It was a gorgeous spring day here in the Midwest. The gorgeous green grass we so look forward to in the long white cold winters here. The air was dewy with dandelions and clover beginning to poke up through the damp ground. I love these days, they feel like life is new again. I had been shopping and couldn’t wait to fill my decorative pots with bright daisies and geraniums.
Mrs. Winters from down the road was slightly slouched on that gorgeous day. Not her typical way of walking. Normally, she would stop and say hello on occasion if she saw me bringing in groceries or working in the garden, and very pleasant chat would ensue, but this day was different, her eyes looked a bit puffy, she was a bit distant. Normally her and her Afghan hound, Sally, walked at a clip that always made me kind of chuckle a bit. Mrs. Winters had a very specific gait. Her chin usually tucked in, bent a bit at the hips, eyes focused straight ahead, with no other movement except that of Sally and her exceptionally long legs, moving rapid fire like three pair of ostrich tying to quickly and quietly sneak away from a predator unnoticed. They stopped at my mailbox that day, for her usual, “Hello, Katie!” only her pace was about a quarter her regular speed, and the, “hello”, was not shared in the usual timber I had normally heard it. “Well, I had to change my entire day today, it’s so nice to see you being able to work outside, how’s your health?” With not a second to respond, “My hairstylist had lost her son, at only 20 years old, I simply cannot imagine.” I didn’t know what to say. I instantly saw this hairstylist in my mind’s eye. I didn’t see her in her usual place at a typical salon, but in my home, sitting at my kitchen table directly across from me. What an odd sight to see, given the fact that I had never met her, and I had certainly never met her son.
At that moment I knew without a doubt that at some point, this person whom had lost her young son would be at my home for a visit. We would share in grief and with messages. What a very strange life I have.
One of the questions that I’m asked frequently is how on earth did all this begin? I don’t like it at all simply because it’s pretty difficult to really answer since it’s a lifetime of experiences that led up to being me. Maybe it’s the fact that I was blessed with oddities of recessive genetics. Why waste time worrying about the why? It simply is who I am. I’m grateful for every single day.
It wasn’t until two years had passed before Gene, the neighbor’s hairstylist walked into my home for a session. She had found me online; which is what I would have anticipated. People are funny about talking about their beliefs in the afterlife at times. Even now, with so many television shows and books written, it remains a topic that is very private. Communication with the afterlife may have gotten more main stream, yet people still hesitate to acknowledge their own experiences. They are sacred. I share my experiences openly. I feel I should, because I am on a mission to show everyone I can, that life goes on after this trip on earth. Having an insider’s view I feel it’s my responsibility, and from doing so many sessions with so many wonderful people, has truly been a gift from heaven that I love to share.
When she arrived at my door it was a total fiasco, it’s always a fiasco. The dogs are proving how very loud and fierce they are once again. Okay fur-kids back off. “I’m sorry they will mellow out in a bit, they just have to greet everyone.”
I’m always a bit humiliated by the noise, but no matter who it is that comes, they will be greeted with love, and I find that to be the best greeting. Someday an office perhaps, but the chaos seems to put people’s minds at ease.
The regular crew included two Labrador Retrievers and a small poodle cross that is a tiny little diva of bitch. If that’s not enough, GoGo, our African Grey would break into song with, “Bird is the Word” or “Go Johnny Go”. To enter my home quietly is simply impossible.
“You must be Jean, please come on in.” I usually sit at the table, but there are several cozy couches, so please take your pick of where you’d like to sit for your session.”.
Jean, a very elegant lady, obviously a professional in a very pretty burgundy blazer buttoned up with dress pants and slight heels, moved into the house, after acknowledging the creatures.
To my knowledge this was the first time I had met Jean, and I felt no immediate personal connection to her. When I work, there’s no using memory. I just fully zone into Spirit, all else is gone.
Jean chose to have a seat, at the heavy wooden table in my kitchen. I could feel her unease, she stared at my herb pot on the glass wine wrack near the windowsill. Together we prayed, “Dear loving creator, please surround Jean and myself in your Divine white light…” I then invited anyone who wished to communicate with her. Then click, I’m just the radio receiver once again.
“There’s a young male here, dark shortly cut hair, almost military looking.”
Her first and only visitor was a young male to come through immediately along with the fact that he had been in college and striving for a very long time with addiction. “His brother, he wants to protect him/ Mom, I’m okay.”
Oh my God, I thought, it still shocks me every single time a child of a client has died way too soon. I cannot express emotion, as it will disconnect me. I tell myself to focus!
“My life was happy, until I had gotten addicted, and even then, I was until I wasn’t, I tried to stop, I did stop, but the first opportunity I got I was out the door, and then that was it.”
Jason went on to describe his love for his family, and the dog that was there with him. He kept pointing toward a statue that I own that sits on half wall between my kitchen and family room he repeatedly pointed at the statue, and grinned a huge smile. I tried to make sense of what he was trying to share with her. Did he like horses, was this a memory? I could not figure out what he was trying to say.
One of the most frustrating things about working as a medium, is the fact that many messages will not make sense to my clients as I share them. I ask them to write the messages down and to let me know when it does make sense. In the case of this horse statue, it took several weeks to make sense of our game of charades, as it sometimes does. I wish it was as easy as a phone call, but that’s how it is between worlds.
Jean gratefully took all the messages I gave her, and then asked, “Can you ask him if he liked the song we chose for his funeral?” “Yes, give me a second. I hear bagpipes, geez too young for that- chopped blonde hair sticking up straight, that’s not him. He says, mom, I know I’m young, I’ll stay young. I have no clue what I’m saying.” I look up from my closed eyes to see Jean in tears and respond, “Forever young”. Well, that explains the 1980’s hair I just saw, “that’s Rod Stewart, right?” “Yes, and there’s bagpipes in the song too.”
“Can you please call me later if you figure out what that horse would have meant to Jason? I still cannot figure out what that’s about. I really appreciate it.”
Jean promised to keep me posted in regards to anything that may come to her; I and I did the same.
It was a few weeks later, when it finally hit me. Mrs. Winters, she had gifted me the horse statue a few Christmas’s ago. Did Jason know her? Is it possible? After emailing back and forth, I learned that the hairdresser was in fact, Jean, and yes, Jason was making the connection from heaven. What a world we live in, and yes, we are all connected!
