When Janice and her daughter, Marion, visited me, they came with a dozen questions about the afterlife. Mainly, they wanted to make sure Peter, Janice’s husband and Marion’s father, wasn’t suffering anymore. Peter had died six months ago after a lengthy bout with brain cancer that had reduced the strong-willed, able-bodied community leader to a whisper of his former self. At Peter’s funeral, a high-ranking officer in the police department delivered the eulogy. And today, Janice was deeply concerned because, since Peter’s passing, she hadn’t dreamed about or felt her husband’s presence once. Where was he?

“Is his soul in some kind of limbo?” Janice asked, close to tears. “Or have I done something wrong, to make him turn away from me?”

I assured her this wasn’t the case; I had the impression there was a loving presence in the room, but I couldn’t be sure if it was Peter. Thankfully, Janice had a photograph of her husband, which I used to focus on to bring his energy closer. The photo had been taken a few months before his diagnosis, at a dinner at The Keg celebrating his 70th birthday. Peter looked to be about six feet tall, and had striking brown eyes and wavy salt-and-pepper hair. His smile was endearing, and his dark blue suit seemed tailored just for him.

I closed my eyes to centre myself, and asked my guides to help Peter come forward. In less than a moment, I felt Peter’s spirit. I heard Peter’s commanding voice in my head – yes, he’d already been nearby, and wanted talk with me.

“Was Peter the kind of man who wanted to do things himself?” I asked, giving Janice and Marion my intuitive feelings. “He’s showing me these grey dungarees with black streaks on them, and smudges on the knees. They’re important to him, which is odd, because I feel he paid attention to his clothes and was a very good dresser.”

Janice smiled and wiped tears from her eyes. Marion said, “Dad insisted on doing things to the car himself, like adding fluids and changing the oil. He had a pair of old overalls he always wore when he worked on the car. I don’t think he ever washed them.”

I gave more evidence, and Janice’s confirmations told me that not only was I touching into Peter’s spirit, but Peter had indeed been around his wife and daughter since his passing. So why can’t they feel your presence? I mentally asked him. When I received Peter’s answers, I was amazed by what he told me.

“Do you pray?” I asked Janice.

“All the time. I ask God to let me know everything’s all right with Peter.”

“And do you talk to Peter?”

“Well… sometimes,” she said sheepishly, running a hand through her white hair.

“Peter’s saying, ‘When you talk to me, I can hear you. But when you talk to God, it’s like this—‘” I put my hands over my mouth and mumbled syllables to give Janice the idea that communication wasn’t going through. “He says he can’t hear you when you talk to God, because your questions aren’t directed to him. He says, ‘If you want to ask me something, direct your question to me.’”

Janice looked puzzled. “But doesn’t God pass on to Peter my prayers for him?”

I told her I could only speculate on how this kind of message exchange might work in the spirit world, but I felt it was similar to not wanting to listen to a conversation that, even if you knew it involved you, wasn’t specifically addressed to you. Think of how many times as a youngster you heard one of your parents talking about you on the phone, but you respected your mom and dad enough not to pick up the extension in the other room and listen in to that private conversation.

“But is Peter okay?” Janice asked.

“He’s alive and well, but living in another dimension,” I said, then laughed. “I’m hearing The Twilight Zone theme song. Did Peter have that kind of goofy sense of humour?”

“Yes,” both Janice and Marion said, then shared a laugh.

We were silent for a few moments, then Janice took a deep breath and let out a quiet sigh. “When it’s time for me…” she said, her words faltering, “will he come and get me when I go?”

“’Yes,’ he says, ‘but it won’t be for quite a number of years.’ He says you have plenty of things you still need to do down here! And your grandchildren need you.”

Janice and Marion shared a smile, and Marion nodded her head vigorously.

“And Peter also says that he’s with you, and hears you every time you want to talk with him.”

Janice beamed. She said to me, “Please tell him, ‘Thank you.’”

“You just did,” I replied, pointing my finger upwards. “They hear you whenever you talk with them. Your thoughts of him will always pull him in to you. After all, they’re only a whisper away.” 

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!

Scroll to Top