Gravestones are for the Dead…

heaven
This was so private that I wasn’t going to write about it, but I thought maybe if it helped anyone, it couldn’t hurt to write it. No matter how ridiculous or insane it sounded.

Last Sunday, my best friend and I had decided to spend the whole day together. We weren’t sure what we were going to do. “Do you want to go to a psychic?” She asked. I had been to several before so I didn’t mind. I did believe in psychic phenomenon, but I had never personally experienced anything that had given me factual evidence to make me strongly believe that I wasn’t doing anything more than wasting forty dollars. Nonetheless, we headed off to see our psychics.

She had scheduled us with two separate psychics at the same time. At the last minute, we changed psychics because she was supposed to see someone who was a pet psychic and I wanted to see if he could read anything about Griffin, since I had just had him put to sleep. Now…I must forewarn you before reading further! This was all to be a joke. My best friend had a strong, religious background which led her to believe this was all just hocus pocus. We never intended to walk away with the experience we had.

So, entering the building, we each joked around, nervous about our experience to come. Finally, both men led us back into different rooms. The man I sat with was named Paul. He immediately had me sign a form saying it was for entertainment purposes only. He then went on to add my birthday together and get extremely confused trying to explain to me I was a 9 life cycle and I was on cycle 1, but then he changed his mind and said he got it wrong. Then he told me I had cats around me, a rusty haired dog and a child in heaven. At this point, I looked at him and laughed. I explained it wasn’t possible I had a child in heaven. “Yes, you know, like you got a girl pregnant, but it was heavy bleeding or it she miscarried.” No Paul, I’m gay, and I’ve never had sex with a woman. And I’m pretty sure it doesn’t take psychic abilities to realize in about five minutes that I’m gay. So, needless to say, he sent me on my way fifteen minutes early, and only charged me for half of the session, for entertainment purposes I suppose.

I waited in my car until my friend came out. Finally, after about twenty minutes, she walked out crying to herself. When she got in the car, she went into this tale about her psychic, a kind, older Indian man, had called out relatives names, incidents that had happened in her childhood and she even got to speak to her father, who he called by his nickname. I was mystified. “What did you think?” I asked her, “I thought the devil was going to jump out of him and get me!” She said, laughing. Immediately, I decided I wanted to see him. I called back and scheduled an appointment for an hour later, not quite sure what to expect.

When I went back, the Indian man, Dave, took me into his office, which was much dimmer lit than Paul’s office. He didn’t have me sign any waiver saying I wouldn’t sue the establishment. He explained to me he was a medium and that spirits might come and talk to him during our session. He then closed his eyes and said a prayer to himself. I was unsure what to do next? Although I believe in spirits, ghosts, etc…I am somewhat guarded about my own personal experiences.

“Ok.” He said, “You are here to see your mother?”He said. And I just started balling. “She is sitting in the chair in front of you. She is a short woman, with a short, blond bob and she is dressed all in black. Several times already she has hugged you and she is telling me that all you want is to be hugged.” I couldn’t believe it. Yeah, yeah, he could have guessed that, but anytime someone asks me what I miss most about my mom, I tell them I want to be hugged by her again. “My, my, she is talkative.” He said, which if you knew my mother, you know that is an understatement. And then the session went on. He told me childhood events that only my mother would know because she wanted me to believe the experience. Both of my grandmothers came to him, which he picked by their first initials. And then I asked about pets.

“There is a rusty colored dog who watches over you.” He said and smiled. “Is that all?” I asked. “Yes, that is all I see as far as pets, but your mother would like you to know she likes Alex’s dancing.” And that sealed it! For the next twenty minutes he told me things no one else could have known and talked about the living as well. He told me what he saw for my future, as well as my present and then he said…”Wait a second, your rusty haired dog just moved aside and there is a little white dog, with brown ears and distinctive spotting. They are all trying to say his name but they are growling at him, like grrrrr. Does that make sense to you?” And I just started crying again. “Yes, my dog’s name was Griffin.” I said.

“Did he pass recently because he is very nervous. He is yipping as if he is trying to talk. I don’t think he knows he has passed over yet. He sees you though.” And no matter if it was all fake or not, that was exactly what I wanted to hear.

But between you and I, there just was no way it could have been fake. To use words only my mother would have used. To talk about wooden spoons, and falling off of swing sets, and dogs as gifts from spirits and reading people’s names and incidents related to my mother’s drinking. If you were here, and I was telling you in person all of the specific details he gave…you would believe.

And so, I’m not really writing this to encourage you to believe in psychics or mediums. Oh, you can and if you are interested in who I saw, contact me and I’ll let you know, but really, I’m encouraging you to believe that there might just be something more. Because quite honestly, I had stopped believing for awhile. And I miss believing in things like heaven, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny. And by the way, she tells me it’s amazing! So maybe, just maybe, it gives us a little hope. That a guy sitting in a crappy office on a Sunday afternoon, making forty dollars a pop, is either grasping at straws to pay his bills…or dishing out hope on clearance! I choose to believe the latter…Because we’re on borrowed time as it is!

Happy Halloween!

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4 thoughts on “Gravestones are for the Dead…

  1. Pingback: Goodbye Sylvia Browne… | peterisms

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