But what I want to do is tell stories about the Dead.
I am not a ghost whisperer. I’m not what I would call a medium, but sometimes the Dead get my attention when I’m reading tarot. Most often this happens when a client has recently lost someone and has them strongly on their mind. It’s that point where they haven’t let them go yet, while they are still very much intertwined energetically. Based on my experiences, I believe spirits like to hang around until they are sure everything is going to be all right.
One Halloween, a lady asked me if her newly deceased father was okay. The question had barely left her mouth when he was right there, standing behind me. The only way I can explain how I knew he was there was that I got the chills the minute he got there and I kept them until he left--that and the fact that he was insistent that she get her answer. I didn’t hear him with my ears, his words just formed in the center of my brain, clear as a bell.
She was depressed and sad. She was pretty sure that death was the end. The cards said he was happier than he had ever been in life. He was free of pain and worry. The cards said his only worry was her. He wanted her to be happy. To quit grieving for him and have the life she always wanted. As is always the case in these readings, his love for her was so strong that the air felt soupy. I tried to let her know.
She told me he had been an electrician, and he was the go-to guy whenever anything needed to be fixed. I told her she might experience his presence by flashing lights or other disruptions in electricity. Generally the dead use the things they were familiar with in life to communicate with the living.
I could tell she didn’t really believe me. She said as much. We came to the end of the reading. I kept hammering away at what the cards said. I felt like I had stuck my finger in a socket throughout the entire reading. When she got up, he said, “NO! Bring her back.” I didn’t. I moved on to the next readings. I knew that nothing I could say would convince her.
In between every reading he tried to get me to bring her back. It was an insistence in the back of mind. When I was ready to pack up for the night, he came back full force. “Gah,” I said. “Okay.” I asked the hostess to bring her back. I told her that her dad wasn’t going to let either one of us go until she really heard him. I pulled a few more cards for her. I said the same things in different ways. I reminded her to watch for electrical…”Wait,” she interrupted. She was staring at something behind me. “What?” I asked.
She said, “Do you realize that the lights behind you have started flickering?” It was Halloween. The hostess had hung Halloween lights behind me in the window. They had not flickered all night. But now, in a last ditch effort to get his daughter to hear him one more time, the lights were blinking on and off.
She heard him.
We could come up with all kinds of practical reasons why those lights started blinking exactly when they did. I prefer to think it was her daddy’s spirit. To me, that is the simplest explanation. I wish you could have seen the relief that washed over her. Or heard the life-affirming, healthy conversation about life and death we had afterwards. Or watched how she carried herself as she left for home.
So…
Here is what I know. In my experience, the Beloved Dead won’t tell you where they buried the money. They don’t care what you do with the inheritance. None of that matters anymore. In most cases, the thing that remains after they pass is pure, unadulterated love. That is the glue that holds us together, in this life and beyond.
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