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

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."

A few Pictures of Spencer

I've gotten several requests for me to post pictures of Spencer. I just figured out to do that on the blog.   So, here are some pics...

Age 5

When Spencer was five-years old, one day I was crying and he came up to me and said, "Mom, you need to meditate." I said, "I do meditate." "No Mom, this is why I came here--to help you, and you need to meditate. This is why I'm here." I knew that what he meant was that I needed to go deeper, be more serious, and more disciplined. It was always like this with him when he was little...

He was a little guru to me--so wise and so beautiful.

His endless green eyes - so open and full of life.

His cute little cheeks and strong little body; he loved his body. He loved to test his body's limits. He was born in the year of Monkey in Chinese astrology, and little monkey he could be...

Age 12

Age 27

The Essence of Eternity

This was sent to me by my friend Lee --


A passage from the book -- The Red Tent by Anita Diamont:

In Egypt, I loved the perfume of the Lotus. A flower would bloom in the pool at dawn, filling the entire garden with a blue musk so powerful it seemed that even the fish and ducks would swoon. By night, the flower might wither, but the perfume lasted--fainter and fainter, but never quite gone. Even many days later, the Lotus remained in the garden. Months would pass and a bee would alight near the spot where the Lotus had blossomed, and its essence was released again; momentary but undeniable.

Egypt loved the Lotus because it never dies. It is the same for the people who are loved. Thus can something as insignificant as a name—two syllables, one high, one sweet—summon up the innumerable smiles and tears, sighs and dreams of a human life.

If you sit on the bank of a river, you see only a small part of its surface. And yet, the water before your eyes is proof of unknowable depths. My heart brims with thanks for the kindness you have shown me by sitting on the bank of this river, by visiting the echoes of my name.

Blessings on your eyes and on your children. Blessings on the ground beneath you. Wherever you walk, I go with you.

Life Is But A Moment

A dear friend of mine sent this to me today -

Bubbles
by Carl Sandburg

Two bubbles found they had rainbows on their curves.
They flickered out saying:
"It was worth being a bubble, just to have held that rainbow thirty seconds."

How precious is it that we have those we love for the time we have them.

How precious it is that we have our memories that we made together.

How precious is it that we will forever hold those we love in our hearts,

our minds, and the very fiber and essence of our being - through eternity.

I talked with a friend tonight who is undergoing chemo-therapy for ovarian cancer.

She told me that she really wants to stick around, that she wants to stay here - in her body.

I told her that I would like that very much.

It's quite something when we have death in our face; whether it takes someone we love

into the formless, or it stands before us to remind us of our immortality and how much life means to us.

We are so fragile. Our life is so delicate; our breath, our perception - the things we so easily take for grated.

When I remember to touch the moment with my awareness, time slows down and life becomes vivid; it speaks to me, and I listen.

The Real Game is Magic

Four weeks after my son's death, I found myself on the island of Kauai with my dear friend Mims. Spencer died on Thanksgiving weekend, and it was now one month later and New Years eve. How I had gotten there was a blur to me. But, Mims was taking care of me, and that was all I needed to know.

There was a party happening at Stephen and Susan's house, close friends of Mims. I didn't want to go. Mims insisted and the next thing I knew I was in the car. I remember driving along the north shore of the island, wondering how I was going to survive being around all those people. All I wanted was to die.

Everyone was so happy, and they were celebrating being together. I felt odd, and I felt very much alone. I felt like a ghost walking around. I was desperately uncomfortable. Inside, I was experiencing sheer terror, "How am I going to survive this; the party, life..."

My kids and I had always engaged in a lot of physical activities; and ping pong was one of them. Spencer and his brother Jon were excellent players, and there was a table on my patio that got a lot of game playing time. I could play with them, but there was nothing spectacular about my ping pong playing. Spencer on the other hand was absolutely masterful at the game.

So, here I am now at a party with a whole lot of people I've never seen before, I'm wishing I were dead, and I'm walking around like I already was. As I was wandering aimlessly through the party hand-in-hand with my discomfort, I was walking by the ping pong table where a group of guys were playing. Suddenly, one of them grabs my hand and puts a paddle in it and tells me to play the guy at the other side of the table. "Are you kidding me", I'm thinking to myself. "I can barely put one foot in front of the other right now." I tried to hand the paddle back as I silently acknowledged the look of horror on my potential opponent's face. Whoever this man was who was setting me up for a living nightmare simply insisted that this was my fate. And the man at the other side of the table politely agreed, even though I could see in his expression he thought he'd been assigned to hell. Keep in mind that I looked like the walking dead.

So, here we go; he serves the ball, and oddly enough, I return it to him. Suddenly my body just comes to life and starts playing - playing really well. I'm slamming the ball, hitting it off the edge of the table, spinning the ball, and making my opponent look really bad. "One point and I'm going to win" I think. My feminine nature whispers in my ear, "Let him win, he's a man". Then, bam! I slam the ball and win the game. The men started lining up at the table. I'm wondering what is going on. I keep apologizing, "I don't know what's happening. I don't really play ping pong like this." Blah, blah, blah. Inside, I'm freaking out. I just want to get out of there, but they keep lining up. I won nine games in a row -- and then.... I realized what was happening.

I realized that it was Spencer. He was playing ping pong -- through me, and in the moment that I realized that, I felt his smile completely fill my body. I felt my whole being fill with joy. And do you know what? Suddnely, I could no longer play. I went back to playing my way. It was as if someone had flipped a switch, and I was immediately defeated. Those guys just looked at me with huge question marks on their faces. They could not understand why I was so hot on the table, then suddenly, it was like I could barely hit the ball.

I just smiled, laid down my paddle, said "thank you", and walked away. I went and sat under the beautiful stars, and drank in the experience of being loved from my not-so far-away beloved son.

Speak Their Names

Today is July 3, and it's Spencer's birthday - at least it was when he had a body. So, for me, it will always be his birthday - the day I gave birth to him. The day a most magnificent being emerged from my little body into this big world.

Spencer was born in a hospital in Torrance, California. I had been in labor for thirty-six extremely long hours when he finally made his debut appearance. I was more than ready to see my little guy; the little one that I had been carrying around with me, talking to, singing to, wondering about. Finally, the moment had come, the miracle had taken place, and he was here.

A nurse quickly brought him up and held him before me so that I could see him. She held him before me at eye level. When I looked into Spencer's eyes, I saw something I had never seen before. I saw my self.  I saw my soul. I saw someone looking at me from a place of knowing and wisdom, and it reflected back to me the fact that I didn't not have a clue who I was. I had just turned 21 years old, and my self-awareness in that moment, turned of age. It was the most profound moment of my entire life. And as time would go on, this little guy with the most amazing endless green eyes, would prove to me my spiritual teacher, my little dude, and my glorious son. 

One of the more difficult things that has happened in the wake of Spencer's death is the absence of his name. People don't speak his name. They don't bring up his name because they are afraid that it will make me sad. I'm already sad. I will be sad for the rest of my life. This sadness that I know within me is a form of love. It walks hand-in-hand with my happiness -- everywhere I go, every minute of my day and night. And, I am okay with that because it is what I have been given to live with. It is part of who I am now. It's not bad. It simply is. It is sacred; sacred sadness. It's quiet, and soft, and it lives in its own special place within my heart. When it is touched, tears form and fill my eyes. The tears are not bad. They are a form of love. Love has many forms, and we know them all because we are alive. It's our judgement that distorts our experiences.

It is ever so important to those who have lost a child, or a husband, wife, mom, dad, brother, sister, friend, or pet, to hear the names of their loved one spoken. When we stop talking about them, it's as if they never existed in the first place. So, my gift to all of us on my Spencer's birthday, is to remind us to continue to speak their names, because "...they are still here, there's nowhere to go..."

Death Reminds Us to Live...

Sometimes it's hard to write about my experience. I've gotten so many emails from people thanking me for this blog; it's been very touching, and I really appreciate knowing that it's so meaningful to you. I have so many stories to share of experiences I have witnessed acting as a medium for others -- stories that are heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. I feel so fortunate to be a witness to those moments in people's lives; moments that are filled with gratitude and sadness all swirled together. I've had about a billion of those moments on my own journey, and when I think about sharing them, I never know where to start. However, when I think about sharing them I also have a most magical experience of what I call; "being remembered".

Since the very beginning of Spencer being on the other side, there have been many moments when I witness him "remembering me" into a memory. I have to tell you that one minute ago I didn't know I would be sharing this, and this is exactly what I'm talking about.

There have been countless moments when I have been sitting somewhere, or walking alone, or lying in my bed, and all of the sudden out of what seems like nowhere, I'm pulled deep into a memory with Spencer. I'm remembering a moment we had together somewhere along the timeline of our lives together. What I realized early on when this began to happen is that, it's like he is reminding me of those moments, and that is what I refer to as him "remembering me". He is remembering me; reconnecting and reuniting me to my memories.

This happens for all of us, I am sure of it. We think that we're remembering something, but we are actually being taken into the memory intentionally by our loved one. I am absolutely sure of this. In those moments there is no death, there is only life; only love, as grief is a form of love, and an expression of gratitude -- sort of inside out and sometimes indiscernible as such. Then there are the moments when those we love who are beyond their bodies do something through us; either through an action or through something that is said. Something that is unmistakably them.

When Spencer departed, he had a lovely girlfriend, who was and is very dear to me. She was so devastated when he died that she had to go away, and she just disappeared. It was more than a year later when she resurfaced by way of a phone call. Shortly after that call, I went to visit her in northern California. Just minutes after we were together, we were standing in her kitchen talking and making tea, and a lightbulb literally blew up. We laughed, knowing that it was Spencer letting us know that he was there with us. We decided to go for a walk in the forest near her home. As we were walking along talking about him, I began to do something that at first seemed a bit odd. I reached over and put my hand under her long, dark hair at the back of her neck, and I began to move my fingers in a feathering-like motion up under her hair, on her neck. She turned her face toward me, her eyes filled with tears and said, "Spencer used to do that all the time".

It was a bittersweet moment; one of joy, because he was there with us, and one of sorrow, because he was not. Spencer wanted her to feel his love for her, and he wanted her to know that he was there, so he used me to do that.

I have had so many similar experiences since he died.

I share this because I believe that sharing those precious moments unites us, and comforts us, and helps us to realize that there is no end to the love that we have for one another; love just takes on different forms from time to time, and so do our relationships.

Bittersweet Love

I just thought of an experience that I had a few years ago when I was in New York seeing clients, and I want to share it with you. 

I had seen two individuals earlier that morning, and I was about to take a little break before I would see two women who were coming together for a session. 

Someone in NJ schedules appointments for me, and she didn't know who these ladies were or where they came from, which was unusual. So, I had no idea why they were coming to see me, which is really the way I like it to be.

I went into the kitchen to have an apple and some tea, and as I was standing there cutting my apple, I felt the presence of a young man come close to me. He felt like he was about eighteen years old. Very sweet boy. He had a big dog with him. I didn't inquire -- I just stayed aware of his presence, and noticed what I was feeling.

There was a knock on the door. My two ladies were twenty minutes early, so I showed them into the living room and told them I would be there in a few minutes. I ate my apple and drank my tea, and did whatever else I needed to do before I was ready to do the session with them, and then, about ten minutes later I went into the room to join them. 

I asked them if they had come to connect with a young man who was around eighteen years old. One woman began to cry - the young man was her son, the other woman was her sister. I told them they he was there with us and that he was with a big dog. I also mentioned that he seemed to be making a big deal about being with the dog, and that I wasn't quite sure why that was. He was teasing his mom a little bit about the dog. "He always wanted a dog, and I would never let him have one", she said. That was a bittersweet moment for her. 

He got his dog when he went to the other side and he for sure wanted her to know that. 

For me it was a beautiful way of him letting her know that he was okay being there. 

"He also wanted you to know that the accident was an accident".  I of course had no idea what I was talking about, which is very often the case. The young man's energy suddenly became very serious as he began to show me pictures of him driving fast down a pitch dark road, and then a bright, blinding light coming into his eyes, and then his car crashing into a tree off the side of the road. He said that the accident was completely his fault.

They explained to me that he died in that car accident and that there was some question about how that actually happened because his friend's car was involved as well, and his friend was feeling responsible for the son's death. Her son assured his mom that it was not his friend's fault, and he asked her to please convey that to him, because he was suffering and having a very hard time. Mom promised that she would call his friend to tell him what had been shared with her. At this moment, there was a feeling of relief that filled the air; it was like the whole room sighed.

A lot of communication happened in that session. It was very healing for his mom and his aunt, and it answered their questions about the accident. By the end of our time together, the tears turned to laughter and sweet memories that they shared, and there was a feeling of peace and love that filled all of our hearts.

Death - It Has Its Way With Us

Why Did You Leave Me?

Several years ago, I was asked by a colleague, who I am going to call Marco, to join him in a feng shui job that he was doing that was quite extensive. It sounded like fun, so I agreed. We got together one afternoon, prior to the day we were going to go to the house. We were sitting in my living room talking, and the room began to feel different, like there were other people in the room with us.I  knew nothing about Marco’s background. I only knew that he was from Mexico. After a few minutes of being distracted by the presence in the room, I asked him if his father had died. Marco was young enough that his father could still easily be alive. He told me his father had indeed, passed on.

Before I knew it, there was a very serious dialogue happening between Marco and his father, and through me. His father had tremendous regret, and Marco was very angry. It was like being in a full-on family therapy session with the two of them. Anger revealed hurt, and then things started to really open up. It was so intense you could feel the electricity in the air. Suddenly, there was someone else present on the other side with Marco's dad. I saw a baseball and a blue and white bicycle. And I saw a young man about sixteen years old. It was Marco’s brother, who had died when Marco was twelve.

Such sadness filled the air as Marco wept. All of this was very intense. Marco’s father was so sorry that he had been so abusive with Marco and his brother. He was truly  filled with regret, and hope; the hope, but not expectation that Marco could find it in his heart to forgive him. 

As that was taking place between the two of them, Juan had made his appearance. Marco cried out to Juan, “Why did you leave me?”  The reply, which I did not expect, and had never, heard before was so bittersweet; “It’s not why I left you, it’s why I came in the first place. I came to be with you. I never left you Marco”.

It was like the Earth stood still in that moment. Marco wept his heart out. I had tears running down my face. Never, in all the readings that I have done as a medium, did I ever hear anyone say that, and it made total sense to me. The love that those words were delivered on was so great, it broke my heart wide open. And the healing that took place for Marco was undeniable and unmistakable, not to mention -- amazing. That entire conversation lasted two full hours. 

The next day when I did go to the feng shui job to work with Marco, I realized that, I was not there for that reason, and that the reason he had thought to call me in was a trick from the other side, so that his dad and his brother could have the conversation they had, and so the amazing healing that took place could happen. 

 

Life After Death - A Story of Love

In some cultures, it's a given that there is life after death. In the American culture, death has been overlooked, made "hush-hush", considered to be a bad thing. Ignorance is bliss perhaps, but life is just as much a mystery, if not more so, than death. The question, "Is there life after death?" was never a question for me, and once someone connects with someone from the other side, if it was a question prior to that moment, it ceases to be.

When I first began working after Spencer had died, one of my new clients came to me for healing work. He was lying on the table, and I was holding his head in my hands. I felt so much sadness in his heart, and just as I was about to ask him about that, I felt a woman standing next to me. She was about 5'9", blonde hair to her shoulders, thin, and had a very wry sense of humor. She was so present, and her personality was unmistakable. I described this woman to him and he literally burst into tears. "That's my Barbara, he said. She died last July."

Barbara began to share things about their life, showed me their house, etc., so that he would know it was her that was there, if he had any doubt. She then told him that she was fine, and she told him who she was with, and she shared with him things that she had attended with him from the other side. He was so comforted. They had been together since they were in their early twenties, and he was in his late sixties, so for him, it was a huge loss. A year later, I had the great honor of being with this man as he left his body to go join his Barbara. While he laid there in the bed, letting go of all the responsibilities that he thought he still had to take care of for other people,  Barbara stood right next to him. The doctors said that he had about six months left. I guess he decided to take an earlier flight, because he looked at me and smiled, and said, "Barbara is here", then closed his eyes and left his body. 

When someone we love dies...

When our people go to the other side, when they drop their body and become that beautiful essence of what we truly are made of, they have not left us, they have merely changed form, and so has our relationship with them. As we learn to have our new relationship, we find peace of mind. However, it’s not always an easy journey, and sharing with others can really help us feel that we’re not alone.

When my Spencer was seven years old, his grandma died while he was at school. When he came home that day, I took him to a quiet spot and I told him what had happened. He was very close to her. He stood there for a very long minute, his beautiful big green eyes looking off into the distance, and then he looked at right into my eyes and said, “Mom. Grandma is still here. There is nowhere to go. When people die, it’s like they have gone into the other room. We can’t see them or hear them, but they are still here, because there’s no where to go.” You can imagine how grateful I am that he said that to me, because twenty-two years later, he was killed in a car accident.

I welcome your comments and questions, and if you have had a reading with me, please feel free to share your story of how you connected with your loved ones on the other side. For me, after Spencer left, these stories brought me comfort, and mediumship was the only thing that I sought.

 

 The Death of a Child

After Spencer died, people would say things like, “Oh, he’s in a better place now.” Or “Don’t worry, he’ll be waiting there when you get there.” Or “He’s gone home to heaven”. Our friends and family mean well, but if they haven't had the experience, they don't know. And, in our culture, death has very much been kept in silence, because we fear what we don't understand.

When you are a parent, you want to know two things, first, where is my child, and then, is he or she okay. That’s it – it’s very simple. You don’t want to hear that he or she is in a better place, or that he has gone home, or that she is in Heaven. That’s not the deal. That’s not what you signed up for. Suddenly, you find yourself a member of a club that you don’t remember joining, but life has enrolled you, and there’s no way to negotiate your membership.

After Spencer died, I went to a compassionate friends meeting. There I was in a room full of people who had all lost children. There were probably 30-40 people in the room, sitting in metal folding chairs, in a large circle. It was an activity room at a local church. The couple running the group was young, and they had lost their baby four years prior. They still could not look at a picture of her, and they hadn’t changed her room. Here I was, two months after my son died, he was 29, at this meeting for the first time, and I brought a picture of him with me to show everyone.

After the evening was over, an older couple who had lost there son ten years before, and were there to support those of us who were newbie’s to the club, called me over to them. The woman looked at me and said, “You’re in shock my dear. And when you come out, you must remember one thing; you will either get better or you will become bitter, and that is a choice that you will make”.  Her words of wisdom, saved me many a time, because when I started to come out of shock, I was a total mess, a complete nightmare, and so was my new life.

Many of us use religion or our spiritual beliefs to avoid the real devastation of death; we use them as a crutch rather than for support. There is a great difference. My spiritual beliefs were great. I’d been meditating for twenty-five years when my son died. I’d been a spiritual advisor and counselor for as many years, and on occasion, a medium for those on the other side who wanted to speak to someone that was still in body.

About four months after Spencer died, one of my clients, Mary France – a lovely, and very strong French woman, called me. She instructed me that I had to get back to work immediately, that I had taken enough time off, and that if I didn’t get back to work, she was going to die. I agreed to see her, and certainly she was nowhere near death, but just trying to get me back into my life. I started seeing clients again, a few each week to begin. What was so odd was that suddenly, and I can’t remember from where, I had perhaps twenty new clients all at once, and when they came for their sessions, each one of them was accompanied by someone from the other side. I saw how I was being used, and when I wasn't working, I was trapped in a nightmare of a new reality that I couldn't grasp with my mind. Life had become erie and strange; even the familiar was unfamiliar and everything was surreal. I felt like I had been buried alive.

While reading this, if you remembered an experience you have had with someone on the other side, please click on "comments" and share your story with us. Believe me, these stories are what keep people going, and that is why I created this blog. I will post stories every day from my own experience and from the readings I have done with others, and what happened for them; some  of them are funny, all of them are heart wrenching, and each one keeps all of our loved ones alive in our lives here in this plane of existence - because remember what Spencer said, "There's no where to go".