How Much Truth Is Truth?

Mrs. Malinovsky came to me because she wanted the truth. Last year, her 28-year-old daughter, Vera, was discovered in the garage of the house she shared with her husband, Dennis. Vera was slumped over the wheel of her Honda Civic, an apparent suicide. But Mrs. Malinovsky didn’t believe the police report. She was sure there was a cover-up somewhere, either by the police or by Dennis, who was a fireman and certainly had friends in the police department. Mrs. Malinovsky was convinced I could penetrate the veil of mystery surrounding her daughter’s death and tell her what REALLY happened on the night in August, 2009.

At this point, I have to stop this story and ask myself two questions: First, do I have the ability to tell Mrs. Malinovsky the facts about the situation? And, much, much more importantly, do I have the right to tell you, dear reader, the truth about Mrs. Malinovsky’s daughter?

As to the first question – well, I can only give my clients what I get from spirit. I have experienced many instances of someone who has passed into spirit and doesn’t want to talk about their demise. They want their loved ones left behind to get over their grieving and, instead, concentrate on the future. The departed one’s soul is progressing, and he wants his loved ones to progress also.

In the movies, the ghost of the victim always comes back seeking revenge and points an accusing finger at the guilty party, or whisper to the medium where Aunt Carla hid her $500,000 life savings. In reality, spirit rarely worries about revenge, and money matters are earthly matters, and meaningless in the spiritual realm.

But as to the question of how much truth do I reveal to readers – well, I wrestle with this every time I sit down to write a blog entry. On one hand, I think the lessons I learn from helping people help to illuminate situations in everyone’s lives, and my aim is to give you ideas to think about. On the other hand, I realize my situation is similar to that of a doctor, social worker, counsellor or priest, in that I must keep my clients’ confidentiality. I don’t even keep files on people who come to see me, I just write their names in my appointment book. (And I wouldn’t even do that, but the taxman makes me keep records.)

I had the same philosophical conundrum while combing through my memory for stories for my new book Compassionate Messenger: True Stories From a Psychic Medium, which Dundurn Press will publish in October. Some of those stories will give you the chance to see my world through my eyes. I thought you might be intrigued by my experiences, like how nervous I was serving my very first client, my encounter with the Death Angel, or what happened when I addressed a bereavement group while in the next room, a square dancing class was being held.

But there are also client stories, filled with pain and hope and courage and the power of survival. And the lesson of those stories: Love never dies.

Those stories I’ll never forget. Some happened years ago, yet the details are still fresh in my mind. I may have forgotten those clients’ names, but I’ll never forget the woman in hospice who finally learned to let go, the mother who was scared that the ghost of a little boy would terrify her children, or the mother who couldn’t accept the suicide of her daughter. I included these stories, because I hoped the lessons in the narratives might help those who are now facing similar situations.

So, to respect these (often) long-gone clients’ privacy, I changed their names. And  sometimes their sex, their job, his/her physical description, ethnic background and any other details that were not relevant to the story.

At first, my husband, Ben (his real name), a journalist by trade, was horrified. You must tell the truth all the way, he told me; it’s a matter of trust between you and the reader. He cited authors of so-called memoirs who were later revealed to have made everything up. I argued that, first, I didn’t “make everything up.” The heart of each story in my book is true. And secondly, I pointed out to my journalist husband, how many stories have you written using words like “a source in the mayor’s office” or “declined to be named”?

Mmmm-hmmmm, I thought so.

Which brings me back to Mrs. Malinovsky. Truthfully, “Mrs. Malinovsky” is really named… well, it doesn’t matter. And “Vera” is really…  well, that detail is unimportant to the lesson.  And the spouse was not really a fireman, but a… And the scenario that was brought to me in session, which caused questions to be raised – enough uncertainties to impel someone to seek me out for help…

Yes, I did recently see a client who had concerns about an adult child’s death. Was it suicide, or…?

I centred myself and felt the presence of the adult child that had passed close to a decade ago. The spirit came through, but did not wish to talk about the incident. It was at peace; it recognized its demise was an earthly matter, and therefore was no longer consequential to its spiritual advancement. Yet the spirit expressed sorrow that the parent was still grieving deeply and wracked with doubt, and hoped the parent would move on.

I asked my guides for more information, and related the impressions I was given. My client confirmed many of the details, which had been in the investigative reports.

But was it suicide? Murder? Or…?

I can’t answer that. But I’ll pray for “Mrs. Malinovsky”.

If you have any questions or comments on this subject or on any other spiritual matter, please write me at mail @ . And please visit me again!

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