Pre-Death Communications

The combo of Valium and Hydrocodone the docs have me on has afforded me the experience of what Jimmy Hendrix once famously called the "Purple Haze". Wooo hooo! So I slept most of the day and now it looks like I'll be up much of the night.

I spend a lot of time engaging in and pondering afterlife communications. With my ex-husband's critical illness progressing (tho he is still fighting a valiant fight for which I have the utmost respect) I have recently been giving thought to the importance of pre-death communications.

More than once clients have told me they can't wait for a mother, father, brother, etc., anyone with whom they've had a painful relationship, to die. I've come to realize this is because they believe that with the death will come release from the pain of the relationship. I felt this way myself when my own mother, who had very little interest in me, died when I was 17 years old. I am here to tell you from personal and professional experience, it just doesn't work that way. What you do lose, however, is forever having the opportunity to resolve that relationship in this physical lifetime. And more than once I have received a call just hours after the long-awaited death has occured from a distraugh client saying, "Oh my God, I can't believe he-she-whoever, is gone."

I hope you never find yourself in that position. So in an efffort to help you never find yourself in that position I am going to tell you a story I've told to a few clients and my daughter this week.

My father was a self-made business man with only a high school education who came of age in the Depression era of the 1930's. He had several businesses all under the name of Lyons & Co. (Lyons was my maiden name). I have often said my parents had one child and one child only and its name was Lyons & Co. Although he made a lot of money his health failed rapidly after my mother died in 1966 and when he died in 1984 he died a bitter, emotionally and financially broken, and lonely man. He had forced me out of his life years before focusing his attentions on Lyons & Co.

In May 1984 he needed major surgery and I was a full-time, working, single mom who had no time, money or - frankly interest - in going to see him in a state about 400 miles away. I didn't have a good feeling about the surgery (and I wasn't a practicing psychic then) but the last time I talked to him the day before the surgery I told him I loved him. There was a long pause before he responded, "I love you, too." He suvived the initial surgery but died 4 days later.

To this day, 26 years later, I still can't tell you if I meant it when I said it, but I can tell you I've never regretted saying it.

Just something for you to think about before you lose a once in a lifetime opportunity, forever.