The Death of a child is always tragic. Dreams play a huge part in the work of a psychic and their development, sometimes it is the only way you can be reached by spirit. I’m sure many of you have been woken in the middle of the night by someone sitting on the side of your bed. You wake and no one’s there, going back to sleep you find yourself dreaming about a loved one. If you’re lucky you may even wake and see them there. I’ve even had old pets make appearances. I read Carl Jung’s book on dreams and worked out my own series of symbols for different events and they’ve helped me ever since. After being woken up in the middle of the night, by someone in spirit hammering on the bed head and yelling my name, I finally took the big step and decided to promote myself as a psychic/medium. A nod’s as good as a wink to a blind horse. So I had business cards made up and dropped them off in various places around town. The following day a woman rang and made an appointment for 1p.m. After having a snack for lunch I felt incredibly tired, flopping back on my recliner I found myself drawn into a dream. A small child, with short-cropped blonde hair and wearing a singlet and shorts ran up down outside on the veranda, calling my name. I opened the window and looked out, I figured that she was a girl. She came up close to the window, turned towards the road, pointed and said, “Look, that’s my mummy and daddy.” I peered out and saw a black sedan pull up. A tall, dark-skinned woman dressed in a black coat steeped out, followed by a white, slightly shorter man dressed the same. I woke up at 12.55p.m, brushed my teeth, made sure the back room was ready and went out onto the veranda. A black sedan pulled up, a tall, dark woman and a shorter white man, both dressed in black stepped out of the car.
Nobody likes to see a loved one die, especially when it’s a child. The names I use in this blog will always be fictitious, which is good because I can’t remember them anyway. I’ll call the girl’s parents, Jesse and Alan. I waited at the top stairs leading to the veranda to greet them, Jesse, a handsome woman of Islander descent took my hand in an iron grip. Alan smiled grimly and said hello. After ushering them to my room we sat down and I closed my eyes, almost immediately an elderly woman came to me and said she was Jesse’s grandmother. Jesse piped up and said angrily, “I don’t want to talk to her. Alan get the photo from the car.” Rude I know, yet the woman was obviously burdened by guilt. Alan returned and handed me a photograph in a frame. It showed a small blonde girl hugging a worried looking dog, Jesse hissed, “This is who I want to talk to.” I wasn’t going to argue. I had an overwhelming feeling of anxiety for the dog at first. The girl, I’ll call her Carly was the girl from the veranda and I knew then I had something of a headstrong character on my hands. Now this wasn’t my first rodeo, as you know I did this at the spiritualist church but it was my first as a professional.
After rubbing the photograph for a few seconds I doubled over in agony and fell forward. A huge weight pushed into my chest and I couldn’t breathe, everything went black. Then I saw it, a large, white 4WD backing over Carly, a purple flower, then a woman screaming. Alan helped me up off the floor and I regained my composure. The grandmother came through again, this time I saw Carly standing next to her, holding a bedraggled, white chicken in her arms. My motto was, try to tell them what you see. Jesse accepted at first that I was actually seeing her daughter. If she wasn’t terrorising the dog she would have the chooks herded up under the back steps. Now I could get down to some good communication. Naturally people are always worried about the state of their loved ones and if they are happy. I could assure her that Carly seemed bright and chirpy enough. Then Jesse said, “No, it can’t be my daughter, you’re making this up.” She began to cry, huge heart-rending sobs, I waited and handed her the tissues. “Look,” I said, “You told her to stay where she was while you backed the ute up. Why am I being shown the purple flower again?” – “She got out and opened the gates for me and I told her to stay there until I called. The next thing I know there’s a bump. I get out of the truck and she’s – there underneath it, I ran over her. She’d picked a flower, a bloody weed from the lawn and wanted to give it to me.”
I found it difficult to stop myself from tearing up while they comforted each other, Carly returned and said quite clearly, “Tell Mummy about all this stuff.” The next thing I saw a child’s body decomposing in a coffin, a coffin filled with toys, cards, dolls, toy trucks. I told Jesse about the items I saw, “Oh yeah, people put all sorts of things in there. the trucks? They were her favourite toys. I guess you’re right, you have my girl.” It turned into a formal chat, and a few deceased relatives from both sides popped in for a moment. Carly gave me the guided tour of her bedroom and toy box at home, plus her favourite pets on their hobby farm. I found out why the dog looked so anxious, she would hold it in a headlock and drag it around. It spent half of its life hiding from her. We went a little over time and they left but not without making another appointment. I tried to talk Jesse out of it, she had her proof of life after death. Carly still existed somewhere. “No!” – “Okay, how about next week?” I soon learned that Carly also took after her mother for being obstinate.
After they left I set aside some time to do a postal reading. A woman in England had heard about me from a group member and sent me a letter to ask about her deceased husband. With a nice hot cup of tea on the table I sat back with the letter and tuned in. I read it out aloud at first, to get the feel of the man and gave it some thought. Reaching over for my cup I looked at the chair next to me. A set of legs, obviously a small child’s appeared from above the knees down. A pair of slip on shoes were on the feet. Carly’s voice came through loud and clear, “Oh, he’s a funny man he is Laurie, he’s got no legs and he’s laughing.” It turned out the man had actually lost his legs in an accident. I continued with the reading, painfully aware of Carly’s presence. I finished writing the return letter, grabbed my wallet and left for the shop around the corner. “Where are we going?” – “The shop, Carly.” – “What are you buying?” – “The paper, milk and bread.” – “Oh.” I looked down and now there’s half of her and her hand is in mine. I returned home ten minutes later and placed two Cornetto ice creams, a bag of jelly beans and a bottle of lemonade on the kitchen table. Wife, “What’s this?” – “I, err, hum don’t know.”
It seems quite bizarre writing about half of a little girl in spirit. Someone on the other side must have told her it’s not polite to scare the new medium. It didn’t stop her from visiting – every day. She became a fixture and sad to say, so did Jesse, her mum. She came for her second visit and I told her that she needed to go and get some grief counselling, that I could only do so much and she replied, “Yes and you’re the only one who can see her, I’ve been going to others and they can’t see a bloody thing. They tell me how sweet and innocent she was. Pig’s arse, she was a little shit.” You can’t argue with that. I would see Jesse once a month after that, she paid her fee and remarked that it was far cheaper than therapy. After this next incident I believed that Carly was indeed a little shit. When she was alive it seemed she looked for trouble, Jesse took her into town one day, Carly stopped, hiked up her skirt took her knickers off and gave them to her mother with, “Ahh, that feels much better, I’m cool.” She would sit next to me on the lounge to watch TV, then snuggle up close. I could feel her against me. Then she would start, “Guess what, my mummy and daddy are fighting, she threw a bottle at him and broke it on the wall.” Or, “Guess what, my mummy and daddy are driving to see the naughty ladies and they broke the window on their new car.” An explanation is needed here, Jesse was something of a warrior woman and didn’t do conflict management well at all. They had, unbeknownst to me bought a new 4WD in between visits, a black one. A rock went through the back window, smashing it on their way south. The naughty ladies?
Jesse’s aunt was a lesbian and lived with her partner interstate, to call them, naughty ladies gave me the impression that Carly spent an inordinate amount of time perving on people. She became quite proficient at impressing visions on me and showed me where her parents were staying. Showing me through a rather run-down cottage she stopped in the main bedroom, opened a drawer in a bedside cupboard and began placing sex toys on the bed. All the while giggling, with her hand against her mouth. She would come in my sleep and show me how her body had decomposed. I spoke with Jesse again and urged her to seek counselling and that she couldn’t hang on to Carly forever. After a few months Carly stopped appearing, good for me, not for Jesse. She turned up without an appointment and I had to tell her that her girl had moved on. It didn’t go well, she cursed and abused me, called me a fraud, cried and stormed out. I bumped into her a few months later at a local market, if looks could kill. I knew then that I should have been firm right from the start. It wasn’t for the money, I’d lived without it up until then. Pride, prestige? I don’t think so. In retrospect I feel that it was Carly herself who kept me from being more forceful. I seemed to be the only one she wanted to talk through and talk she did. She loved to sit in the back of our car when we went for a drive, and after a while she would lean between the seats and chat to me. I actually looked forward to her popping in and she would often sit in the corner of my room while I saw another client.
Jesse didn’t want to know how I knew Carly had moved on, so I will share it with you here. The day I found out I sat back in the recliner chair, closed my eyes and a vision of great beauty came to me. I stood on the start of a long, wooden jetty which stretched out into the clam waters of a huge lake. The water, although grey gave off a feeling of peace and serenity. I couldn’t see where the water ended and the silvery sky began. Halfway along the jetty stood a small, wooden hut with steps leading down to the water. A rowboat bobbed in the water next to them. I couldn’t walk onto the planks, I needed to reach the hut. Two figures stepped out, one a tall woman dressed in a long robe, the other, Carly. Her hair seemed to have grown a little and she wore her usual singlet and panties. She ran towards me, stooped and called out, “Thank you.” Turned and ran back to the boat. The woman helped her in and the boat floated out into the lake and faded away. I sobbed, not only for the beauty of it, the scenery or the transition but for a wonderful little girl who was no longer in this life.
Next week: Group Reading.