About 3 years ago, I read an interesting book, Crossing Over, by John Edward. I came across it in a bookstore one day when I was taking an extended lunch break (natch). I had remembered seeing this guy on TV one time, and thought, what the hell…I’ll see what he’s got to say.
John Edward is a fairly well-known psychic. (Note: I hate that word. It conjures up old women with heads wrapped in scarves, sitting in front of a fringe-draped table, topped with a crystal ball. Oh, and frauds.)
I was never particularly comfortable with the concept of death, and I wasn’t sure if it was the “leaving” or the “being left” part that bothered me most. But, I thought, perhaps I might gain a little insight as to whether or not this whole “afterlife” concept was worth anything. (other than what my faith taught)
In a strange twist of events, a woman I worked with knew someone who was friends with John Edward and was also a psychic. She lived in another city in Texas that I was going to be visiting in the next two weeks, so I checked her out and decided to take a risk and plunk down $60 to see what came of a real-life “reading”.
I treated it like a science experiment – full of hesistancy and skepticism. I simply made the appointment. I told the woman nothing. Not even my last name. I gave her a cell phone number (that could only have been traced to a large corporate account). I didn’t even say I was coming in from out of town. I figured that’s as controlled as I could get.
When I arrived at her office, all the typical stereotypes were immediately shattered. First, she was tiny, with bright eyes, short, choppy blonde hair and wore jeans and a cute black top. No fringe anywhere. There were a couple of scented candles burning, but who doesn’t have that in their office?
We sat down and she asked what type of reading I’d like to have. I knew for sure I didn’t want to know any “future” information because I did not want anything she told me to affect any future decisions. I asked that she simply tell me about anyone who happened to pop by and what they had to say.
The next hour flew by. I have four pages of notes (single spaced) full of fascinating moments. What was most extraordinary was that she was being told information she could have NEVER known about…circumstances of my daughter’s birth, a stain on a rug at my parents’ home, a cyst on the back of my husband’s neck, and more.
I heard from my husband’s paternal grandmother, my maternal grandfather, another great aunt, but especially from my paternal grandfather. He “told” her about The Swimmy’s birth, about a picture on my refrigerator that has been there since The Swimmy made it at the age of 1 (and she NEVER touches it…she treats it with reverence), and the details of her room.
I was, to say the least, amazed. And? Comforted. The Swimmy was named in memory of him, Husband’s paternal grandfather and grandmother. It was so wonderful to know that he feels connected to her and has (literally) been there for moments in her life. I have to believe that the others were as well.
This has stayed with me. And, as we begin to choose a name for Wiggly, I am particularly aware of this connection between the people we will honor by naming Wiggly after them (a typical Jewish custom) and Wiggly himself. Husband knows about this experience and while he, too, was skeptical, there was far too much detail in my session for him to argue with and he has since had some “experience” with some of this as well. We’ve both been very deliberate in our choice of names for Wiggly for this reason.
I’ve never been back to visit with that “gifted” woman. I may choose to visit with her again after Wiggly is born. Or I may wait to see if I am visited first. I haven’t decided. But, at the very least, Husband and I know that we will have some extra help in the OR on that special July 26th.