When Phyllis told me she’d like me to try to reach her children in spirit, I immediately felt a lump in my throat. There’s nothing more heartbreaking for a parent than losing a child. And, being a mother of two, I really feel that sorrow. But I have to put my feelings aside – I’m here to help, not share sadness with my clients. When faced with a distressing situation, I’ve learned it’s best to acknowledge my sitter’s grief.
Phyllis was an energetic, middle-aged lady who gave a friendly smile as she walked into my office. When she removed her cap, the light glinted off her tight, red curls. I admired her purple scarf; she laughed and said she’d bought it at Value Village. “My favourite place to shop,” I agreed.
I asked my guides for inner strength, then said a prayer for Phyllis’s children. As I opened my heart to welcome them to this side, I was instantly overwhelmed. What a great assortment of energies! I felt like I was standing in the center of a room, with dozens of spirit at my feet. They all chatted at once, each seemingly in a different language, yet they all had the same message: “We love you, mom! Will you play with us?”
I repeated those words to Phyllis. Her eyes misted, and she reached for the box of tissues on my desk. “Oh, I miss my kids so much. All of them.”
All of them! I thought. How many children has this poor woman lost? She must have experienced such pain. Then I realized I couldn’t keep thinking like that – if I began consoling her, it would put me in my logical, judgemental left brain, and break my bond with spirit. So I repeated my mantra: Spirit speak to me…
Sometimes, when a collection of spirits come in, it’s hard to tease them apart. It’s like visualizing a ball of multi-coloured elastics, and trying to untangle the red band from the tightly-strung collection. So I asked my guides to let one of the group’s spirits step up and talk for the rest of the group.
A hulking male energy came forward. He showed me an open field, and I felt the wind whipping through my hair as he ran. He showed me a galloping horse.
“He’s calling himself your child and your friend,” I said. “He loved horseback riding. I mean, really loved riding across the landscape. His favourite horse was brown, with a white stripe. Is that a palomino? I’m not sure, I don’t know horse breeds. And he’s showing me a bright, red apple.”
“Oh, yes,” Phyllis said beaming. “He’d eat them right out of my hand! That’s Bruno, my favourite! I know we’re supposed to love all our kids equally, but Bruno was special.”
As the horse stood to the side, I felt another spirit come close. This energy was the exact opposite of the first – she was gentle, small, and hovered at the horse’s feet. I sensed that though these two had a bond, they weren’t brother and sister.
“I’m not sure what I’m picking up, I said, “so let me just give you what I’m getting. These children are your family, but they’re not directly related to you. Like they were adopted—“
“Yes!” Phyllis said. “Most of them found their way to me, and I just kept them.”
What was an odd thing to say. Again, I tried not to dwell on it, and focussed on other spirits coming through.
“I’m hearing a name like Chester,” I said. “Chester wants to say hello. He’s showing me a couch with three soft pillows.”
Phyllis laughed. “I always found Chaz sleeping on the couch.” She chuckled, “What a lazy boy!”
By now I was totally confused. But I kept giving what I was getting, and left it to Phyllis to sort things out. As the session drew to a close, I felt exhausted – and totally perplexed. I took a deep breath to clear my head. I’d need a cup of green tea after this reading!
“I admire your courage,” I said. “To lose so many children, and still be so strong.”
Phyllis stood up and put on her jacket. “I’d get some more, but I’m living now in place where I’m not allowed to have them. Would you like to see my darlings?”
She drew a small photo album from her purse. “This is my Bruno,” she said, flipping the book open to a picture of a proud brown horse. In the next photo, three cats – Chaz, Morris and Alfred – sat amazingly still long enough for a picture to be taken. (If you have cats, you know how impossible this is.) And there were more pictures cats, a toy poodle and two birds.
Phyllis looked longingly at her pictures, then placed the album back in her purse. “I miss my lovies.” She smiled shyly. “You probably think I’m overreacting.”
When Phyllis had first mentioned children, my mind automatically went to my own children. But I realize how natural it is to grieve for favoured pets. Animals have souls, too. They love us just as much as our kids do. And when our pets pass, they enjoy coming back to thank us for being their friends and providing them with loving homes.
“Not at all,” I told Phyllis. “I understand.”
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