I believe have come from my son on the other side. That was hard to accept when I first realized what was happening. Of course, you don't want that to be the reality, so it's easier to be in denial.

There comes a point when that road gets crossed and you make a choice of which way you want to travel. I remember right after Spencer died, I was at a Compassionate Friends meeting and there was a woman and her husband there who had lost their son ten years earlier. They were there to support the rest of us who were newly bereaved. She told me that I was in shock and that things were going to get pretty rough, and that I had a choice that I would have to make, and "that choice was to get better or become bitter".

She was right. Things got very intense. And each time that I felt the anger and resentment for my son "being taken from me", I heard her voice speaking to me, and I made a choice.

Friends asked me all week long this week, what was it that I wanted to do to on Spencer's death anniversary. Did I want to do a ritual or something? My brain actually shorts out completely when I think about this day, which is actually today. When I was a child, I thought that anniversaries were happy celebrations that marked special days of significance. I never associated them with things that were otherwise.

Every year when this day comes around I'm faced with this little girl inside of me that can't quite grasp the concept of why I am supposed to honor this day in some way. I do honor him though, every day, and part of that honoring is to share my thoughts, feelings, and experiences on this blog from time to time.

If you are grieving the loss of someone you love through this holiday season, my heart goes out to you. Grief is a form of love, and for those of us who know this experience, which are many of us as it is a part of living, I believe when we honor our grief as a form of love there is an alchemical magic that gives way to joy at some point. I've experienced this time and time again, and though I don't like feeling the sorrow when it comes, I honor it because I know that it's shielding another more magnificent form of love, which is joy.

I am going to post some ideas I have for people to support their grieving friends through this time.

To Spencer -

There are moments when I forget that you're gone. Carried away by laughter, the song of a bird, the breeze dancing through my hair; lost in the moment, seduced by life; I forget. Listening to music driving in the car... working, writing, doing all the things that occupy my time...

Then I remember and time stops.

I feel and it hurts.

And I don't want to feel that hurt.
Tears roll down my face.
I know they are forms of love,
but they're not the ones I want to have right now.

They say that time heals all wounds. No it doesn't. Time teaches us to learn to live with what we've been given--experience grows around the wounds; surrounds them with other things.
Often times, beautiful things; sons and daughters, friends and lovers, laughter, love, music, beauty, and creatures. All loving, all kind, all precious.

But...you are not here. I cannot touch your face. I cannot hear your voice. I cannot see your wonderful smile and hear the laughter that made my heart dance. I cannot see you doing funny little dances like a smurf, or watch you play basketball - moving like you're seven feet tall.

Except in my mind.
I have memories.
I have beautiful memories.
Without them I would die.

I love my memories. They are wonderful. In them I can touch your face and hear your voice. In my memories I can see you smiling, and laughing, and being your wonderful you.

In my memories I can feel the joy and the love and the special moments that we shared together in this life, and I am so grateful for every one of them, and for every moment that I had with you in this physical world; from your birth to your death, and now beyond.

I miss you Spencer, and I love you, and I wish that you were here in your body.

It's almost Thanksgiving. You're not going to sit at the table. But, you are at the table in my heart every day. And I sit with you there I we reminisce.

We remember together the fun we had, and the special moments where time stood still and life seemed too good to be true, and we laugh, and we cry, and we give thanks for each other, grateful that our love is eternal and forever it shall go on.

Still, I cry my tears of sorrow and love, as that is how it is.

I am eternally grateful that you blessed me with your beautiful presence in this life.

I love you and I miss you.
Mom

A Tale of Two Worlds Part 5: A Seamless Transition

I apologize for taking so long to write this part of the story, as I know that many of you have been waiting for it. When I decided to share this story via the blog, I knew that I would have to break it down into segments because of how it unfolded in time. As I have revisited this journey, I’ve remembered things that I’d forgotten, and I’ve forgotten things that happened. This part of the story, and the final piece that will follow were profound experiences for me personally and I've had to think about how to share them.

Six months after my visit to New Jersey, where I had met Joey, I was invited to a fund raising event in Malibu, California. The core members of a band from the 70’s were headlining the event that evening; two brothers who had carried the spirit of their band forward into now, which was 2007. The band was the same band that John and Joey had played with in the 70’s, and that Joey still played drums for on occasion. When I heard this, I immediately created the expectation of being able to meet these guys and share with them about John and Joey, and how John had called for Joey from the other side.

Many of my good friends were attending this event, and since at the time I was living most of my time in Kauai, I was excited to be going so that I could connect with my friends. My most long time friend, Gwen was there, and at one point we were out on the floor dancing with another friend of hers from Philadelphia, her name Sandra. Sandra was the wife of the singer in the band. After a while, the three of us found a table so that we could sit down to talk. “Have I got a story for you!” I told Sandra, and I began to tell her the story of the families in New Jersey, and how all of this had been unfolding over time. She knew all of them, and she was more than fascinated at hearing what had taken place. Granted, I didn’t give her any personal details about those readings, because I hold sacred the commitment to confidentiality. But, I did share with her that John had come through, and how he had showed me the gold record, and how he had asked for Joey. She told me that after the show was over, she wanted to take me backstage to talk with “the guys” so that I could share all of this with them.

The event that evening was very successful. The attendance was great, the music was awesome, the food was wonderful, and people were happy. At the end of the evening, as people were saying their good-byes and walking out the door, Sandra asked me to go backstage with her.
We walked into a backstage room, where all the guys from the band were moving about, packing guitars, and drums, and other equipment. The room was narrow with black couches lined against one wall, and instruments of all types lined along the wall across from the couches. Sandra introduced me to her husband, Michael and his brother Martin. She told them that they needed to listen to what I was about to tell them. So, I told them a little about how I facilitate communication for people with their loved ones on the other side. They looked at me for a second, and kept doing what they were doing. I began to share the story about John’s family, and the communication with John on the other side.

First response: they looked at me like I was nuts--totally and completely nuts. “Oh god, this isn’t going to go over well”, I thought to myself. “Oh well”, I proceeded with my story about how John had called for Joey the first time I was with the family, and how on my second visit I met Joey in person. They stopped doing what they were doing.

Michael and Martin just stood there, both of them looking at me, in total silence. I didn’t know what to think. First they acted like they were ignoring me, and now they stopped everything and there was dead silence in the room. Then they told me. They told me that Joey was dead.

Joey had died in October, and it was now February. He died six weeks after I was there with him. He died of a heart attack while was playing the drums. I was speechless. I turned my attention away from them, and searched my memory for the conversations and experiences that occurred on that night when we were all in that room at Maryann’s house—the night that Joey was there. Then I thought about all those people on the other side that had come to be with Joey, and I remembered how odd it was to me that they were to my right.

In that moment I realized that they had come to connect with him so that he would know they were there. I also realized why John had called for him to come so that he could talk with him, connect with him, open the door for him; so to speak. In those moments, as I sat there on that black vinyl couch, it was like the hundreds of pieces of a puzzle were all falling together to create a picture. And now Joey was on the other side, and I could feel him there in the room with all of us backstage.

Michael and Martin didn’t really connect with anything I was saying, or that it was possible to communicate with “the dead”. I sat there looking around the room, as they busily continued to pack their instruments. I felt as if I were on the other side looking in. I felt Joey, John, and Ralph all beside me – to my left. I looked at Sandra sitting there beside me wondering why Michael and Martin weren’t more present with what was actually happening. She was. I honestly felt in those moments that I was on the other side rather than this one. I was in awe of how this group of people; both in this world and the other, were weaving their way through time, and through the timeless, to connect with one another, and I thought about what Spencer had said to me once again, “ …there’s nowhere to go.”

Little did I know that there would be one more trip to New Jersey coming soon, and one more connection that would take place, and that experience would be by far the most heart wrenching, bitter-sweet, healing experience of all. And, remembering that experience and wondering how to write about it has had me thinking for weeks.

A Tale of Two Worlds Part 4: We Are Here For You

It had been six months since I had been to New Jersey, and since I had talked with Jeannie and her daughters. When they heard that I was coming to town, Jeannie scheduled time for another session. This time though, we were going to Maryann’s house and her husband was going to be there, and they said that someone else would be joining us as well.

Once again it was evening when I was driven to the home of Maryann and her husband Jeff. When I walked in I was greeted with open arms, hearts, and minds. Jeannie, Maryann, and Barbara were all excited to see me, and I was very happy to see them.

It seemed that they had grown emotionally, and they appeared to be happier than when I had first met them. Being there now felt a bit like a family reunion, and there were two new people to include. Jeff was definitely skeptical; it was written all over his face. I joked with him a little bit with the hope that he would relax and see me as a normal person, and more importantly, feel comfortable with what was about to happen. I was also introduced to another man whose name was, Joey.

I do a lot of readings. I talk to a lot of people, on this side, and the other. I do not remember details unless I search for them, or I am reminded of what happened. I had totally forgotten that our last session together ended with John requesting someone named “Joey” to be present. So, when I was introduced to him, I had no conscious association—I didn’t remember that he had been called for.

We moved into the living room, which was already arranged for our evening together. The couch was huge. It was crescent shaped, it was beige, and it looked very comfortable. Maryann graciously offered me a cozy armchair that was placed facing the couch, and then they all sat down before me. I remember that moment clearly, because I noticed something very precious. They were like little children. They were innocent and eager, except for Jeff and Joey, who were a little timid now. Jeff was looking at me very intensely – I felt like he was trying to sum me up; figure out if I was a charlatan. Joey was simply curious.

I love going to New Jersey and New York. I love the people there. Joey was a New York Italian, who grew up in Queens, and he was a little edgy, very sweet, had dark pensive eyes, was quick to smile and laugh, and carried himself as if he’d been around the block several times. I like him immediately. It was one of those, “What you see is what you get” kind of feelings that I had when I looked at him. He was curious because he’d been told that John had requested his presence the next time we did this. I had not remembered that at this point, nor had anyone reminded me. So, Joey is thinking that I know who he is, and I’m clueless. This was a recipe for perfection.

First person to come through from the other side was Paul, Jeff’s dad, who had died eight months prior. I didn’t know that. Although, when I did the initial reading six months earlier, John had shown me from the other side, that they had all been to a party, and at that time when I had mentioned that he was showing me the party, they told me that it was a funeral they had recently attended. They didn’t tell me whose funeral it was.

So, here is Paul, who is Jeff’s dad, and John, Jeannie’s husband, together on the other side. Paul begins by commenting on his funeral; he mentioned two people who were there by name, and something that he found to be humorous. Unfortunately, I can’t remember right now what that was, but when that message was conveyed, Jeff was blown right out of the water. There was a part of him that looked like it was jumping off the couch and running out the front door. I had to hold my composure because the look on his face was so funny; it was hard for me not to giggle. The women were slightly entertained watching all of this because they had already been initiated by their own experiences months before, and they knew what to expect.

Suddenly, the energy shifted. I could feel a huge gathering of people to my right – people usually stand on my left. In the forefront of that group was a man with two blond women, one on each arm, and he was dangling some car keys, and focusing on Joey. Now, at this point things become more than interesting. I’m sitting in the middle of a large group of people on my right, and Paul and John on my left. Then, there’s the audience before me. I felt as if we (me and those on the other side) were all on a stage, and they (the people on the couch) were our audience. I had no idea what was going on.

The guy with the blonds; “Hey Joey, I got your keys.” He might as well have been standing right beside me because I could hear every word. It’s not always like that for me. Things usually come in pictures first. At that point I did not convey the message. John came forward and began to communicate with Joey, and it was then that I realized that this was “Joey”! “Oh, you’re Joey who John asked for” I said. “Yeah.”

Well, now I wanted to know who this person was with the two blonds and the keys, so I told him, “There’s a guy here with a blond woman on each arm and he’s holding some keys saying, “I got your keys”. Joey laughed and didn’t say anything. He looked down and began wringing his hands a bit.

I have to know what’s going on now. I’m like crazy with curiosity, and I don’t have a clue, I mean I really don’t have a clue what’s actually happening in that room. And the truth is, it would be six more months before I did.

I asked Joey who the man was and what he was talking about. Joey told us that it was Ralph, and that Ralph had stolen his car--his brand new convertible when he had first gotten it. I asked about the blonds. Again, he looked down and got a little nervous. Ralph said, “It’s okay man” so I conveyed that. Joey proceeded to tell us that Ralph had two wives, at the same time, and that Joey was the only one that knew that. This was like the otherworldly version of Days of Our Lives. It was surely one of the most bizarre experiences I have ever had as a medium. And, it was absolutely delightful – every minute of it.

As our time together continued that evening, there were insights, tears, and laughter. Secrets were shared, things previously unknown were revealed, and Joey was set free from his responsibility as the keeper of the secrets. When the evening ended, I was filled to the brim with love, and I believe that was true for everyone who was there—on this side and the other.

It would be six months later, at a fundraiser in Southern California that I would unexpectedly meet other people connected to this group of family and friends, and the other members of the band that they had all been in together in the 1970’s. And those band members would have a message for me.

A Tale of Two Worlds Part 3: Calling From the Other Side

Calling From The Other Side

I want to begin by prefacing this part of the story with the fact that Jeannie and her two daughters had never had any type of reading, nor had they been to a psychic -- let alone a medium, so they weren't exactly in their comfort zones. Even so, their anticipation was filled with innocence and openness.

Jeannie’s husband, the father of these two lovely young women and the two teens upstairs, quickly made his presence known to me. I could feel his strength, his warmth, and his determination immediately. He was eager to communicate with his wife and daughters, even though before his death, he never would have fathomed that such a thing could be possible.

John had built a successful community business that the entire family worked in together. He had established a foundation of security for his family that was founded on love and strong family values. I could feel these characteristics in him, and I could see them in the three amazing women that sat before me.

At this point, I felt like I had already been on quite a journey with the exploration and discovery of the identity of the little girl. The beauty of that occurrence was that it took everyone beyond fear and hesitation, and created a wide-open space for communication to take place. And did it ever.

John came in loud and clear. I felt like he was the professional and I was the observer. When I think about it, over the next few years it was always like that with him. He had a very commanding presence that was coupled with a loving strength that was so profound it filled the room with notable warmth. I was impressed. I thought about how they must miss him; if he was this present from the other side how amazingly present must he had been in real life. Over time I came to learn that he was a loving husband, amazing dad, great friend, and solid community member.

He started out his communication with me by showing me a little rowboat, with two young children playing in and around it. I asked if anyone had been on a boat recently with two children. Maryann told me that she had two children, and that they had been to the shore, but not in a boat.

Jeannie smiled and looked at her and said, "You have that little boat in your front yard that you just painted last week". Maryann shared with me how she had been painting a little boat, planning to turn it into a planter, and it was in their front yard. The boat was only a few feet long, and when she was working on the boat the kids were playing in it and around it. Her dad was letting her know that he was there with them.

The three of them looked at each other in amazement,

as Maryann’s eyes filled with tears. This was their first personal experience of connecting with John on the other side. And, as the night went on, he showed me and told them one thing after another to confirm that he was not only present with them now in that room, but he was with all the time and he knew everything that was going on in their lives.

He showed me his slippers under Jeannie’s side of the bed, and the book he loved that she was reading that was sitting on the nightstand. He told me things about the brother and sister that were upstairs, and gave Jeannie suggestions of what to do to help their son, who was having such a hard time since his death two years prior.

He gave Barbara a lecture about her relationships choices, which made them all laugh, and then… he showed me what I thought was a gold pocket watch, although it was quite large.

I asked, “Who has the gold pocket watch?” The immediate response was that there was no gold pocket watch. Well, it was really clear to me. It was what appeared to be a very large, very gold pocket watch. They looked at one another trying to figure out who had the watch, and they were very sure that there wasn’t one. I held my hands together in a circle, making a space about the size of a extra large grapefruit, and I said, “It’s like this big, and it’s gold.” They all started laughing. They knew exactly what it was, but it wasn’t a pocket watch, it was a gold record.

John had been in a popular band in the sixties, and the band had attained a few gold records. This one in particular was for one of my favorite songs actually, and they had it there at the house. At this point in time, all three of them were completely comfortable. They each had a new found peace about John’s departure, and they were grateful for that.

The conversation continued for over two hours that evening, which is a long time to have that kind of communication with one person who is on the other side. John confirmed himself again and again, and now there was no separation between this side and the other, and no doubt to be found – everyone was connected.

Things were still and quiet now, and I thought we were finished when John said to me, “I want to talk to Joey”. The clarity with which he said it was as if he were sitting next to me on the chair. I listened and I didn’t say anything. He repeated, “I want to talk to Joey”.

So, I passed on the message. The three of them began to discuss where they might find Joey, who I learned was John’s good friend, and the was the drummer in the band.

"Bring Joey to me", were the last words that I heard from John. I passed them on.

It would be six months before I would see the family again.

A Tale of Two Worlds Part 2: If They Want to Talk to You - They Will Find a Way

It was a thirty minute ride to where we were going that evening, and it was dark. There's something about being in an unfamiliar place that appeals to me. I think it's because my mind is seeing things for the first time, so the process of relating to everything I see as what I expect it to be is diminished, and I am more open, curious, and receptive--more present with the moment.

The little girl stayed in the forefront of my mind, making her presence known to me until we arrived at our destination. When we got to the home of the family that I was about to meet, my attention moved away from the little girl and shifted to seeing where it was that we were. As we pulled into the driveway, the first thing I noticed about the house was that it seemed to glow with warmth and welcome. There was a feeling of "home", and it felt like it had been a home for a very long time.

We went inside and Dita introduced me to a woman about my age, and her two daughters who were in their early thirties. The mom, Jeannie, informed me that there was a teenage brother and sister upstairs who were choosing not to participate.

We walked into the living room, moved an arm chair for me to sit in, and positioned it so that I could face the three of them as they sat on an L-shaped couch. I felt very comfortable. They were lovely, and I could sense their curiosity, and their nervousness. The richness of this loving family and their history was oozing from the walls, so I took a moment to be still and feel all the stories that those walls embraced.

I looked before me, ready to see whoever it was that was going to show up, and guess who was there? The little girl with the doll. She stood firmly planted like a tree just staring at me. I asked them if someone had lost a little girl recently. The answer was, "No". I was beginning to feel like I was being held hostage by this child, and I knew that no one else was going to break through her determination, because she had an urgency about her, and her need to be recognized. I honored that.

I explained how she had shown up as soon as I had gotten into the car to come over there, and that until we figured out who she was nothing else was going to happen, and that they themselves must know her, or know someone who knows her, or she wouldn't be there.

After a about five minutes, one of the daughters said, "Oh my. One of my daughter's classmates died two weeks ago. She wasn't feeling well, and her mom came and got her from school, took her home and put her down for a nap, and at five o'clock, she went in to check on her and found her dead. That little girl was eight-years old." We had solved the mystery. It was her.

The little girl's energy shifted immediately, and I felt enormous waves of love coming from her---and she wanted that love to be delivered straight to her mom in the form of a verbal message--she wanted her mom to be told that she had come to them and told them that she was okay. So, I described the dress she was wearing, and her doll, so that her mom would know it was her when she got the message.

The daughter's started to freak out because they didn't actually know the little girl's mom, and "how would they tell her something like that"? They were afraid that they would scare her. They thought it would be too weird for them and to weird for her, for them to deliver "a message like that".

Fortunately, after a few minutes of talking about it, one of them finally promised to do it.

As soon as she made that promise, the little girl was gone.

But, the little girl is not really who this story is about...

A Tale of Two Worlds Part 1: The Journey Begins

I'm going to begin a story, which I will tell over the next bit of time, in several parts. I’m not sure how long it will take. This story spans over nearly four years of time, and involved several trips between the east and west coasts of the country.

My reason for telling this story is because it’s a perfect example of how the unseen influences of those we know and love are always with us, and how they are always at work in one way or another, on this side and the other.

My story begins with a visit from someone from New Jersey, who came to see me in Los Angeles for a reading. During her session with me an elderly woman who was on the other side, showed up about ten minutes into the session. At first, my client had no idea who the woman was.

The woman appeared quite bold in nature, and was talking about a ring, and about her granddaughter, and she was giving a lot of details that were making no sense whatsoever to my client. This was going on and on, and my client, Dita, was starting to become frustrated, because she felt like this woman was stealing her time.

The woman kept repeating the word, “liv” “live”. I thought she was telling Dita that she needed to live. It was beginning to get confusing when suddenly; I had the clearest visual experience of this woman standing there with a dishtowel over her left shoulder. I said, “This might sound really odd, but she has a dishtowel flung over her shoulder. Does that mean anything to you?”

Suddenly, Dita said, “Oh my God, that’s my friend Maria’s mother, and Olivia “Liv” is Maria’s daughter.” And “Maria actually buried her mother with a ring, and a dishtowel over her shoulder, because that was how she remembered her mom—always in the kitchen with the dishtowel thrown over her shoulder”.

The realization that it was her best friend’s mother coming through to her was so powerful that it moved both of us to tears.
All of what her friend’s mom had been trying to communicate was making sense to her. Although, a lot of what she told her, she had not known before, and that’s why it was so confusing for her.

The entire session was recorded. After leaving the session, Dita called Maria to tell her what had happened, and when she returned to NJ a few days later, she gave Maria the tape. After Maria listened to the tape, I got a phone call from her.

When I look back at what happened over the four years that followed, was absolutely mind-blowing. I witnesses a group of people from this side and the other, weaving in and out of time and space to communicate with one another; to heal a son who had lost his father, to give a wife the strength to know it would be okay for her to live a new life, to obscurely prepare a man for his departure to the other side, and so much more—as family, as friends, and as a community without the boundaries or limitations of the physical.

It is a story of great proportion to say the least, and I truly hope that I can do it justice in sharing it, because it is so poignant in revealing the truth that, life never ends, and that when people die, “they are still here”, as my wise son said at age seven.

After listening to the recording, Maria called me and told me, "you have to come to NJ, immediately". So, we arranged a time that I would be able to do that, and put it all into motion. It was about three weeks after that call that I flew to NJ. When I got there, Maria and Dita had a string of people who wanted sessions with me.
My first session of course, was with Maria, and it was her father who showed up for her first. He and his wife--Maria’s mom, had died within six weeks of each other.

All of the references he made in his communication with his daughter were related to horses, or horsemanship. I’m often surprised by some of the things that come out of my mouth, and also by the terminologies that I use that are not mine. Always when this happens, the person having the reading knows exactly that that’s “their person”, and these are the little things that insure those on the other side are being identified.

It turned out that Maria’s dad was called “Tex”, and his life was very much involved in the equine world. He talked a lot about Liv, and how he and grandma spent time with her every day. It was a very happy union, and Maria’s mom joined in at the end. Maria’s heart was put to rest.

That afternoon I was informed that I would be going to someone's house to do a reading, after dinner. I prefer that people don't tell me anything about who I'm meeting with, because I fear that it will influence me and get in the way of true communication, so all I knew was I was going to someone's house to read for a family.

By the time evening came, I was really tired. Dita had come to pick me up and drive me to the family’s house. As soon as I got into the car I laid my head back against the seat, and closed my eyes.

The instant I closed my eyes, I saw a little girl standing before me. She was about eight-years old, she had very straight light brown hair, just past her shoulders, and she was wearing a dress, and she was holding a doll. She was as clear as if she would have been physically standing there, and she just stood there, looking at me.

Usually when people come to me from the other side, I see them beside me. This little girl was right in front of me, clear as day.

I asked Dita if the people who I was going to see had lost a daughter. She said, "No."