A grieving mother finds peace at last

This is a condensed transcript of a reading in my work as a medium. I discovered this ability in childhood and it developed throughout the years. Eventually, I did professional private readings. I also did appearances on stage, connecting audience members with loved ones in spirit, as well as doing approximately monthly “psychic phone-ins” on BBC Radio for about 5 years.

At the beginning of every session, I always asked clients not to give me any information, other than to answer my questions with, “Yes,” “No,” or “I don’t know.” I added that if I asked a question that required anything more, I wanted only the briefest answer possible.

Not only did this help me offer a clean reading, it removed any speculation that I was merely feeding back what I’d already been told, or that I was making educated guesses.

In other words, it removed the possibility that I was a fraud.

I knew nothing when the sessions started, other than (at most) who it was they hoped would come through or what they hoped to achieve from our time together.

In the interests of brevity, what is written below is a condensed version of the reading.

“GS” is on the other end of our Zoom call. She is 55–60ish, short hair, “more salt than pepper,” with bright brown eyes. Wearing a conservative, plain brown blouse and a small gold cross necklace.

When I ask if she’s hoping to connect with anyone in particular, she says, “Yes,” but doesn’t want to be specific.

“I’ve got a young male energy coming through. Feels like he’s still a boy, or — well, not a little boy, but a young man. In his teens, youthful energy, maybe late teens but still an innocence about him. Yes, that’s what I’m trying to say. Not a boy in age, but probably more innocent than one might expect him to be in his late teens.”

I pause, tuning in for more information.

“He feels like a quiet lad, maybe shy but definitely introverted. He’s also quite tall, dark hair, kind of an athletic build is the way he’s showing himself to me. I get a sense of him being very respectful and soft-spoken. Does this sound like anyone you know?”

She nods and her eyes widen; surprised, I think.

Oh, no. I hear the next thing he says and I don’t want to say it…

“He’s saying, ‘Mom, mom, mom’ and it feels like he’s referring to you. Is this lovely young man your son?” I can’t stand to ask the question and I can’t bear to hear the answer, even though I’m already aware of what it is.

“Yes.”

There’s a faraway look in her eyes; so much sadness. I must protect myself from it if I’m to do this reading well.

“As I’m asking him to tell me more, a young woman has come through, too. She’s also tall but slender. She feels a bit older than he is with a protective energy toward him. They’ve always been very close.” Oh, dear Lord. I can’t stand this. I really can’t. “This is his sister?” It’s really more of a statement than a question.

She nods, her eyes filling with tears.

“I’m so terribly sorry for your loss. As a mother myself, I can’t even begin to imagine what you’ve been through.” I want to reach through the screen and hug her. I must keep my composure and a modicum of emotional distance in order to be effective.

“Thank you,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper.

“This was a long time ago; it isn’t recent. Well, it’s not recent according to a calendar, but they’re both indicating that for you, it might as well have been yesterday.”

She nods, bites her lower lip.

“It’s interesting to me that it’s like they’re speaking together. It’s because they’re so close and connected. They’re saying, ‘Always’ and smiling.”

My goodness. This just goes from bad to very much worse…

“They’re telling me they went together.” How is any mother — any parent — supposed to bear this? Bad enough to lose both children, but at the same time? “It was quick. They were here and in an instant, they were gone. I’m a little confused…it feels like there’s water involved and it’s an accident, but they didn’t drown. Feels like a car accident. I don’t understand the water connection.”

She remains silent, as it’s obvious I’m focusing and listening for more information.

“Oh, okay. I see. There’s a road that runs alongside a lake or a large body of water. The accident happened on that road, a car accident.”

“Yes.” She seems to have aged 10 years in the last 5 minutes. Her grief is carved into her heart and it shows on her face.

I want so desperately to offer words of comfort, to slip into the role of nurturer but I musn’t. The best way I can help is to listen to her children and pass along their messages.

“They’re desperate for you to know they didn’t feel any pain. They didn’t even have time to get scared. It was over before they realised what had happened. Your daughter is speaking now and saying you’ve been agonising about this since it happened, and it’s years ago now.”

GS nods, tears spilling from her sad, brown eyes. She plucks a tissue from a box and dries her face.

“She says, ‘Mom, please stop. It didn’t hurt. I promise.’ She says she knows you’ve been wondering if they suffered because they were miles away from anywhere and you don’t know how long it was before someone found them. She says their departure was immediate. Here. Not here. That’s it. She needs for you to know this.”

“Okay,” she replies quietly, a faint hint of a smile through her tears.

“She’s apologising because she was the one driving. She says you always trusted her to take care of her little brother and she’s sorry that she let you down in the worst way.”

“It wasn’t — ”

“Please don’t say anything until I ask you.”

“Sorry.”

“No worries,” I smiled. “She knows the police said it was the other driver’s fault but that doesn’t stop her feeling like maybe she could have done something to prevent it.”

“No. She couldn’t. Or she would have. I know that. I need her to know that, too. Can you tell her, please?”

“You just did. She’s heard everything you’ve ever said to her — to either of them. They’re always with you. What’s this? Hang on a minute…she’s showing me a cake, holding it out in front of her and she’s laughing, both of them are laughing. This cake has a — some big purple thing on top? I don’t know what this is but there’s some sort of a family joke to do with this cake? Do you understand this? Just yes or no, please.”

“Yes,” she says with a bit of a chuckle.

“Thank you. It’s a special occasion. Not just a birthday, it’s kind of a big deal sort of thing. Like, maybe a special birthday? A milestone? A big occasion? Something like that. Does this make sense?”

“Yes!”

“And this big purple thing is on the cake. They’ve made the cake, they’ve done this silly thing for you, would you understand this?”

“I sure would, yes.”

“Okay, thank you. Oh, it’s a special birthday, like 40th or something like that?”

“Yes, exactly like that,” she nods, a little brighter now.

“Your son is especially enjoying this purple thing on the cake. It seems to be related more to him than to her. But it’s also related to you, so I’m not sure what that means. Does it make sense to you?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Thank you. Their tone has changed now. They’re saying something about an ending and a beginning. An ending and a beginning at the same time. It’s for your son. Do you understand this?”

“Yes.”

“And they say you’ve been avoiding celebrations since they left.”

“Mm-hm, yes.”

“They don’t want this for you. And they know you wouldn’t have wanted it for them if you’d have gone first.”

She nods, a tad sheepishly.

“Your son tells me that you used to laugh a lot. You were always so funny. This was one of their favourite things about you. Especially for him because he’s shy and you would always be silly and crack dumb jokes and make him laugh, that sort of thing, yes?”

“Yes.”

“You brought him out of his shell. And since they left, you’ve retreated into yours. Does this make sense to you?”

“It does, yes.” More tears begin trickling down her cheeks.

“And you’ve done your best not to laugh since they left. It makes you feel guilty.”

She nods, grabbing another tissue and wiping her eyes.

“They’re desperate to hear you laugh again, to see you being as goofy as you used to be. They want you to enjoy your life. Yes, they know how hard this has been for you. They say, ‘Please understand that, Mom, we get it.’ And they add, ‘But you weren’t supposed to stop living, too. You have to learn how to move on and live without us there with you, but we’re still here with you in a different way.’ They’re saying the best way for you to honour them is by living a good life and being the crazy mom you always used to be.”

She smiles through her tears. “I can try.”

“Your daughter tells me she’s mocking you now and saying, ‘There is no try. You either do it or you don’t.’ Apparently, this is something you used to say?”

GS laughs. “Yes. A lot. I still do!”

“She’s laughing now and teasing you about how long it took you to put their stuff away. And after all those years you bugged them about not doing it! She’s got quite a sense of humour!”

GS chuckles, remembering. “Yes, she was the livelier of the two.”

“Your son wants to thank you for having been such a great mom. It comes from both of them but he’s speaking for his sister, too. You had half the neighbourhood in your house much of the time, as he puts it — ”

“Yes, we really did!”

“ — and they loved it.”

“So did I.” A sad smile.

“They’re pulling their energy back now but they want to be sure you know they both love you as much as ever, and they know you’ll always love them, too. They want you to remember that you’ll all be together again someday. And don’t forget, they can hear you when you think of them or speak about them. They do answer, even if you can’t always hear them. But your daughter says you always hear them best when you go to your special place?”

GS gasped. “You’re kidding!”

“No. I guess that means something in particular?”

“Yes! I have a favourite place just outside the city, there’s a forest a bit of a drive from the main road. I love to walk deep into the trees and talk to them. Sometimes, I close my eyes and I’m sure I hear them answering but I figure it’s just my imagination!”

“Nope. It’s the two of them, right there with you when you’re able to be quiet and still, and open to hearing them.”

A lot more tears now…

“They’ve pulled back now and have just left me with a powerful sense of how much they love each other, and you.”

After the session, GS told me that her son, 18 and daughter, 20, had been responsible young people, good students, and best friends their whole lives. The “ending and beginning” for her son was that this accident happened just after high school graduation and not long before he was due to start university. An ending of one part of his life and facing the beginning of the next — which turned out to be far more literal than any of them could have imagined.

She also told me that the “big purple thing” on the cake was “Barney the dinosaur”. In their teens, her children had planned a surprise party for her 40th birthday. During the reading, it was evident that this purple thing was a bigger deal to her son. This is because he loved Barney more than his sister, and used to insist that GS watch Barney with him. She was not a fan (understated) but it made her son so happy, she made the ultimate sacrifice (said jokingly) and endured the show whenever he would ask.

They thought it would be hilarious to put a plastic Barney on top of her cake for her 40th. And indeed, it was. A very precious memory just a few short years before they were ripped from her life in one terrible split second.

GS said the session had brought great comfort, not only by having an opportunity to connect with the sweet energies of her beloved children, but in hearing that they did not suffer in the slightest, that they hadn’t even been afraid, and that they’re aware when she’s thinking or speaking to them. That last bit, she said, was especially lovely because she’d been feeling so lost and completely disconnected from them for many years. Our session brought them together again and it was comforting to know they were always nearby, even if she could only see them in her mind’s eye.

Below is the story of my difficult journey on discovering my abilities as a psychic and a medium:

Messages From the Unknown: The Frightening Ability I Never Even Wanted