As a spiritual medium, I get plenty of questions asked of me. But the one thing people consistently ask me is if what I see scares me.
The answer to that question is mostly no.
What I primarily talk about with people are the best parts of what I get to experience daily. The parts where there is healing, love, and light from Heaven seeping into our Earthly lives. The part where loved ones from Heaven share their stories and bring laughter and smiles so that their loved ones here can cope just a little bit better with the loss.
But the truth is, sometimes it is just a bit too much. Sometimes I don’t understand why I see what I see, or why spirit tells me what they do.
People think this ability is some on-demand satellite dish that I have some control over. It is not that way at all. Spirit says what they want when they want, how they want, and I am just a conduit for that energy and message. I can’t just dial up Heaven and ask whatever questions I want. I can’t just ask a soul to show up and tell me things. There is a method to this, and it is that they are in charge. They send people to me, and spirit knows who is coming to see me, and spirit has a set agenda of what and how they are going to communicate. They are the boss of it all. And above that, there is God. There are rules to what souls can share. We aren’t supposed to know everything.
The awareness of this gift all started with unexpected impromptu visits. They have diminished a bit because spirit now knows I have office hours, but there are still unexpected visitors.
Even when the visits are expected, the messages that are delivered aren’t always easy to receive.
Spirit often conveys how they died, and not all death is smooth. I have witnessed murders that were video recorded, been asphyxiated with a telephone cord and hit in the head with the receiver, stabbed, assaulted, then murdered, shot, hit by cars, in car accidents, slipped and fallen off a cliff among other things. Felt Parkinson’s, Cancer, pneumonia, several drug overdoses, liver failure, strokes, aneurysms, septic shock, total organ failure, Alzheimer’s, heart attacks, and the like. This part is often not explained in detail during a session if I can help it. I try to get enough of the information so that I can relay some knowledge to my client and leave out the parts that aren’t necessary to relive. And spirit is gentle with me, only showing me enough so that I understand. There isn’t physical pain associated with these visuals. Still, there is an emotional aftershock as some of these incidents leave an imprint on my soul. How could they not? And it is scary. I can’t believe what human beings are capable of. But some of it I have relived first hand. It is brutal.
This started a long time ago, but I am not sure I will ever get used to it.
When I was about three, I started having dreams I didn’t quite understand. They were of places and people I had never met. Often I would awake, and there would be a visitor in my room that I recognized from the dream. Only one such visitor has ever been able to take that dream and turn it into a healing message for their family. That is Matthew. Other than that, for 38 years, I have had hundreds of dreams that I can’t turn into a healing message or even sometimes make sense of myself.
Just like with anything else to do with spirit, these dreams come one at a time, in clusters, or not all and always on spirits’ schedule. They seem to have no rhyme or reason as to why I am given the knowledge or visit.
Needless to say, even now as an adult, I like light to be present enough when I am sleeping that if I am awoken, I can make out what type of figure is in my room. I am not afraid of the dark, just averse to it. I want to be able to identify the beings in my room when I am jolted awake. My kids literally scare the ever-loving crap out of me because I always expect a ghost. So I guess I am the opposite of most people. I am less scared of the ghosts and more frightened by the actual, living, physical beings that wake me.
Recently, these dreams have been acting up again. Turned themselves up a notch. I think these spirit visitors are preparing me for something, but I don’t know what yet. And for some unexplained reason, I feel compelled to write it out here on the Internet.
First, I dreamt of a missing child who was murdered. That one was connected to a session I had, so I dismissed it. Then a few nights later, I dreamt of an elderly man who was also killed. He even gave me his name, which to me, is a big deal because names don’t always come through for me. I Googled him, and he has since been found as well as the parties responsible, so I wasn’t sure why he wanted to show himself to me. These things just happen to me, and I am not sure what to do with this knowledge.
And then a visitor started showing up and is still around me. He first showed himself by touching my arm in the middle of the night and saying, “You know I wouldn’t have died if I had, had my cell phone.”
It was so clear, in my sleep state, I actually thought it might have been my oldest son, but I knew within seconds that the voice didn’t match his, but the height and build did. And the visitor wasn’t visibly present to me once I was fully awake. Still rattled, I knew it wasn’t my oldest son, but checked on all of my children anyway. They were all sound asleep in their beds. It took me hours to fall back asleep. Who was this young man? Did he just die? Was there something I could do? Why did he pick me? Did I know his family? Was he going to come back? Did it all even really happen, or did I imagine it?
Then a few nights later, I dreamt of a basement in a house near what looked like a sort of man-made lake. There were water skiers and jet skiers out on the lake, and the house was sort of up on a hill. I knew I wasn’t in a place I had ever been before, but I was being led through this property by someone who lived there. I knew the house had access to this lake and that it was one of the features that made this individual that was taking me on tour love it so. He loved the water. Then he showed me an orange dirt bike up on blocks in the corner of the garage. There was something a little odd about that. I think he wanted to use it, not have it sitting there. But it stuck out to me because you don’t typically see dirt bikes on display in houses.
Then I woke up. I knew someone was with me in the room, and I looked down at the foot of my bed to see a young man with long hair swept across the front of his forehead and smiling the best smile. He was so young, maybe nineteen or twenty. I was trying to catch his name, he said something and all I could make out was andy something. Instantly I knew he had been murdered. And then he vanished right before my eyes.
I thought maybe he would be connected to a client that was coming to see me and tried to put this dream and visit out of my head. But I knew his sweet face would forever be imprinted on my brain.
The next day as I was picking my son up from soccer practice, I started listening to Culpable, a podcast my husband recommended for me. I had just finished Confronting, and he thought I might be interested in this one, too. I was driving and thinking about dinner, homework, and what was left on my to-do list, so I was paying attention, but it was also just so sad that I think I was just half-listening until there was a description of a basement. Somehow this basement was so vivid in my mind. It was like I had been there before. And at the end of the description, the interviewee states in the corner of this basement up on blocks was an orange dirt bike, and chills went up and down the back of my spine.
I turned off the podcast and just decided not to listen anymore. The young man from this podcast might just be the person visiting me. But that couldn’t be right, could it? Why would he do that?
As I lay in bed later that night talking with my husband and telling him about the experience, he doubtfully listening with a hint of you are losing your marbles type of vibe, so I reached over to my phone and Googled Christian Andreacchio. I dropped the phone when his image came up. It took me at least ten minutes to halt my trembling body and pounding heart.. There was no doubt in my mind that this was the young man that had been sitting at the end of my bed.
I didn’t want to go to sleep. I didn’t want another dream. This wasn’t something I could do anything with. I tossed and turned.
Several days went by, and I refused to listen to the podcast again.
Then something told me that it would be okay if I started back up. I wasn’t going to be able to get the messages to anyone, and if I didn’t want him to visit, I could just ask him not to, right?!
Well, as I was jogging uphill and listening to another episode, Christian’s uncle is being interviewed, and he is talking about trying to find Christian’s phone. I immediately blurt out, “He didn’t have his cellphone. They took it from him.” Yes, I audibly said this one my run. I talk to myself. No surprises there.
And in the next few minutes of the podcast, it is revealed that Christian’s phone was found in someone else’s custody. And immediately, I knew why the spirit in my room had said, “You know I wouldn’t be dead if I had, had my cell phone.” It was all just for that moment. He wanted me to know without a doubt that it was him that had come to visit me. It was all just so I would know at that moment he had been speaking to me all along. He isn’t releasing new, unknown information to me; he was just trying to validate himself to me in a way I would understand who he is.
My husband thinks I am crazy. Heck, I think I am crazy. I don’t know why these things happen. Even after almost four decades of these types of things happening to me, I don’t know why.
And I have listened to several real crime podcasts, and I watch Cold Case Crime shows, and the victims in those shows haven’t come to visit me. Just this sweet, young man. He is the first.
I know it is hard to believe. I am having a hard time believing it myself. But tonight, as I listened to another episode in the car, his mom read an open letter, and Christian appeared in my front seat and held my arm while she read the letter. “Tell her I heard it,” he said. He is nodding at me as I write this.
It does scare me. It does worry me. What am I supposed to do? What does spirit need of me? I don’t seem to be able to provide it. I don’t seem to be able to understand it. I don’t seem to be able to release it in a way that makes a difference.
I guess the best thing to do is to listen. I listened to Matthew finally, and that led me here. What do I know? I just have to continue to be the messenger and deliver what I believe to be accurate and let the rest sort itself out.
My heart aches for this family. My heart aches for Christian. My heart always aches for those souls whose lives are lost in such senseless ways.
I guess I can just be there for him. Listen as he needs me to and hope I do what he needs.
But these are typically the things I don’t talk about. These are the pieces that don’t fit into the puzzle. Maybe if I talk about all the things, perhaps that will matter somehow. Perhaps it matters to them. I have seen and felt their deaths. They are not alone. I am with them in their last breaths. I am with them as they show me their stories, and when they need me to talk about it, I guess it is time to start talking about it.
I can tell you they are okay. Every one of these souls that have had unspeakable things happen to them have been radiant, kind, well adjusted. They are happy and loved. They are at peace, just wanting to help their loved ones here.
I do say that death is my best friend. Maybe it’s true, maybe these souls just need a friend, and I am here to listen. If that is the case, I will keep listening. I will share what I know and hope that helps them to do what they need to do. And now, I guess I will talk about the things I don’t usually talk about, and continue to speak life into death, even when I don’t understand why. Maybe I don’t need to.
Thanks for listening,