Interpolation C: Communications with the Dead
The Goodbye Messages
John wasn't the first person to reach out to me from beyond the grave. (Strictly speaking he wasn't one of them at all: I reached out to him, via the mediumship of Ridge. He, I believe, reached out to me on the night he chose to die, while was still alive.)
There was my Nana, when I was four, which I wrote about in Chapter 2. As I grew older, I came to believe that had only been in my imagination, as my adults tended to explain many of my experiences.
I was 40 the next time, and while there might be various explanations for what I experienced, imagination is not one of them.
I had a dear friend called Fran, who had had a very troubled life from childhood. Not that there was anything victim-ish about her. She was a strong, vibrant, strikingly beautiful woman. When I knew her, she was a wife and mother with three young daughters of primary school age. My husband, Bill, got to know her husband through the fishing industry. Her daughters were close in age to my sons. We saw each other at work-related events, and the two families became friendly and began to socialise. Fran and I also developed a fond friendship in our own right, and occasionally went out together just the two of us, for an afternoon drink and chat.
The marriage wasn’t very happy, and eventually they separated, taking it in turns to have the children. We didn’t see each other in person for a few weeks, as she got settled into a different suburb, but I thought we would soon.
I woke up earlier than usual one morning, perhaps at first light, to find myself full of what I could only describe as ‘a white feeling.’ It included both peace and happiness. It was gentle, deep and full of a kind of quiet wonder. The idea of Fran came very much into my mind, in a happy, unworried kind of way.
It was still quite early in the morning when her husband phoned to give us the news that she had died very early that morning in a car crash, ‘under the influence’ and speeding. Many of us believed it was what’s called a subconscious suicide, i.e. not consciously planned to end the person’s life, but in response to a very strong underlying wish to ‘end it all.’ And yes, I was very shocked and sad despite the early morning visitation, but I had no doubt she had come to say goodbye, and even to assure me that she was now finally at peace.
It doesn’t always happen when people close to me pass on, but there have been a few more occasions.
I was always very close to my dad’s younger sister, my Aunty Kathleen, but had not seen her for some time (for geographical reasons mainly) when she died. Even our affectionate correspondence had lapsed. (In those days, letter writing was how most people kept in touch.) In Katy’s final years she had that dreadful condition, motor neurone disease. I was visiting my Mum in Tasmania, when one evening the white kitchen over a small window I happened to be looking at started fluttering gaily with no obvious cause. At the same time I suddenly had a strong mental image of Katy, smiling me in a fond, slightly teasing way that she had. I felt a sense of delight and freedom. Sure enough, it was not long later that Mum received a call to say that Katy had died. (She and Mum were very fond of each other, and had stayed good friends even after my parents’ divorce.)
There have been several other such instances over the years. The most recent was my dear friend Dallas, a man I met in the same prison workshops where I met John. He was not one who had what I later identified as a criminal mindset (though everyone soon gets a prison mindset); it was a heroin addiction which put him there. This was a strictly platonic friendship, but a close, confidential and loyal one. We had many interests and values in common, and after he was released our friendship continued. He worked for my husband, Bill, for a brief time, while he was getting back on his feet Outside; we later became friends too with the life partner he found, visited her and their newborn son in hospital after the birth, and so on. Eventually we moved geographically distant from each other, but ended up as facebook friends, and used to chat a bit behind the scenes. He kicked the addiction with the help of methadone, and had a long, happy and useful life after his time in prison. We always loved each other dearly.
He read my Pentridge memoir in first draft, in 2023, and told me it was good. Soon afterwards he became ill with what was first thought to be cancer, but turned out to be severe respiratory problems. He recovered to some degree, but his wife had some years earlier become an invalid, so could not care for him. His daughter eventually found him a home which could accommodate the fact that he needed to be hooked up to a breathing apparatus. He celebrated his 73rd birthday there, with balloons, feasting, and his loving family. The photo on facebook looked happy. I believed he had recovered from his illness, albeit with lingering consequences. I was looking forward to sending him the completed and published Pentridge book and its companion volumes of poetry.
One night I woke briefly from a very deep sleep, to become aware that someone disembodied was standing in the open door to my bedroom. I knew this was someone who had come to say goodbye, someone tall, male, and kindly disposed towards me – but I couldn’t wake up enough to register more than that. I guess I made some kind of acknowledgment, just in the fact that I registered his presence. (And that’s OK; I know he would not have needed anything from me. It was more that he wanted to give me the farewell I would need.) Next day, I had the (to me unexpected) news of his death, and knew immediately who my visitor had been.
The Unknown Supplicants
In the course of my life, I eventually completed courses in a number of energy healing modalities, and received other kinds of spiritual development training, including past life regression and energy clearing – which I’ll deal with in forthcoming chapters of my narrative. Fairly early in this developmental period, I told the Universe, as a commitment, that my energy was available to be used for the good, as and if required.
At a certain point – by which time I was comfortable with such happenings – I started being approached by spirits who were unable to move on and wanted to use me as a conduit to do so. I knew this by sensing or feeling their presence, and got an immediate knowing of their purpose. I didn’t enquire into and wasn’t told their personal details. I found I didn’t have to do much to have this happen. Just having the intention seemed to work. I could feel them moving via my energy. (I don’t understand the details and could not really describe them. I am mainly clairsentient – knowing by feeling – and claircognisant – getting an ‘inner knowing – and that’s how I received this particular knowledge too. )
In the end, this was happening so often that I became quite blasé about it. Finally, it became a nuisance. I do have other things to do with my life. I was happy to be of service, but not for such a large proportion of my time. I don’t know that I ever asked for relief, but I did become rather grudging, and would sometimes respond to a request with an impatient, ‘Wait!’ or ‘Not now!’
I think we are only given what tasks we are willing to shoulder. Anyway, the spirits gradually stopped coming to me for help to find their way home. I know I am not the only person who can do this service, and I did do it faithfully for a number of years, so I don’t feel guilty.
Becoming a Psychic Medium
For a long time, I worked as a psychic medium, putting those who asked in touch with their late loved ones. This work was given to me; any training I had came from Spirit. However, I'll address it as it came about, in my main narrative, not here.