Have you ever had a reading done by a medium? It’s a very interesting process: most of the time, you are asked ‘cold’ questions, by which the medium can pinpoint possible connections you may have to those who have departed from this world. It seems fraudulent. But what if someone you knows comes through? That’s a whole other situation.
On May 6th, 1987, my friend, Kate, wanted to know if she and I had had a prior life connection, so she took me to see Mrs Green, in Reading, Berkshire, for a reading.
Mrs Green was an ordinary middle-aged woman, with no outward show of any mediumistic skills. She also smoked a lot, which in those days was still considered socially acceptable. (Later, I was to realize that people who work with spiritual gifts need cigarette smoke to create a barrier against negative influence. I think they call that ‘fighting fire with fire’.)
I’d never sat in front of a medium before, so I was determined to make her do all the running, as it were, without giving clues to anyone or anything in my life.
She started slowly, trying to make connections, but mostly without success. At one point, she said, “You don’t feel a connection with those on the Other Side, do you?” I had to admit that was true.
Then she brought up the fact that I had two children by different mothers, “a boy and a girl” (with a 50-50 chance of getting it right, or wrong). She told me that they would meet one day and that they would definitely recognize each other (but that seemed unlikely, since my son liked in Canada and my daughter lived in England).
Then she spoke of a woman who had come through with a message for my Mom. “Tell her that I want to offer her a rose. The rose, to me,” said Mrs Green, “is symbolic of a peace offering from someone who didn’t get on with another in their relationship.” (That could have been anyone, I thought.) “But the rose is not a name, in this instance.” (Later on, I recognized that it would have been Mom’s adoptive mother, Elsie.)
Then a young man came through. He referenced the fact that we used to work together at the mall with a fountain in it. (OK, so now I’m wracking my brains to figure out who this might be.) He mentioned that he’d died as the result of a motorcycle accident, and that he hadn’t wanted to leave his new wife, or this life, so soon. (Ping: it’s Rob Rudd, my best friend from Angus – we’d formed a rock band in 1965 – who had died in early 1978 from complications of that accident. What was he doing, here, in England, he’d died in Canada?)
Evidently, Rob wanted to get a message to his brother, because Mrs Green suddenly said, “David.” I confirmed that was Rob’s brother’s name (I couldn’t hold back relevant facts any longer). “He wants you to try to get a message to him because his brother isn’t taking it very well that your friend is dead.”
Then ensued a short discussion on the chances of my going back to Canada for a visit any time soon. (The seed was planted that spring day in 1987: I returned to Barrie, Ontario in late September of that year, to visit with Rob’s widow, and to telephone David about my reading with Mrs Green.)
Mrs Green wrapped up the reading, handed me the cassette recording, and bid me “Bon voyage.”
Kate wanted to listen to it in the car back to Bracknell, where I was living at the time. She took the fact that she and I did not come up in the reading as a sign that we were not meant to be together, so that was when our relationship started to change.
To backtrack a little now, let me tell you a bit about Rob. He was the youngest of three boys who had all been born in Liverpool, and had emigrated with their parents to Canada (I believe in the late 1950’s). Rob was a cheeky sort of chap, with a natural Scouser accent, and attitude.
When my parents, my three sisters and I, moved to Angus in 1965, we lived in the Manse next to the United Church. Rob’s family lived in the house that backed onto the Manse property. So we used to literally hop the fence between our homes.
Already, Rob was a budding rock star, in the sense that he could play guitar quite well. So I started to learn, too, and soon we were good enough to start The Bare Necessities (as we called our quartet = very little equipment) by inviting Darrell Freeman and George Danyleyko to join us.
After high school, I started to work at Mostyn’s Men’s Wear in downtown Barrie. Rob was looking for a job, so I got him hired to work with me in the store. Then Stan Mostyn decided to open up a second store, this time in the newly opened Bayfield Mall. (That’s where the waterfall was: a wall of water cascading down in the lowest part of the mall; not a fountain, at all.) Rob switched to the mall store, as he like the hours better there.
Then, in 1973, I quit Mostyn’s to work for the Bank of Nova Scotia. Within two years, I’d decided to relocate to British Columbia, on my own. Saying goodbye, Rob hugged me and told me to keep safe.
I came back for a visit in late 1976, ostensibly to see my son, Derek. I stayed with Rob and his new wife, Debbie. But my comings and goings made him feel that I was just using their place as a bed and breakfast lodging, and when I returned to BC, he cut ties with me.
By 1977, I’d moved back to Ontario from BC, living and working in St Catharines. I called Rob one day after my return, but his response was cool.
Then, in 1978, I’d heard from my ex-wife, Judi, that Rob had died, and I felt terrible that we had never resolved our differences.
Two years ago, my present wife, Susan, and I started to attend a spiritualist church. (It was more a gathering of people in a conference room in a hotel, but church is what it was in spite of that.) Over the weeks, we listened carefully as other people received readings from the guest medium of the week. Those readings seemed genuine, but never specific enough for there to be an a-ha moment.
Then one Sunday, there was no guest medium, so the lady in charge of the group did the reading. When she started to read me, I was surprised to hear words that could only come from Rob. He said, through her, “I know you’re worried about your children, and especially your son: just remember what we were like back in the day; he’ll be all right.”
Could it be possible that he is still hanging around? To me, it was a revelation. Rob had not moved on in the spirit world, I guess, because he still was watching out for those he cared about. This meant he also cared about me.
Love is the reason for continuing connections with those who have moved to the Other Side of Life. It is the one thing that endures when all else fades away.
So, my message to you, if you have any questions or concerns about death, is this: Love is the answer.