Unloveable

As a child, this petite freckle-nosed boy with unevenly cut bangs, cried at the supper table one night because he wanted to move back to his old house. He begged his mom, tears streaming down his face, to be able to do so. His mom, who had recently remarried, moved her children into a new home and now his older brother and he had separate bedrooms. This sensitive boy was crying because he wanted to be near his brother.

His mom tirelessly worked two jobs to provide food, clothing and shelter for her two growing boys. Child support wasn’t enforced back then and his dad chose not to pay the measly court ordered amount of $125 a month for both him and his brother. She was a waitress who had a quick smile and even quicker wit. Customers would come to the restaurant just for her. But each night, after working long shifts, she would go home, put her feet up and spread her tip money out on the kitchen table. She would unerringly count it as each penny was precious and needed. Sometimes the sensitive boy watched her openly and sometimes from a hiding spot.

They were all saving for a trip to Disney World. She would put a few cents in the jar as would the boys.  The sensitive child and his brother would do odd jobs so they could put money into the jar. As the vacation fund grew, so did the eight year old’s excitement.

One day, upon returning home from grade school, all the money in the jar was gone. Practicality had taken over and the money was needed for unfrivolous bills.  The sensitive boy felt emotionally crushed and burst into tears. Even though it was promised by a mother who was caught between a rock and a hard place, the trip to Disney World never materialized.

Years came and went. Step-fathers came and went and as this sensitive boy grew into adolescence, he began feeling abandoned by those he unconditionally loved. His biological dad was long out of the picture and his step-dads, some of whom disappeared without a word never to be heard from again, left this boy with unanswered questions, confusion and sadness. He learned not to get attached to them because sometimes they didn’t stick around long.

He often felt unseen, invaluable and that he wasn’t good enough, loveable enough.  He started feeling as if his jock of an older brother got the lion’s share of his mother’s love and that his older brother could do no wrong in her eyes.

As this adolescent grew into a young adult, he started acting out. He would use his fists to settle arguments…or just because he could. He would physically and verbally spar with his older brother. He would seek out women in order to soothe the deep “I’m unloveable” wound that was growing inside of him. Each time he won a fist fight, obtained a difficult award, broke an athletic record, brought more money in than his brother or conquered an otherwise unconquerable sexual conquest, he would mentally raise his middle finger towards his mom in an “Aha! I’ll show YOU I’m loveable” way.

This wound grew and grew. His mom was busy working to make ends meet and to provide shelter for her boys. But the sensitive boy would inwardly cry when his mother didn’t attend his wrestling tournaments but attended his brother’s sporting events. His heart broke into a thousand pieces when she was unable or unwilling to attend his coveted Senior Parent’s Night for wrestling. He wanted her there so badly. His eyes searched the crowd for her constantly, but she was not there.

This hardened the sensitive boy’s heart. He joined the Army and did two tours overseas. He saw things, and was asked to do things – IN THE NAME OF HIS COUNTRY – that no 18 year old…no person of ANY age…should ever, EVER do.

His work ethic was strong and the Army liked his ‘can do’ attitude. He quickly rose through the military ranks which meant more responsibility and more emotional collateral damage. In the end, this Eagle Scout became an Army Ranger, the elite of the elite.

This boy, the boy who desperately wanted his mother’s approval and love, was working hard (whether he knew it or not) to prove he was loveable and worthy. What he may not have realized is that his mom had taught him the value of hard work and a penny earned. He strove to be the best of the best. He strove to learn something about everything. He was an insatiable reader and often felt he needed to prove himself again and again. Everything he touched he gave his all. If he didn’t know the answer, he’d research it. If he didn’t know how to perform a task, he’d learn with each failure. He excelled.

While he was a rock star at mastering physical tasks, he was often a failure at emotional tasks. “Avoidance” could have been his middle name. Perhaps he was never taught how to talk through conflicts. Perhaps he was taught to use passive-aggressive abuse to his advantage.  Perhaps he felt he needed to yell and draw upon anger in order to show his worth.

When it came to matters of the heart, this sweet little boy with the sun-kissed nose often failed. He was afraid to get emotionally close to the opposite sex. He sometimes used women as though they were objects. He often exploited them and once he got what he wanted, he dropped them like a hot potato. He was physically fit, devilishly handsome, had a disarming smile and had learned that flirting and nice words often got him what he wanted. He had found a surrogate way to get (his mother’s) attention and love.

With a failed marriage under his belt, he was serial dating once again. His relationship with both his mother and his brother was rocky at best. His mom said he changed once he came back from the war. His brother said he would always love him but didn’t always like him. He set out to avoid anything emotional at all costs. When things got heavy emotionally in his relationships, he tapped out. He did this until he met a woman who was different from all the rest. This woman saw his childhood pain and his beauty even if he didn’t.

She was tackling her own demons but with his help, she overcame a few of them so she could help him with his. And while she tried and tried to get him to see that he WAS loveable and WAS worthy, he never believed it. Not once. Not in his brain and not in his ravaged heart.

As his relationship grew and thrived with this woman, his relationship with his mother and brother was also back on track.  They were all talking again, albeit guardedly but the peace didn’t last long. His brother was the first to excommunicate him. This sensitive boy – now well into his adult years – took that to mean he truly WASN’T worthy. His own brother; one that he idolized and often tried to best academically and physically, the one person who was in the proverbial childhood trenches with him, had effectively passive-aggressively cast him out.  There was no talking about it, there was no closure; just a symbolical slamming of a door that left this sensitive boy feeling as if he truly was not loveable.

His on-again/off-again relationship with his mother was shaky. She often overstepped boundaries and imposed her will upon her youngest son. She was stubborn, he was stubborn. She was gregarious, he was gregarious.  He was protective, she was protective.

The woman that this sensitive boy married was unsure of her new mother-in-law. She, the mother-in-law, was larger than life, had a HUGE personality and appeared to others as the belle of the ball. But inside, inside of her, something was different; off. The wife sensed it; intuited it. Nobody else saw it, which made her question herself but the wife trusted her gut and was weary. She watched her mother-in-law through spiritually squinted eyes.  You see, she, the wife, was protective of her husband, too.

Months passed with colorful commentary and family suppers; then something abruptly changed. First it was his brother, his beloved larger-than-life brother, who had an angry exchange with the sensitive boy and then cut off all ties with him. This left the sensitive boy angry and resentful for he was learning the value of talking through misunderstandings and miscommunications. On the heels of his big brother disowning him, his mother broke off all contact with the sensitive boy and his small family.

He tried and tried to speak with her. He would invite her to his family gatherings, daughter’s birthday parties. He would leave pleading messages with her on her voice mail to call him so they could work through this. He stopped by her home but she wouldn’t answer the door. He felt confused; he didn’t understand what he had done that was so heinous that his mother would treat him, his wife and their toddler daughter this way.

Months passed and he tried to reach out to his mother again. He left her numerous voice mails, each time asking her to tell him what happened so he could work through it. Each plea for a return phone call was left unanswered. As a final ultimatum, he told her this would be his last phone call to her; he would leave her be. He told her again he didn’t know what he had done so he couldn’t fix it. He asked for her to call him so they could resolve this. He received silence.

This sensitive boy who once cried because he missed the safety of sharing a bedroom with his older brother, was learning first hand that passive-aggressive behavior IS abusive.  He started on a downward spiral. You see he, once again, believed he was unloveable and so he started to do things to push his wife away. He felt it would be easier if she called it quits, that way he wouldn’t have to emotionally deal with any of this. His wife, his Other, was tenacious and graceful and forgiving in ways she didn’t even know she possessed. He loved her more because of this and possibly hated her a little, too.

She wasn’t going to let him slide. She believed in him. She saw his beauty. She had a (spiritual) job to do and that was to help him heal and grow. She still saw him as larger than life, even when he saw himself as unworthy and unloveable. She had loved him forever; he was her brother in a past life and in that past life he was used to running away from his problems. He was a spoiled rich boy who loved the ladies but would never commit. She was the older sister who had the family’s estate and a reputation to take care of.

She would often watch him though a thick paned glass window galloping away on a beautifully manicured brown steed. He was usually in such a hurry to get to a party or his latest tryst that he would flash her a smile and wave to her as he was attempting to put on his fluttering coattails.

He was rash and impetuous. He did not have the responsibilities she did nor did he want them. She would often simultaneously envy him for his freedom from protocol and from his life station and bemoan his impulsiveness and rakishly flirtatious manner. She knew her rapscallion brother would cause yet another scandal and she, the calm, level-headed one, would be left to clean it up.

Back in the now, life moved on. Unlike the past, the sensitive boy kept a place in his heart open for both his mother and his brother. He outwardly and vocally harbored great animosity for his brother as well, they’re brothers and brothers fight but work things out, right?  His mother though, that was a much, much tougher and deeper wound.

One day, his wife intuited that his mother was again sick; the cancer had returned. She told her husband but was quick to say it was only a sense. Weeks turned into months and still he did not hear anything from his mother or about her. Then, one day, his wife happened to be posting a message on her little used personal Facebook page. A post from one of her husband’s beloved cousins popped into view and stated that her aunt had passed. She did not post a name, just that her auntie was no longer in pain.  The wife’s eyes widened as if she needed to see the words more clearly. She knew immediately this was the sensitive boy’s mom who had died.

The wife contacted the unloveable boy and told him what she felt. He reached out to his beloved cousin and she opted to lie to him. She told him it was an aunt of her husband’s that died. She later told this boy that she lied at the explicit request of her dying aunt, his mom.

Two days later, when the unloveable boy was out of town, his wife read in the newspaper what she already knew was true in her heart; his mother had died. She was now forced to deliver the news that his trusted cousin had lied to him and that his mother had indeed passed away.

Later that day, the boy’s wife was blindly struck with an intuitive hit that changed her perception of his mother and brother’s behavior. Prior to this, she had been ranting and railing. She had been shaking her fist and loudly swearing at the departed. She had been crying for the hurting child inside of her husband’s chest. But this! Oh my GAWD, THIS! This information was so magnanimous, so amazing, so perception-altering that she could barely contain her excitement and wonderment.

In a world far away but closer than you think, a pact was made. Before any of them were even thoughts on the horizon, a pact was forged where the youngest son begged his older brother to help him overcome avoidance and self-worth issues. The older brother was all game. He was thrilled his little brother had asked him to help with such a monumental task. He felt honored and humbled. Then the little brother turned to his soon-to-be mother. He said to her, “If my brother fails or if I don’t learn to deal with avoidance, I need you to step in. I need you to help me overcome. Will you do this? CAN you do this for me? Please?” The mother, knowing it was her son’s spiritual growth at stake and as her heart burst with unconditional love, unhesitatingly said, “Yes, I will. You can count on me.”  Then she questioned him, “Are you sure you want me to do this?” And the little boy quickly answered with a large smile, “YES! Oh yes!”

All the parties involved were overjoyed that the sensitive boy was going to tackle avoidance and be given a chance to believe he was loveable.  They all felt as if they’d won the lottery by being able to help him accomplish this.  True to the astral pact, brother and mother (and a few others) physically and emotionally played their parts without fault. The parts everyone played were Oscar worthy. Do not doubt that they did so because his (spiritual) life was on the line. There was no room for error and no room for failure on their part. In it to win it.

This sensitive boy who, for his entire lifetime, yearned for his mother’s acceptance, approval and love now feels betrayed by his own family. Not one of them reached out to him. Not one of them told him his mother was ill. Not one of them told him she had died. He doesn’t understand why his mom hated him so much or why she didn’t want to say goodbye. He doesn’t understand the anger coming at him from his cousins or his brother. They say he treated his mother like crap all of her life and this confuses and confounds him. He treated HER like crap?

What did he do that warranted this treatment? What could he possibly have done that has him questioning whether his family will ban him from attending his own mother’s funeral? Why does his mother’s shrinking family not see he is still the sensitive little boy who just wanted his mother’s acceptance and love? Why is HE the bad guy?

It remains to be seen if the sensitive, “unloveable” boy will realize his own beauty, that he IS loveable and worthy and face/overcome his avoidance and self-worth issues.  His intuitive wife knows, for she is wise in the ways of Spirit, that there will be more (intense pain) to come if he doesn’t. And so she prays. Hard.

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Kyle

When Corey tried to schedule a session, I didn’t have any openings until the end of June but I had a suspicion I’d get a cancellation. Sure enough, the next day I had an opening for mid-May and then within a few more days, I had another for the following week. Evidently “someone” had pulled some powerful strings as Corey was able to see me the week after his initial phone call. That’s virtually unheard of.

Corey tells me his brother, Kyle, has been appearing in his dreams and most recently, at the foot of his bed. Kyle said, “You’ve got to call her.” Corey replied he’d do it when he was ready. Kyle, in a voice that brooked no discussion said, “Now” and so Corey did. He laughs and says when Kyle used to say “jump” he would respond, “What boots do you want me to wear?”

Corey’s younger and only brother died in a tragic auto accident over two years ago as he was just beginning his adult life. He was going to college, had a girlfriend and wanted to farm the land. He was just 20 years old when he left us.

Before Corey can verbally ask Kyle says, “There was no pain.” Corey’s eyes widen and Kyle says he was unconscious once his head hit the ground. As he begins to tell me what happened, I feel a blinding headache and then all sensation from my neck down is gone. I feel paralyzed. Kyle validates my empathic feelings by telling me he remembers a sudden bad headache and then there was no feeling after that. He said he wasn’t “there” when the weight of the vehicle crushed his spine.

Corey begins to ask more questions about the accident but Kyle has had enough. He gets a bit testy and says, “No more! I’m done answering questions about my death. Move ON!” This elicits a smile from his older brother who responds, “Typical Kyle.”

Corey was a flight paramedic but left that job for something emotionally safer after Kyle’s death. He tells me he did it because he wanted to be closer to his parents. Kyle snarls and I relay, “You fucking pussy.” And then to me he vehemently says, “Don’t let him by with his lying bullshit.”

The reality is Corey developed PTSD after Kyle’s accident and he started to doubt his own ability to help others. He also admits he feels dead inside. Kyle, in no uncertain terms, is NOT happy about Corey’s decision to hide and to stop living.

Corey asks Kyle, “What is it I’m supposed to do?!” and Kyle answers, “Follow your passion, what’s in your heart and head, man?” And then I’m shown an image of a premature, tiny baby. I ask Corey about this and he makes a grimacing face and chokingly says he’s afraid of babies.

I continue to see images of him holding wailing, distressed babies and them calming instantly because of his energy. I hear he is maternal and has an innate gift of knowing what needs to be done. He says he has no interest in working with babies. I tell him I may have uncovered a seed for him but it’s up to him to see if it will grow.

Kyle tells me a name, “Shep.” It’s the same name I’ve heard for all three of his family members. I thought it was a dog but Corey tells me there’s a doctor – a PEDIATRIC doctor – he used to work with by that name. Hummmm…

Kyle moves on and teasingly confides in me that he hasn’t forgiven his brother for pushing him off the roof. He admits to totally pranking his older brother by having books tip over, the garage door open and repeatedly knocking on walls.  Corey says with a smile, “I KNEW it!” and then good naturedly admits yelling at Kyle to “knock it the fuck off.”

This is brother stuff. Teasing, bugging, irritating and pushing buttons but the comradery and love between these two hasn’t dissipated one ounce because one of them has changed appearances. Kyle compassionately says, “Tell my brother I love him, I respect him and I’m proud of him. Tell him he was the best brother I could have hoped for. Tell him to keep going and to get in the game. Tell him to start living.”

Kyle tells me that there is no anger where he is and so for us to keep housing anger is just bullshit.  I’ve been told this by angels, but hearing Kyle say it, in the manner in which he SAID it, makes me smile. Corey admits he is still working through some anger. Kyle then says, “Forgive” and smiles while he jokingly says his name should be, “Friggin’ Kyle Forgiveness.” He then dramatically raises his arms out to his sides and up over his head while theatrically breaking into the song, “Don’t Cry For Me Argentina.”  Corey looks incredulous, cracks a smile and says he JUST watched that movie. Of course you did, Corey.  Uh huh.

Kyle, now switching gears and becoming very earnest says, “Tell him I love him. Again. Tell him again. It’s important he hears it.”

As I am finishing his brother’s session, Kyle reveals to me why he had to leave this earth. He softly and quietly whispers there was a baby who needed him. He says he always wanted children. My eyes widen and I sense that this baby was worthy of giving his own life for. What I felt was the unfailing and unquestionable love of a parent who unselfishly and unhesitatingly gives their own life for their child’s. Kyle didn’t even question it when he was Called; he just folded his cards and left.

Kyle is clearly just as alive in death as he was in life. He is funny, quick tempered and a prankster. He calls me a “cool chick” and tells me he wants to hang out with me even when his family isn’t around. His energy is big and he easily fills my head, overriding anything or anyone that wants to appear or talk. As Corey said, the party begins when Kyle arrives. Yes, as in life, as in death. Kyle is, again, proof positive that life doesn’t end just because we die.


About 2 weeks after I published this blog, Kyle started telling me to tell Corey, “You’re picking up what I’m LAYING DOWN.”  I poo-poo’d Kyle as I don’t like to do my Work outside of session.  This morning Kyle had enough of me saying no so I text Corey.  Here was Corey’s response:

“Yesterday I had an ambulance call for a baby having a seizure. When I got there, the baby was not breathing and unresponsive. I was able to get the baby back and awake.

When we got to the ER, he was snuggled up in my arms. He didn’t like the nurses and just screamed and screamed when I gave him to them. I then picked him up off the ER bed and he immediately stopped crying and laid in my arms….

Before bed last night I was thinking of that call and it came to me what you said about me calming a crying baby. I called my mom and said, ‘Holy shit! It happened!’ Just unbelievable.”

So now it makes perrrrfect sense why Kyle was being such a Kyle and wanting me to tell his brother exactly that.

 

Kyle has appeared many times in both his mother and his brother’s sessions. He most recently became very agitated towards his mom for “not moving on” and made no bones about it. He is often in my personal life and I welcome his appearances. If you’d like to read about how he helped me with a personal issue, read “Sober.

Between

It’s a place that’s not here and it’s not there. It’s a place of nothing and of everything. It’s a place people go when they are not dead but they are not alive. It’s a place I’ve been to only a few times.

This is something that is new to me as I’ve never been particularity comfortable with death. I feared it as a child. I always thought death was going to take my mom and there would be no one to care for me. I was so afraid of it, in fact, that I would often sneak into my mom and dad’s bedroom just to listen to her breathe. I sometimes slept on the floor next to her just to make sure I could keep death away. I won many battles but lost the war in 1999.

When my dad died, I had aged and matured not only physically but spiritually as well. My dad’s death was met with wonder instead of fear. I saw the angel who came for him. I saw my dad standing at the end of his hospital bed, even though he had just taken his last physical breath. My dad appeared before me months later to let me know he had “made it.”

So with my evolution into no longer fearing what I didn’t know, new gifts began to emerge. When I was still in my infancy stage (and I’m not sure I’m out of it), a friend of mine came to me. “Friend” doesn’t quite encapsulate what Eric is to me. He is the most upbeat, positive, quirky enigma I know. He’s difficult to define. He is scientific but has deep roots in spirituality. He was my first Reiki student to become a Reiki Master. His brain is wired to create and to seek out ways to make and do things better. By day he is a computer software geek. By night a cross between Doc. Emmett Brown and Einstein.  To say Eric carries a special place in my heart, in a lot of our hearts, is an understatement.

Eric’s body was rejecting his second liver. His body ate through his own years ago and he received a successful transplant. All was going well until his body started to cannibalize this new liver. Eric’s demeanor, even when his eyes and face were yellow with jaundice and his belly was severely distended, was upbeat and positive. He insisted on working right up to the point where he could no longer do so. Sometimes when I saw him, it made me realize my problems were just that; problems. This man was once again fighting for his life and happily doing so.

Prior to his second surgery, Erik and his wife asked something of me that made me somewhat uncomfortable. They asked that I give spiritual feedback of what I was seeing and hearing from Eric when he was no longer able to speak for himself. I said I would, I signed a legal document, but I was sure to state not to look to me if they were looking to pull the plug. I didn’t want that on my shoulders.

Eric’s condition deteriorated. He was admitted to the hospital while awaiting a new liver. He soon lost consciousness. His wife would email me and ask me very physical questions and I would let her know my gift didn’t work that way. I could tell her Eric was comfortable, not in any pain and that he loved her very much.

Hours passed and Eric slipped deeper into unconsciousness. So much so that when a new liver became available, the doctors thought of giving it to another individual as Eric’s vital signs were far from where they needed to be. His wife, not a believer in the spiritual realm but a supporter of her husband’s belief, emailed me. Again, she asked me physical questions and again I told her my gift didn’t work like that.  I then set out to tell her what I did see and this I will share with you now.

Eric was far away. Not here, not there. He was in a place much like outer space (I hadn’t seen the movie “Gravity” yet, but now that I have, these visions are very much like being in outer space) but different. More vast, if that’s possible. “Eric!” I internally cried, “Eric! You’ve got to come back. I know you are an explorer and probably loving all the places you’re traveling to, but you’ve got to come back. They’ve found a liver for you and you NEED to get back here.”

His wife emailed me the next day and said a new series of tests showed improvements. But that didn’t last long. His vitals and other test results started plummeting. Eric didn’t want to be here; he had gotten a taste of what was out there and he, ever the explorer/scientist/student, wanted more. I’d be damned if I was going to allow that to happen.

Not really knowing what I should/could do, I went in after him, spiritually speaking, with guns blazing. “ERIC!” I yelled inside my head, “ERIC! WHERE ARE YOU?! ERIC! YOU HAVE TO COME BACK!”  No response. No response inside my head or medically. I repeated, “ERIC! I’m not kidding around! There is a liver for you and you’ve GOT to get back to your body or they’ll give it to someone else. ERIC! DO YOU HEAR ME! You’ve GOT to get back here and give the doctors something than can go on. Don’t you DARE leave your wife. The last thing you said to her was that you loved her. GET BACK HERE, DAMNIT!  ERIC! Where ARE you?!”

Then I changed tactics a bit and said, “Eric. I know you want to explore. I know you are enjoying all of this, but you need to come back. Before you left, you were clear you wanted to come back. I need you to hear me. We need you to return, RIGHT NOW, Eric. The doctors will give your liver to someone else and you will not return. You will not kiss your wife or pet your dog again. ERIC!! COME. BACK. NOW!!!!! EEEEERRRRRICCCCCCCCCC!!!”

I’m not saying what I did worked, but it was shortly after that Eric’s tests showed promise and he received his new liver. Eric tells me he has memories of where he went and that I “got through” to him.

What I didn’t see for Eric, I did for Michelle and Cindy. Both of these ladies had left their physical body. One was end stage brain cancer and the other was in a medically induced coma.  I saw both of them floating in a place that looked like outer space. They both were attached to Earth with an umbilical cord of sorts which looked like a very thin strand of hair.  This told me things were not good, not good at all.

Michelle spoke to me and said she wanted her husband to kiss her on her lips once more. She wanted her three boys to tightly hold her hands and feet. She told her mother she loved her and had the utmost respect for her. She said she had no regrets.

I argued with Michelle about telling her husband this. Her husband does not know me and isn’t familiar with my Work. I told Michelle my kind was burned at the stake for this kind of stuff in the past. She was insistent and so I trusted and did as she asked.  I sent a text to her husband but I didn’t hear back from him. I wasn’t really expecting to. Part of me is glad he didn’t respond because I couldn’t have handled anything but kindness. Michelle passed away shortly after I relayed her messages.

Cindy is a friend of mine from way back who has never experienced my Work. I received a phone call from one of my besties that Cindy had gone into cardiac arrest and had been in a car accident. She was in a medically induced coma and it didn’t look good. Once my adrenaline evened out and I was able to quit crying, I spiritually looked for her.

I saw her way out in space but connected to Earth by a hair-thin cord. Her back was arched and there was no brain activity. She was just floating. I began to cry once again. I said, “Cindy. Cindy? Can you hear me?” I received no reply.

I laid down for a nap but couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about Cindy. Suddenly, her voice filled my head. She told me she didn’t want to go (die) this way as she hadn’t said goodbye to anyone. In an instant, and in true Cindy form, her energy changed to determination but it was tinged with fear. She said, “Where am I?! I’m frightened.”

I loved that I could hear her. I told her what had happened and she said, “I have to get back for my grand kids.”  And get back she did. Within seconds, her energetic body became animated; she snapped into a forward facing position and grabbed the cord connecting her to Earth.  Immediately upon doing this, the cord became thicker. It looked like twisted metal cabling which was as thick as my arm.

Cindy, with teeth gritted, began pulling herself back to Earth. Her astral travels were also having effects on her physical body. Her pupils became reactive to light; her brain scan showed promise.

But this rapid return was tiring for her. I watched as the cord grew thicker still and as Cindy paused to take a nap. When she awoke, it was with a new vigor; she was eager to get back to her body. Hand over hand, eyes focused directly on Earth (she never once looked back) and with grunts of exertion, she kept methodically going.

Her physical body was showing signs of this progress, too. She was coming out of her coma before the medical world was ready to have her do so. According to them, she had another full day before they would attempt to bring her out of the deep sleep. Cindy had other ideas. She left the hospital, on her own accord, just two days later.

I hadn’t consciously been thinking about writing this blog until a few days ago. Last night my Guys were insistent that I get ‘r done and in that, I inexplicably trust. For the person or persons who needed this (ahem!), I hope it brings you comfort.

Dick

I have a client whose deceased husband has been coming to her sessions, almost without fail, for about two years.  Their love for each other has clearly transcended boundaries and it continues even while one of them is no longer in human form.

Dick is a joy to communicate with. Sometimes he is quiet and takes everything in, other times he is all smiles and eager to talk.  Sometimes he does energy work on his wife right alongside of (or through) me and sometimes he lets me have the floor.

He is respectful, courteous and polite and has a fabulously dry sense of humor which brings happy tears to his wife’s blue eyes.

He shows up in human form or as the color orange. Sometimes I don’t see him but he telepathically talks to me. Sometimes he shares quips about his life with his beloved and sometimes he tells me information about the spiritual realm.

In life, Dick was a scientist and a professor which made him naturally analytical/logical. He preferred to do things that didn’t involve people. His wife, on the other hand, loves helping people and Dick didn’t understand this need. He also didn’t believe in his wife’s ‘hunches’ and he most certainly would never have given Reiki or channeled messages the time of day.

But now, in death, he tells me he has been ‘awakened.’

Last month, right around the time we were learning about downed air crafts, Dick briefly popped into session and seemed excited but worn-out and rushed. This was a far cry from his normal calming, sedate and respectful manner. It was kind of as if he was overwhelmed with the enormity of something.

He said he couldn’t stay as he had a lot of work to do. He said he and others were helping newly deceased souls find Home.  He popped in and out of my client’s session that day. He was clearly torn; he really wanted to be with his wife and to have me communicate his words, but he had obligations elsewhere.

During my client’s most recent session, Dick returned and he was enthusiastically excited.  He said he has been tasked to work with people. He, and others, were helping souls leave their physical body and return to energy, just like him. He told his wife he didn’t realize how tiring dealing with emotions could be. His wife of 40 years laughed and said that dealing with emotions was NOT his specialty. She found comfort in the knowledge he was learning to do so.

Up until Dick’s recent communication, I thought once you died and became a soul you’d live on Heaven’s easy street. You know, nothing to do because it was already done. You were free from all pain, you took a vacation from all this spiritual learning crap and you played golf/cards or fished/napped all day until you reincarnated. But Dick’s revelations about his continued learning left me questioning all of what I thought.

Dick knew what I was thinking because my brain was instantly flooded with a whole bunch of telepathic information concerning this. For instance, I knew Dick was helping individuals who died en masse by guiding their ascending souls from earth.  I knew it wasn’t just Dick doing this; it was a large group or ‘pocket’ of entities (200 or so) who had banded together to help and they’re very happy doing so.

I learned that once you physically die your work or maybe more appropriately, what you need to work ON, doesn’t stop. You are given opportunities to learn and grow by taking, ummm, let’s call them classes.  As is the case with Dick, he was given the opportunity to spiritually advance – after his physical death – by learning about and dealing with the complexities of human emotions.  The last piece of knowledge I remember is that there are literally thousands of courses you could enroll in.

After our session ended, it once again occurred to me how fantastic this gift of communicating with the deceased (and the Ascended) is.  It also, once again, reminded me of how limited my human brain is.  I believe strongly at one point my brain knew all of this information as I had literally been there and done that.  But in order to not overload the circuits, I (we, really) had to forget some stuff so we could eat, drink and be merry.

I love these sessions with my client and her deceased husband. It reminds me that there IS more out there, that love doesn’t stop just because one person has left the physical plane (right, Angie?) and that death ISN’T the end.

How fabulous is that?

Medium

“Tell her about my comb” he said while sitting in a chair a few feet from me. I raised my eyebrows and said, “He wants me to tell you something about a comb?” My client starting laughing and said, “Melissa! He didn’t have any hair but he always carried a black comb in his pocket! It was a running joke in our family!!” and then she became quiet as tears streamed from her eyes. She had lost the man who was sitting in front of me, her husband, to an insatiable cancer just a few months prior to our session.

On another day and with another client, her (deceased) husband was in session with us once again. He showed up during our first session and re-appeared often during the following sessions. Sometimes he is in human form and sometimes he’s a glowing ball of orange energy that roughly resembles the human shape.

I was over this client’s stomach when I intuited the words, “butter cookies.” I told her it appeared her tummy wanted butter cookies. She, with a slow smile spreading across her face said no, it was her husband. She said she had talked with him on her way to our session and had asked him to make a reference to butter cookies. Evidently, once upon a time, she had made butter cookies and brought him a plateful. Her intent was to finish up a few things and then share the cookies with him. When she returned, the plate was empty and her husband was grinning like the cat who ate the canary.

Another story has the granddaughter wanting to know about her recently deceased grandmother. I instantly saw a rose and at the same time, heard the word. I asked her if her grandma’s name was Rose. She said no, but she placed a red rose on her casket. Grandma didn’t appear in my office but said she was “too busy to stop by as she was playing cards” and “could we reschedule?” My client said, “Yep! Sounds just like grandma!”

I’ll share one more story and it’s about a client’s long deceased grandmother; a woman whom my client had never met. This soul wanted my client to know she had a lineage in dealing with healing herbal remedies. My client told me herbs had always resonated with her but she never knew why.

Some of these deceased individuals tell me they’ll be ‘moving on’ soon as they have ‘work’ to do. This is code for they’ll be leaving behind the ability to make their presence known either to me or their loved one. Some thank me profusely for being open to communicate. Others say nothing and request I not let their loved one know they are there as they don’t wish to be a distraction. Still others wish to help with the Reiki session itself.

These deceased souls are thrilled to have someone to communicate through. Each and every time I’ve been a part of these exchanges, they have been filled with gentleness, compassion, love and reassurance.

One deceased husband conspiratorially told me he was ‘pulling strings’ for his wife but he had to be careful as he could upset the balance if he went too far. He assured me, and I assured her, he was doing all he could to help her. Then he approached her side, put his energetic hand over hers, bent slightly forward and gazed so gently and lovingly into her eyes that I felt like an interloper. I was moved to tears by what I saw and felt. It was as if he was capturing her image – or drinking it in – one last time.

The unconditional love these – and countless others – have shared did not diminish with one of their deaths; it transcended.

Melissa’s Note: For those of you who still physically have your loved ones, a regret openly expressed by those who remain is they wish they could have hugged their loved one again. You have the opportunity to do just that.

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“Dad?” I asked, “Can you see the angel at the foot of your bed, standing by the wall?” He said he couldn’t but I could and what I saw made me nervous.

My dad was succumbing to the cancer that was eating him alive. He was in a hospital bed and I was sitting with him. The ‘old’ me never would have asked my highly logical and unspiritual dad if he could see an angel. I mean, HELLO! Looney bin?! But I wasn’t the ‘old’ me any longer and my dad was dying, literally, in front of me.

When dad first told me he was diagnosed with an aggressive cancer, I adamantly denied this. I ‘saw’ a white spot inside his shoulder and told him it wasn’t cancer, as cancer would be black. I kept saying, “It’s not cancer. You don’t have cancer” and he would quietly respond, “Yes, I do.” 

When I asked my Guys (Guardian Angels) about this, they told me it WASN’T cancer. They said the medical community didn’t know how to classify this and with all things unknown, they lumped them into the cancer category. Whether this is true or not, I don’t know.

My sister, brother and I would tag team taking care of dad until it was no longer possible for him to live in the house he wanted to die in. Through all of this, dad was open to me giving him Reiki and would often request it as he said it helped with the overall pain and with the burning sensation from his radiation treatments.  

So when I glanced up from my dad’s hospital bed and saw an angel all in black, I became frightened. Nothing about his demeanor was frightening, though. He was casually posed with his back against the wall. One of his legs was bent and his foot was resting on the wall. He had jet black, silky wings, dark hair, light skin and black eyes (no white sclera’s). He was incredibly handsome and had a powerful, yet calming, presence.

I didn’t sense animosity or evil but because Hollywood has depicted black as malevolent, I was afraid he was there to harm my dad. I became even more protective of my father and telepathically said, ‘You’re not welcome here. You need to leave. Now.’ When I looked again, the angel had complied with my wish. He was gone and I was  shaking.

A few days later, when my dad was no longer able to breathe without assistance and his heart was the only organ that was still unfailingly functioning, I saw this angel again. His demeanor had changed though. Previously it felt like he was just observing or seeing how things were going. This time, his head was bent and his hands were clasped in front of him. It looked as if he was paying his respects or mourning with us.

I knew then that this angel wasn’t there to harm my dad. He was there to take my dad Home. Maybe I knew that when he first made an appearance but I didn’t want to believe it. I am an eternal optimist and believed my dad, through a miracle, could/would get better almost up until the point his heart quit beating.

As us three kids sat around our father’s hospital bed, my dad died.  I wouldn’t have known it physically, but I happened to look up and saw a see-through version of my dad standing at the foot of his bed. The angel stood behind and slightly to the side of him.

The image of my dad was that of a man who was much younger; he was in his early forties. He was wearing a black suit with a thin black tie and a white shirt. His head was bowed and his hands were clasped. It felt like my dad, too, was paying his respects. It all felt very somber.

I glanced back at the physical body my dad’s soul inhabited for 84 years. He was no longer there. I again looked at the astral version of my dad and he WAS still there. A sad, peaceful smile formed on my face. I was overcome with relief that my dad was no longer in agony and he was going somewhere where there was no pain and lots of fabulous golf courses. I also knew his pain had ended and mine had just begun. I took so much comfort and felt infinitely blessed being able to see what I did with my intuitive sight.

Dad didn’t look up, not once. He kept his stance of respect until I could no longer see him. I intuitively said, “Dad? I love you. PLEASE let me know when you’ve made it.”  

About five months later, I was sitting in our campsite, alone. Trinity was fishing and I was reading a book. I looked up and saw my dad. He was dressed in some hideous checkered golf shorts from the late 70’s and a white golf shirt. He was sitting on a log about 4 feet in front of me. I excitedly and yet casually said, “Hi daddy!” He, ever a man of few words said, “Well, you asked me to tell you when I made it.  I made it. So, I guess that’s it. I’ll bring your mother with me next time.”  I said, “Ok, daddy. I love you” and he replied, “Yep. Guess I love you, too. Well, I’m off then.”  And once again, he was gone. This time though, with his departure, I felt comfort and peace instead of sorrow and loss.