Family, Gift, Guardian Angel, Heaven, Letters to Heaven, Love, Loved Ones, Medium

1986

The phone rings. It is the girlfriend. Not mine personally. This one is yours. The hospital bed is available here near where I live. It will be yours to live in for the next month. “When will you be down to visit?” she asks. “I am on my way now.” I state.

The bus takes me to the south side of town. Actually it was a number of buses to get to my destination. So long to wait for it to pick me up, to travel through the city, to get off and wait again. Truly impatient to get to your bedside. My throat is closing, my mind is racing, my heart…is breaking.

The building is the University Hospital. It is night when I come through the doors and state my business to the information desk. They tell me what floor you are on. Up the old elevator, out those doors and down the hallway to your room. It is semi dark in there, like an old time noir film. The nurse behind the curtain that surrounds your bed is with you. I wait until she is done. There is another person here. The girlfriend. She tells me not to take too long . That you require rest.

Isn’t that what you have been doing this past year? I don’t understand. I was told a year ago that you had suffered a stroke and there wasn’t anything I could do. But asked not to visit. I was a single woman with a toddler and no means to travel to the town where you were. So there it is.

The curtain opens. The nurse is gentle with me. She takes my hand and brings me to your side and tells me to talk to you. “He may hear you it’s just that he cannot respond.” she states. “The stroke was massive.” They both stare at me while I look down on you. Having a hard time to process all what is happening. Another nurse comes in and she shows me your feet, that they are turning in. I don’t see what they see. That you going into a fetal position. They are explaining that you will soon go. That your time is near and for me to prepare.

This I remember. I stand at the foot of your bed and try to memorize your feet. They look like mine. Not the dainty feet my mother has but the knobby toes that I would be teased about. My gaze takes me to your face. It is not the face of my animated father but someone else. You don’t appear to be there. You are sleeping. The machines are making you breathe. It is too much for one person to bare. If I ever felt more alone it is now with everyone staring at me. I leave and go home.

My visits to your bedside are frequent but kept to a minimum when the girlfriend is there. It is a feeling on her part, like you are not to be shared. I don’t get it. There is no one to fully support me on this end. Not the new boyfriend. He likes to party. How fully he was into it I did not comprehend. So naive to that way. His friend and him used my space to have their fun and I let them. All that noise if you will dimmed the hurt that was invading my soul.

The call came after 2:35 am. You had passed. My heart broke. You know that feeling. We all share that. The quiet dead in our body. The standing still in our mind. Nothing. I don’t recall anything after that. I do know that time takes care of all the details. There is work to be done. Where are you to be buried. How to get you to High Prairie, AB? The minute details with the funeral director here in Edmonton.

At this time days after I am beholden to strangers for a ride to your home town a few hours away. I take Colin with me. My boyfriend. The baby is kept by my aunt while we are gone for two nights. I am not me. Does this make sense to anyone? I am here but I am not. It is out of body. We arrive at a distant cousin home. Their last name is Cunningham. I am being introduced to people who I have no memory of but they do indeed remember me. I get a lot of, “I knew you when you were this small.” They kept remarking that I resembled my dad. It was so strange. I knew they cared but it felt so foreign. So thrust out in the spotlight.

Feb 28, 1986 It is cold this night. I am impatient to see you. It is the wake and I am seated next to your sister Margaret. She has taken her place next to me. She is my rock, my support. Where did she come from? This is all a blur. The small room is dark and very quiet with the roomful of people. I don’t know what to expect. All I want to do is to run up to your casket. My aunt takes my hand. We walk up to you. You are dressed in your army uniform. Wearing your medals. I say to my aunt, “I was promised those medals” Telling me not to worry that she will make sure that I will get them before he is buried. She does indeed keep her promise. I sit down and cry.

March 1, 1986 Oh it is cold. Biting cold. I stand by the hearse and wait. I stand alone, feet away from you by the back door of the dark green vehicle staring into the back window. Finally they open the door and presently bring you to your graveside. Standing next to you I want to once again hold you in my arms, to tell you how much you were loved by me. That winter day bites into my legs. I am handed a package. It is your medals.

There is the standard luncheon soon after and there are many people brought to my table. Long lost relatives I was kept away from by my mother. They tell me stories about you dad. Still I sit there and it is almost that I cannot hear them. There is white noise in my head. The close relatives we stayed with overnight decide to go to the local bar. There is a country jam and I cannot comprehend that we just buried you and you want to what? go to a bar?? Because we are beholden to these people for a ride back to the house, we go.

The locals in this town all seem to know one another. They know each other’s business for the good and the bad of that. I listen to the gossip, some funny stories some sad and disturbing. I have that respectful demeanor happening right now. So timid. So afraid. One after another many acts come on the stage and it is the last that breaks me. He is a gapped tooth man. The town drunk I am told. Straggly hair tucked into a baseball cap. He saunters onto the stage. It is as if the crowd hold their breathe. And then he sings, “Honey, honey, honey won’t you open that door, this is your sweet baby, don’t you love me anymore, honey won’t you open that door?” But he presents it in a humorous manner that everyone breaks our laughing. Even me. I let loose, laughing loudly. My aunt smiles at me. I cry and laugh. Even through tears I laugh. It is that release, that sweet release I needed.

Dad it is Feb 2, 2019, almost 33 years since you passed on Feb 23, 1986 at 2:37 am. I miss you like crazy. Like now as I write this. I may have you energetically but it is not the same. I want to feel your hugs. Your kisses. The tug of your fingers on my nose as you try to pull it off. Those funny things that daddies do that love their little girls.

P.S. The image of this watch that belonged to my father was worn by me for close to a year when it suddenly stopped on the anniversary of his death, date and time. I woke the next morning and put it on and then seen the time. It has been that way since then.

#333 #Dreams #Visit

Adventures, Guardian Angel, Medium

Quit Staring At Me!

A mini vacation was desired and I had a few free days to make those plans to hit the hills. Rather it was the drive through our mountains to arrive on the west coast. A quick visit with a family member, a few photos taken, a few places visit, a few too many times getting lost. It was all fun.

It’s time to get back to my cozy home and so I head out on the highway toward my stop to rest for the night. A trucker’s paradise for those that travel and the coffee shops and fast food dot the side of the road. I duck into this small town and locate my motel. In minutes I am given my key after checking in and bring my weary body to my 2nd floor room. It is at the end of a long hallway.  Tucked in next to the only other occupant, a man in this old but clean refuge. I question the fact that we are way at the end of this 60 unit but I do not bring it up to the manager. I unwind for the night and get ready for bed but sleep does not come. It is as if I am not alone. It feels creepy. The tv on to keep me company and the lights too as I try to gain some shut eye. I turn the tv off. That must be it. But still I toss and turn. Blessed relief I find my spot in line to dreamland.

2:30 am. I am suddenly awake. I listen to anything that could have possibly woken me up. No noises. Nothing at all except for the hum of trucks in the distance as they pass this sleepy town. Again I play that game of toss and turn. I know that tomorrow will be another long day of driving and I truly need this rest. I fall to sleep.

4:18 am. Startled awake and it feels darn right icky, creepy and what ever else you want to add. I feel as though something is staring at me. It is not nice. It does not feel good in this room. A male presence is definitely in here. This is where I add that walking into my room my minds eye seen an older man, a slave to the road, tall and grizzled.

I make a hasty plan. Wide awake and nothing, I repeat nothing is going to keep me here. It takes minutes but am washed, dressed, packed and carry two loads of luggage down that long hallway to my car. Desperately wanting out of there. Fast. It is dark when I leave but  know that I am safe with the truckers following them down these mountain roads. Safe.

It was days later that I knew I had those same feelings growing up as a child in a 1930’s bungalow. Being stared at. It creeped me out. It was many days, many years that I dealt with this staring. How could one forget. Frightful nights and days of an eerie sensation undefined and not substantive.  But this gal did until walking into it again. Hello Spirit.

Gift, Guardian Angel, Higher Self, Intuition, Medium, Thankful

Dancing Rainbow Woman

He asked, “Why are you here? I looked at you and seen you are healed.” I had been asked this question by a elder, Stuart Brown in 2013 and was with a group that had been invited to see this healer. I joined them because I was curious. My answer popped out of my lips. “I would like my name” I say.  He then prepared a ceremony for me. I gave him his tobacco. I was calm and at peace. After a time he told me my name, “Dancing Rainbow Woman.” He then gave me counsel. What an honor. I felt complete.

To see ceremony opened my eyes to the spiritual realm of our people. I had always considered a healer to be such as this man but I do know that healing comes in different aspects. My way would be through the messages that would come through me to client. Being told that I would be healer caught me off guard and I didn’t equate it with what my mind desired. My mind said you will lay hands on people. To make connections with spirit is what my heart desired and then it was so. I consider my life blessed and thank Creator with so much gratitude and for the people either teachers or students that have come in my life. Not everyone get’s to stay that long in your lifetime. Some stay a short time as in my instance with this elder who gave me so much with empowerment and a sense of self and also guidance. For this, I give heartfelt thanks.floating_feather_by_shadowlight_oak

Author, Family, Heaven, Letters to Heaven, Love, Loved Ones, Medium, Psychic

Sorry

It was that word I was not to understand when I had my own mediumship reading given to me by a mentor. She was bringing in my father and the one word that stuck out was, “Sorry” It took me days to get my “AHA” moment as it is when you go to a session. This word was given to me a few years ago. It was today that I had a heart to heart talk or the start of one with Dad. If you know my story, then you know he passed away in 1986. I asked him why he would leave me when I needed him the most. I remember those phone calls begging him to take me to his house hundreds of miles of away. I begged him.

My family life was shaky at the best of times and I am being nice for there sake. What was it that my own blood took her anger out on me. I will never know. But I found my dad’s number and phoned him, crying to him, to help me. It was not to be. The only times I was allowed to see him were a couple of weeks in the summer time as I was needed at home to babysit my step brothers and sister. If he came to town which was rare I would sit in his hotel room with him. One of those moments stands out as he was staying at the Cecil Hotel. He shows me his bullet wounds. The old scars on his body. He shows me his medals he received. He tells me that when he dies that I will receive those medals.

When he did pass away and I made my way up north, I talked to his sister Margaret and told her as I looked down on dad in his casket dressed in his uniform and wearing the medals that they were promised to me. It was to be presented to me when they buried him in the cold ground that wintry day. The priest put them in my hand. I felt utterly alone.

But the years pass and all I knew of what I felt of my father was the deep love for him, his essence. The word sorry came to me that day in that reading when I realized what he was saying that for. I told myself at that time it was not needed. But indeed it was. So to get back to that conversation with dad. The deep realization that he knew now what has transpired but had deep sorrow for that. “Where were you when I needed you. Where? Did you not believe me when I told you my stories? Did you not know I was the truth teller?”

Well dad the time has come to now truly forgive you. To let go. This has all come to pass and for all those experiences my body, mind and spirit took I am the better person for it. I only wish you were here physically by my side. You would be 93 though. And I am glad to have heard that word. It means so much to me now.

Much love and huge hugs and lots of kisses to you Dad!

Adventures, Family, Gift, Guardian Angel, Higher Self, Intuition, Loved Ones, Medium, Slightly Burnt

Guide Me

There have been times in my life where I knew not where I was going. One minute I found myself wondering how I came to be here on earth. And I asked myself why? Happy times spent as a family unit and then thrust into isolation without mother and father. Is isolation time spent with aunts and uncles? With grandparents? You know what I talk about when I say the love is different. They care about you but not on that level as you do when you love the smell of your dad and his smiles and silly talk. I knew my family cared about me but I felt so lonely growing up. That small girl who no one explained to, “Hey, we got to take care of business so we can live, you know! But we’ll be back for sure!” This was also the time of my first sexual assault as a very young child with no one to run to.

My first guide in my life besides my father was my maternal grandmother, Julia. I loved her with all my being. Totally. She died 3 days after my third birthday. One minute she was there, the next gone. It ripped me. My grandfather was desolate. He was to go shortly after, a few years but still. It has been said that the ages between 0-3 are the years that a child is nurtured and learns security, love, comfort, confidence and making choices. Thank goodness for grandma. Where would I be without her.

The years pass by me and it’s all learning as this girl doesn’t listen. Too much control going on with parental units in the way of my mother and my stepfather. Maybe I did listen to them when I was young but I grew headstrong and did what I wanted. After all did I not have the freedom to do that when I was with my aunts and uncles and roaming the countryside. I had so much trouble happening in my head and not having direction was to run away time and time again. I left home at 16 as I had a job and lived with my brother for a time. I became pregnant at 17 and left school. My one saving grace, school. I blossomed there. I excelled under the guidance of my psychology teacher, Mr. Bianchini and the art teacher, Mr. Zipp. I understood the mechanics of the mind and gained high marks for that. Mr. Zipp seen a spark in me and I was to become the class model for those years in that big old high school. Mr. Bianchini asked me why I wasn’t returning to his class the last year and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that there and now that I was pregnant. I wasn’t brave enough. Would my life been different then the path I decided to take and follow my choices. I do not know. I had the child but did not attain the mother of year award. My parents stepped in and took him. After a time they adopted him. My heart broke. It broke into a million pieces. It sounds cliche. I was to have no contact with him. None. This is the way they wanted it.

I became homeless. Depressed. I discovered there was another side to life that knowing now would never, ever enter. Ever. I stole to eat. Raiding gardens, going into stores and stuffing a bag with whatever I could get. That time was not a good time but I was not to stay in that space for long. Entering into relationships hoping for security and receiving nothing gave me disappointment. Finding a house to live in with five other young people my age was to present huge parties. Not a stable life. But it was so much fun back then. And then it wasn’t. There were problems and once again I was homeless. I persevered. I moved for a time with my friends and found a job. Good old 7-11.

Time passes and in that air I have two more children and one to give up for adoption as this was the time I was living on the streets, sleeping on friends couches. Aimless. The third child I took courage and wanted more out of life. My father was still alive and came to see us in the hospital. I so loved this memory. My father was to pass on my son’s 3rd birthday year. Abusive relationship were to follow for me. My self esteem in shatters. There had been no time to grieve any thing that had passed. No time to grieve the son that was taken, the daughter I gave up for adoption and then my father. No. Time. To. Grieve. But I did find the courage and strength to overcome that man. That man that yelled and hurled abuse on me. I was to find a letter the other day of him writing from jail. How he was so sorry for hitting me. I have no memory of that. Absolutely no memory. He was very graphic and gave so many details but nothing sparked in my memory banks. Now is that a saving grace. I say yes to that. I had to find this guidance on my own and crawl out of that hole.

Life does indeed go on and sometimes at a snail’s pace and sometimes in light streaming down the road. I have had trauma, but also joy mixed in with mine. It has not all been bad. There was the joy of having my children. The happiness of my heart seeing my 3rd child grow. It has all been an experience and for this life class I have been in to be used for people that are going through the same thing. It amazes me with the gift that I had had and how it came in handy for me through the younger days. It got me through so many good times too. I just didn’t know what it was.

I sit here in the morning sun and thank god for all that have some into my life to make in into what it is today. All those experiences that have made me a strong, confident, empowered woman. The guides now are spiritual and some earth based as in my friends or my tribe as I like to call them. They are all my touch stone. They ground me. I know that I am in safe hands. I know there is more for me out there and I can hardly wait!!

Adventures, Family, Heaven, Home Sweet Home, Loved Ones, Medium

Did You Hear That?

I sit here this Sunday morning and muse about the events of yesterday morning spent in an old 1930’s bungalow near the city center of Edmonton. Visiting with the local artisan and her niece was such a delight and we spent a few hours talking naturally of interests that were dear to us, namely art and intuition. It was my second time meeting this sweet lady and revelled in her company and in this house. A house for over time that I drove by and always wondered what it looked like with it’s dilapidated back porch hanging on for dear life. It housed a photography studio and then a hairdresser shop but now this dear lady has her art studio with all her wonderful works there.

We sat in the old dining room with it’s built in cupboards, this after looking over the spacious rooms with her niece, her first time there. Hardwood floors, wood work around each doorway, built in cupboards in kitchen and dining room, roomy closets and that claw tub was to die for! I sound like a realtor pushing but it was a sight to behold. We talked each telling story after story about life experiences. Every once in a while I would have that similar feeling when I am do readings for clients. It’s a definite heaviness in my chest. It’s not uncomfortable but a definiteness there. I would then say to the ladies, “There is a man here wearing a 1940’s style of pants and rolled up shirt sleeves. Large forearms. He is standing in this room.” We would all agree and then continue on with our conversation. Every once in a while we would collectively get up to check out her art and then I would spy children on the stairway, a boy curiously looking at us.Sitting in my chair my sweater was pulled and I felt it on my skin as the artisan remarked that she had seen it move. Again, pretty groovy! I told my friend that I could hear laughter and running, they were so happy. This was a happy household. We all went back to the dining room to resume partaking of the hot coffee and cookies and talking excitedly to each other. It was like meeting up with old friends. As I was saying something we all heard a noise in the kitchen. The owner remarked that it was the top of a container now on the floor. A few minutes later a folded up chair behind the glass doors fell and in turn moved the door. We seen it happen before our eyes. There was no way for that chair to do that, no energy to push it. Continuing on again as if nothing happened. To me, it was pretty cool. Again the artisan wanted to show us something, this after a card on a easel was pushed over, another anomaly in this huge home. As I left the dining room I looked over to the fireplace and seen a brilliant bright light and knew without a doubt Spirit was here. Talking more as we moved from dining room to living room and back again I heard the sound of children running through the kitchen to the back porch which by the way no longer existed. The sound of a back porch screen door as it banged and the mother yelling to keep it shut. By the by the old back porch which had been previously been there was now replaced with a modern deck.

So this is how I spent my day yesterday in this old home that I finally did get to see with it’s past life intact in spirit of course. The artisan had asked me to walk through the house on the first visit which I did but being in an hurry was not to experience the going on’s at that time. I am sure a nice relaxed visit like the one we had where we were talking of mutual interests brought out the lively household where halcyon days were spent with much laughter and loud rambunctious children.

Intuition, Medium

Purpose

I suppose it was about grade 10 when one is picking the career of there choice. I sat there and couldn’t get a handle on it. Now many years later with jobs that I truly loved I have found my purpose or maybe my purpose has found me.

I love helping people make the connection to receive messages from there loved ones that have passed on. As I say to my clients it could be 30 years since they have been gone or a few months and you’re still going to hear from someone, unexpectedly. Even I was to receive a message from my Aunt Christina a month after her passing. She said how thankful she was that I helped her pass on. This was after she hung on after many operations and it was not meant to be. The day of her last rites we gathered around her and she was saying her goodbyes.After the room cleared and she laid there, she exclaimed, “I’m still here, what now?” Her daughter and I softly laughed because Auntie still had her sense of humor, even then. Bending down so she could hear me, I proposed that she give messages to each of her children. She then whispered that when I popped into intensive care the night of her arrival to the hospital that I had come back from the dead. This after not seeing her for perhaps 25-20 years. It gave her a start but she was so happy to see me and she always thought I was a cool and groovy chick. Her words. Her words which I will never forget.

Recently I was to say to a fellow medium that anything that we receive as a channeller, that is, messages from Spirit, is to convey all that you hear. It may not make sense to the reader but it certainly will for the person sitting in front of us waiting to hear anything.  Spirit leaves me with a feeling of being so definite, so knowing. Images come popping into my mind. Some talking very fast as to say what they need to say.  My surprise was to read a cat that had just passed away a few months before. It had walked down the hallway of my clients home and came up to me, showed me how hard it was to breathe. And at another reading through Skype, a dog but who was living to convey how happy he was and yet having a sense of ADHD.  That, my friends, was pretty cool. I have left clients homes after a session of laughing  or crying or both. Laughter through tears is the best and it is also healing. Many AHA moments come to mind. Intuitive messages also come in and it can be a most productive session.

So now my sense of purpose to be a Medium. I love what I do. To give healing messages, with the help of Spirit. Each night I go to sleep but not before thanking God, my spirit guides, my ancestors, my angels as everyone gets a nod from me. This is my blessing.~