Messenger Between Worlds Read online

  Just a week after my mom’s passing, I was heading home from the office when I had a strong pull to stop into the cemetery, but not the cemetery where my mom’s physical body was. Instead I was drawn to the cemetery where my grandparents were buried. I tend to not go to cemeteries (except for ghost hunting) just because I don’t need to—I can speak to them anywhere and know they will hear me. I listened to my intuition, however, and dutifully drove in. With only my memory of where their gravestones were, I found the draping pine tree and parked. Sitting on the ground near their stone, I had an instant flashback of when I was all of eight years old and my grandpa had passed away. I saw the funeral, those in attendance, and felt the sadness of everybody—

  especially of my mom. Tears began to fall and I wondered why I had been drawn to feeling that sadness. A bird chirped above me, nudging me from my sorrow, and it was then that I saw her. Sitting in a lawn chair with a baby boy was a beautiful woman. She held the boy’s hand and stared at the grave. It was obvious that the funeral was recent because cascades of flowers were freshly laid on the dirt mound. I sat for bit, wondering if my sorrow was more hers than of my own past memory. Before I could conjure an answer, the little boy quickly crawled down from the chair and toddled over to me, plopping himself down in my lap. I was startled. He looked up at me and smiled a knowing smile. I tousled his hair, gathered him up, and walked over to mom who was as stunned as I was. She apologized and sat back down with the blond-haired boy in her lap. Her emotions were static in the air. I asked if she was okay and if she wanted to talk.

  A young widow with a toddler poured her heart out to me—a perfect stranger. I listened. I cried. I hugged her. I didn’t tell her who I was; I wasn’t at the cemetery to drum up business. I believe that my grandpa, who was such a bright light, knew that this young girl needed someone to talk to and knew that I was just the person.

  As I left the cemetery that evening, I could see my grandfather’s spirit standing against the tree by his headstone, smiling. My forever protector.

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  twenty-four

  Follow Your Moonstones

  The summer after Mom crossed, I took out a map of the United States. I told the family that wherever I pointed was where we were going to vacation that summer. So I closed my eyes, spun myself around, and pointed. I just know that they were praying for Orlando and chanting Disney, Disney, Disney in their minds. Instead, my finger happened to fall upon Solomon’s Island, Maryland. The family looked at me like I was crazy, but I asked them to trust me and squinted at my guides and angels, hoping they were leading me correctly.

  I researched the area and searched out lodging. I found a cottage on Chesapeake Bay that promised a hot tub, the ocean within walking distance, and Baltimore and Washington, D.C., in close proximity. Nobody was convinced, including Chuck. They had all been praying my finger would land on something a bit more exciting than nowhere land, Maryland. The kids asked me continually, the weeks before the trip, “Who vacations in Maryland?” I just smiled and prepared. I had a strong feeling this trip was going to be life changing, but I wasn’t sure as to how or when. Still, I trusted my instincts.

  I had received a recent promotion at my job, and yet I still felt as if I was wandering. The promotion didn’t feel right. The place didn’t feel right, and, to be honest, I felt lost. Two days before we were supposed to go on the trip, my boss called me into her office and told me that I couldn’t go. I just about burst into tears, and after showing her the nonrefundable contract on the cottage, my employer begrudgingly allowed me to take my vacation.

  The family piled into the car, not one of them thrilled with the destination. Cora, the oldest, whined about how she was going to hate it, and probably hate us, for making her go. Again, I grinned, bit my tongue, and drove off.

  After the ten-hour drive, we finally pulled into the driveway, and I thought I might be sick. What looked like a gorgeous cottage in the pictures looked instead like something out of the movie Friday the 13th. The roof needed work, the porch was almost falling apart, and the lawn was a mess. The ocean sat on one side and a state park sat on the other. Houses were scarce, and if something bad were to happen, nobody would hear us scream. I obviously have watched too many movies and worked too many police cases. My mind may have wandered into a deep and dark place. How was I going to come up with a thousand dollars to find other

  lodging? I couldn’t let the family prove me wrong. I heard Alto tell me to trust him and to just go in, and we did, although we left the luggage in the car and first looked around. The moment we stepped into the home, we were pleasantly surprised. It was charming, clean, and bright. I sighed with relief and air-hugged Alto.

  Within the hour, we found ourselves running down to the beach, but were stopped in our tracks. Moonstones. The beach was covered in moonstones, which are gemstones said to have magical powers. There were all different colors and sizes. We all giggled and began gathering the moonstones in jars that we brought for shells. The stones were about the size of a penny and gave off a mysterious shimmer. In earlier times, many believed that the ocean would gift the shore these stones during the crescent and waning phases of the moon. We felt as if we had discovered a long-lost secret, our personal treasures.

  I tell my clients to ask for signs from their angels and guides and to be specific when asking. Someone’s sign may be a rainbow, an orange poppy, or even a turtle. Mine happens to be the word “BELIEVE.” The evening of our first night there, I sat on the crooked wooden deck, rocking in the white wicker chair, and contemplated life. I disliked my real job with a passion, even with a promotion. Although I was grateful for the opportunity, and the large office that was specially constructed for me, I knew that wasn’t my calling. It wasn’t what I was supposed to be doing. I knew it. I felt it. Tears filled my eyes as I thought of returning to the job that I so disliked, so I asked my angels and guides to give me a sign. I was miserable, but I didn’t know how I was just supposed to up and quit my job—a job that offered future security with a pension, medical benefits, paid vacation days, and a steady paycheck. As I sniffled back the sobs, I felt someone watching me and looked up to see a hummingbird floating right in front of me. For at least ten seconds, we both looked into one another’s eyes. He floated backwards and then flew back into the woods. It felt so … spiritual.

  The second day of vacation we decided to venture into Baltimore. The kids were cranky, Chuck was cranky, and well, I was cranky because they were. Also, I was still contemplating how to make changes in my life and my boss was continually calling, which wasn’t helping the rest-and-relaxation part of vacation. As we turned the corner off the freeway, Chuck pointed out a billboard. It said “BELIEVE.” The kids frantically began pointing all over. Trash cans, window signs, the baseball stadium … everywhere the word “BELIEVE” was written. It just so happened to be the slogan for Baltimore that year—how coincidental was that? I stood there and wept in the streets of Baltimore. Moonstones and now my sign. So what did it all mean?

  I had some soul searching to do in order to figure out exactly what it all meant. What I did know was that I didn’t want to sit in my new office. I wanted to sit on a beach with my laptop and type out award-winning stories by day and do readings and lectures at night. Too much to ask? I didn’t think so.

  Was it a coincidence that my finger landed where it did? Was it a coincidence that “BELIEVE” was Baltimore’s theme that year? I didn’t think so. I believed that by finally trusting my intuition, I held the key to unlock new doorways and opportunities. And that I was going to have to release my past in order to fully move forward.

  As if right on cue to helping in the release, I came home from my trip to find an email from Jason’s past mistress that helped in my recovery.

  Dear Kristy,

  I’ll start with the most important thing, and that is my sincere apology to you. I played a big part in turning your life and the lives of your innocent ch
ildren upside down, and I truly regret that. There is no explanation for my behavior—I don’t even understand it myself. Is it possible to claim temporary insanity for a year of horribly bad decisions? I don’t know who that selfish and heartless person was, but I hate her and know that I will never be that person again. That wasn’t me. I am so sorry for all of the misery I caused you. Words cannot express how ashamed I am of that very low point in my life. If it were possible, I’d go back and take a completely different path—one that didn’t involve one Jason. I don’t expect forgiveness from you, but I wanted you to know that I am truly sorry.

  It took me a moment to let it all settle. I thought I had stuffed that ghost of the past in a locked trunk, but all the feelings of embarrassment and fear came flooding back. Chuck kept asking me to marry him over and over, and I kept telling him that the timing was wrong. In retrospect, I was petrified of being a failure as a wife.

  I ended up responding:

  To be perfectly honest, I came very close to hitting “delete” before I even read your email, but I am glad that I didn’t. I thank you for the apology. I am still a bit numb out of surprise.

  As I look back over the whole ordeal, which I really rarely do, I cannot lie and say that everything was wonderful after the divorce. Financially, I suffered a lot (and continue to), but money can always be created. It was my children who I believe suffered the most. In the end, they are just fine. I firmly believe that God works in mysterious ways and in actuality the divorce was probably the best thing for all of us. After the divorce, my mother became quite ill, and my move enabled me to be near during her last year of life. Also, I am now in a wonderful relationship with a man; a relationship that can’t be wholly explained other than plain kismet. And a relationship that I never had with Jason or ever thought could be possible.

  I wish you nothing but love and happiness.

  The closure that I received from that part of my life helped me to not just close the chapter from the past, but write “The End” and start writing a new and even better book of my life.

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  twenty-five

  Married to a Medium

  And then I said yes. Third time is a charm, right?

  Our wedding was Saturday, October 14, 2006, overlooking a moonlit lake, with our children and immediate family. It was intimate, sweet, and funny all wrapped up in the warmth of love (and we needed it—it was COLD!!).

  The day started out like a Cheaper by the Dozen movie with our Husky puppy eating three month’s worth of blood pressure medication and one of Chuck’s daughters spraining her ankle playing volleyball and having to visit Urgent Care. By the afternoon, we were begging the kids to just stay seated and do nothing but look at the television before another disaster struck.

  Having not had a rehearsal, to say that we bumbled our way through is putting it lightly. Chuck stood staring at me in the doorway, forgetting his prompt to actually come get me until the wedding planner hissed at him, setting him into motion. At one point during the ceremony, Chuck turned around and apologized to everybody for our comical errors, which got a chuckle out of the minister and our guests. It took mere moments before we were pronounced “Man and Wife” and he was given the A-OK to kiss me, which didn’t seem good enough to the minister because he told him that he knew he could do better—making all of the kids hide their eyes. Chuck, the kids, and I did a lovely sand ceremony in which everybody was represented by a different color of sand; now we have a beautiful vase filled with the sand as a remembrance, showing that although we are individuals, we are now a family. I admit it … I did cry, and even though Chuck will deny it, his eyes started watering too (and it wasn’t from the cold wind coming off the lake). Although everything was very “untraditional,” our music had special meaning for us. Our guests walked down to the Carpenters’ “We’ve Only Just Begun,” followed by Chuck and I walking down to “At Last” by Etta James, and the processional was in memory of my mom, a Frank Sinatra fan: “The Best Is Yet to Come.”

  Before I married my first husband, I fell in love with a man who I will call Ryan. Ryan would’ve been the man of my dreams except for the fact that I was already in love with the man of my dreams. The timing was ironic to say the least. Or was it divine?

  Still quite young and not quite certain what I wanted to do with my life, I signed up to work with a temporary agency just to get my feet wet in several different industries. The agency matched me with a construction management firm at Detroit Metropolitan Airport that was managing several projects, including a runway expansion and a new parking lot structure. The company loved me so much that they ended up hiring me, and I was transferred to a public school (which, over ten years, later would go on to to hire me full time in another capacity). Although I didn’t love it, I was good at the administrative work. When that project ended, I was transferred to a job site quite far from my home. I balked immediately and begged for another assignment, but they claimed that nothing else was available, and since I was nineteen years old and getting paid quite a lot of money, I wasn’t about to argue the fact.

  My supervisor at this job location was a bit of an odd duck. He didn’t like women, and yet he had bipolar qualities where he could pull on one mask for the superiors and then immediately take it off when they were out of earshot. It was so hard to figure out who he would be one day to the next that I finally put aside my shyness and scheduled a conference with my supervisor’s supervisor. Since the project owners liked me, my company decided that, instead of transferring me, they would add another employee to our office as a buffer. This buffer’s name was Ryan.

  Ryan was completing his college education and had high aspirations of climbing the ladder of the construction-management business. Without my help, he immediately saw our boss’s instability and went into protective mode.

  We lunched together daily and began to bond as friends, and then, as time went on, feelings grew stronger. I didn’t cheat. It just wasn’t me. However, there were times that I wondered if the man (or woman) upstairs had played a cruel joke on me. Ryan and I had a connection that could only be called timeless. He knew what I was thinking before I said it, so words never had to be spoken. He had a girlfriend and I was set to marry my high school sweetheart, so there was no way that anything could ever progress—neither of us wanting to cause issues within our other relationships. Both of us being mature and realistic, he ended up transferring so that we both could be put out of our misery. Out of sight, out of mind.

  A year later, with a wedding ring on my finger, I was asked to do work at another job site, and there was Ryan. I was excited to see him again, but he acted cold and aloof toward me, which left me feeling heartbroken all over again. I thought that perhaps we could still be friends, but something had changed within him and, since I didn’t deal well with conflict, I suppressed my hurt feelings and did what I was supposed to do: work. That was until I couldn’t take it anymore and outright left the construction management firm for an entirely different type of job. I never heard from Ryan again … until a few nights before my wedding to Chuck.

  It didn’t come in the form of a phone call, an email, or a letter. Instead, I was awoken from a dead sleep by a gentle nudging, only to find Ryan sitting next to me in bed. He smiled at me, his green eyes sparkling. He looked the same except for some speckles of gray in his raven-black hair. Even his stature was the same: thin and gangly. What was different, however, was that he was in spirit and not flesh and blood. He told me that he had passed away and that he wanted me to know. He went on to say that I always meant a lot to him and that he never forgot me. He explained how jealous he had been that I had married and how it was easier to ignore than to understand. He laughed and told me that he approved of my current marriage because Chuck reminded him a lot of himself. He said that he would be watching over me to make sure I stayed out of trouble. He grinned as he teased me. He said that everything happens for a reason and, looking me i
n my eyes, asked me how I would’ve felt if we had gotten together and had kids. The kids would’ve been left without a father. Always reasons, never random. The tears were stuck in my throat and although I claim endless times that I can talk to a tree stump, I was at a loss of words.

  “I know you’ve been hurt. I helped find Chuck for you,” Ryan said and grabbed my hand. “Remember the Madonna song.”

  And then he disappeared.

  I was left shaken and emotional, replaying not only the visit, but also our past. There are always reasons as to why things happen in our life. It is never random, and it is never to punish us. And so perhaps the reason why Ryan and I weren’t supposed to be together was because I wasn’t supposed to lose a husband and (perhaps) a father to my children, or maybe there was another reason that I didn’t know and wasn’t supposed to.

  The Madonna comment stumped me. Ryan was a Nine Inch Nails type of guy, definitely not a card-carrying Madonna fan club member. Clarity came the following day, though, when I was still pondering the meaning and turned the car on only to have Madonna’s “Lucky Star” blaring back at me on the radio. Ryan always told me that I was his lucky star and that one day I would make it big and shine for others.

  The messages are never random. Our life is never random. There are always reasons behind how things play out.

  Rest in peace, Ryan.

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  twenty-six

  An Epiphany

  I was still working at the metaphysical center, but wasn’t feeling satisfied. Although the center was supposed to be all about love and light, the drama and cattiness between the readers was hate and dark. On several occasions, I would go into the center only to see my name erased and no clients on my schedule. I spoke to the owner, but the person who had it out for me was his own daughter. I would simply sit there for several hours hoping for a walk-in, and then go home with only five to twenty dollars.