Back Story

Night Owl.
As a child, my Mom called me the “Night Owl” – I always found something to do rather than go to bed. The fact was,  I was so afraid to be alone in my room at night, I didn’t want to go to bed.  I’d try anything to stay up as late as possible. And when I did go to bed, I’d hide under the covers breathing through a tiny air hole I’d made with my blankets, like a little seal breathing air from under the Arctic ice.

No one but me felt, saw or heard what I did.  Nobody would believe a little kid’s ramblings about people standing at the end of my bed,  feeling somebody sitting at my bedside, hearing people singing in my room in the middle of the night.

I did my best to block out these senses and tried to accept it all as my active imagination,  just as my parents had told me it was. It didn’t help that my older brothers liked to sneak into my room at night and try to scare the liver out of me.

This Isn’t Happening.
As I grew older, I’d have seemingly random out-of-the-blue spiritual events that would unsettle me for weeks. I kept saying to myself “This isn’t happening…. ” I didn’t tell a soul.

What I didn’t understand at the time was that these ad hoc experiences were Spirit’s way of whacking me on the side of the head.  The Universe was saying, “Hello? Wake up! This IS happening”!   Sometimes it was less like a whack in the side of the head – and more like a psykick-in-the-butt:

  • I had encounters with ghosts and deceased relatives (“this isn’t happening…”);
  • I heard orchestral music and jazz in my bedroom when there was no source (this isn’t happening…”);
  • I saw, heard and felt unsettling energy when visiting antique stores and old homes (“this isn’t happening…”);
  • I started to see colors around certain people (“this isn’t happening…”);
  •  I saw my recently deceased grandfather sitting in his favorite chair in our livingroom (“this isn’t happening…”)
  • and yes, I heard strange knocks in the middle of the night (“this isn’t happening…”)

And I stuck to my “This isn’t happening” story well into adulthood.

Death Opens Doors.
Then my dear father died.  And he started to show up regularly: In my parent’s home, at the cottage, at family gatherings, even in the Kuala Lumpur airport departure lounge, and on a boat in the Texas Gulf.

He liked to sit in the back seat of the car. We’d talk as I drove. He’d tell me to slow down. He’d have messages for Mom.  He reassured me he was alright. He opened my eyes, showed me that death wasn’t what I’d thought it was.  We don’t really die. But he’d make sure my printer died or my computer crashed when I’d stay up too late working on projects.

As I stared at the dreaded blue screen on my computer, a deadline looming daylight away, he’d chuckle,”It’s time for bed!”

Thanks, Dad.

Guilt and the After-Life.
I began to feel guilty because I was able to see and talk to Dad and know he was perfectly fine, but my Mom could not. She was in deep mourning, and questioned whether or not he was okay.  It was hard to keep this a secret when she was in such pain and clearly worrying about him.  I finally told her what was happening. At the time, Mom was quietly skeptical, and initially viewed these encounters with my Dad as part of  my own grieving process. She was worried about my mental health.  But I knew that this time, without a doubt, all this was actually happening.

My family doctor prescribed me some Ativan. (“To calm your nerves”, she advised.) My Mom wanted me to see a Grief Counselor recommended to both of us by our family doctor. I was indifferent to this support but to appease my Mom, who was already seeing the Counselor, I agreed to go. I told the Grief Counselor I was there because my father came in all the time to talk to me and asked me to communicate messages to my Mom. The Counselor was unfazed.

“Did you ever act as a go-between for your Dad when he was alive?” she asked.
I thought for a moment. “Come to think of it, I guess I did.”
She replied.  “Why would it be any different when he went to the other side?”
I was confused.”Why do I see him but nobody else does?”
“You enjoyed an especially close relationship. Why should it change after death?”
“I don’t understand. My Mom and Dad were married for 45 years. Why doesn’t my Mom have these kinds of experiences?”
She replied thoughtfully,” Rather than inviting loved ones who have died to come to us, intense grief has a way of blocking out communication from Spirit.”

Wrapping up our session, the Grief Counselor assured me I was in sound mental health. In her practice, she’d counseled thousands of grieving relatives, who practiced different religions, and hailed from many corners of the globe: My experience was perfectly normal. In her professional view, I needed no follow up. I told my Mom the results.

My Mom turned to my brother. She was still concerned that I continued to talk about ”seeing’ Dad. As it turned out, my brother was on his own steep spiritual learning curve and was not the least bit skeptical. But he was a little scared and admitted to me he could only handle so much information.

Always the rational thinker he said, “It’s weird. I love Dad. I have no doubt he is around. I believe what you say. So why should I feel so scared? It doesn’t make sense.”


Changes A Comin’
Things started to change. I’d been fired from a job I hated only to be offered a dream job I thought I would never be eligible for. I dumped another boyfriend and really enjoyed the man-fast. I was good enough and happy enough just to be by myself, without any romantic relationship on the horizon. That was a revelation.

Then I ‘found’ my life partner:  We’d actually been good friends for 6 years. My future Husband didn’t doubt my past experiences with the ‘unseen”.  He didn’t make fun of me, dismiss me or become scared of me when I’d tell him about some of my encounters with the non-physical world. This was a big thing:  To find a supportive loved one who didn’t deny there was an after-life or try to shut down my own experiences with it.

My now Honey became an observer when I was having encounters from beyond the veil.  We’d visit his relatives and he was able to confirm what I was being told or shown about his family.  We’d travel to historic locales, and as a serious history buff, he recognized my insights I received from Spirit paralleled what he already knew about a particular site or historic period.

When we stayed at the Waldorf Astoria in NYC (on mileage points!), my Honey woke up in the middle of the night and felt a calm, caring energy standing by my side of the bed – a beautiful glow of a person who was seemingly watching over me. I was mumbling something in my sleep. My soon-to-be Husband didn’t feel anxious by this presence.  But the next morning, while I was still groggy from sleep, his first question to me was:

“What WERE you dreaming about last night?”

“Why? Was I talking in my sleep? It was so great… Dad came to visit me in a dream and we had SO MUCH FUN!  We talked. We joked. It was a blast. We were right here in this room. I knew in the dream he was dead. It wasn’t important. It was just so great to be together. We hugged, he patted my hand, just like the old days! I was sad when the dream ended. I know he really came to visit me through this dream. He’s done that before. It was SO REAL.”

Domestic Life.
My Honey and I built a house, got married and had two strong-willed and highly intuitive children who see, hear and feel what I do – but more so. I now had my own Night Owls.


I could no longer avoid regular encounters with the Spirit world, hide under the covers, or pretend it was all in my imagination.  I had to get out of bed and go into my children’s rooms to see what the fuss was all about. It wouldn’t go away no matter how much I tried to downplay it. The noise from the other side seemed to get louder.  The Spiritual activity  – particularly in our house – increased exponentially when our second child was born.

One day, my Husband happened to be flipping stations and landed on a channel running an episode of “Crossing Over” with John Edward, the well-known Medium.

“Hey, Hon, you should watch this,” my Husband called from the living room.

“I’m not one of those,” I replied hiding in the kitchen.

I was beyond my comfort zone. I was becoming quietly desperate. I didn’t know how much longer I could handle what was going on, up half the night in fight or flight mode – Adrenaline surging every time I heard the slightest peep from a child’s room. Nor did I know what to do about the situation. And believe me, I would’ve continued to try and shove it all aside, had it just been about me.

But I now had kids who were chatting with spirits at their bedsides, who saw strangers come in and out of their rooms, heard those proverbial bumps in the night and saw ‘shadow people’ who frightened them.  In the clear light of day, I realized I had to figure out why all these things were ‘happening to us’ and how to get rid of it.

We were shopping in the bookstore. My Husband was perusing a front entrance display table and picked up the latest book by James Van Praagh, another well-known Medium.

“I don’t want to influence my experience,” I replied abruptly. To be honest, I was scared to read, watch or listen to anything  about the paranormal. It was ghosts – not public speaking or death – that were my biggest fear.

I didn’t do ghost stories. Even though it was becoming apparent to my Husband we were living in one.

Worst Blizzard of the Year.
As fate would have it, I was given a ticket to attend a local community event celebrating International Women’s Day.  The event was scheduled on the evening of the worst blizzard of the year. Looking back, I see the blizzard was a kind of cosmic foreshadowing of things to come.

I had totally forgotten about the event until my girlfriend called me up to remind me of the evening festivities.  I said I didn’t think it was a good idea to go –  it was after all, the worst blizzard of the year, one for the record books. I tried to blow it off but my friend would have none of it. Her husband called back and spoke to my Husband. He had a plow on his truck and would drive a group of us ladies to the event and then back home again. My Husband was reticent about me being out in snow storm but for some reason I suddenly felt strongly compelled to go. I ran upstairs and changed.

When our small group arrived at the venue, the place was surprisingly jammed. It was the worst blizzard of the year – Where had all these people come from? We managed to find a table. Unable to find a table of their own, a familiar-looking woman in a business suit, along with her friend, were invited to join our group. I’d seen this woman several times at the local coffee house working on her laptop and talking business with one of the local tech heads.

Clueless in Esotherics.
Coincidentally, the woman sat down beside me, and through casual table conversation, I learned that she was the mother of three, a financial planner and a local Channeler.

My first question to this woman was: “What’s a Channeler?”

I was SO clueless. She told me how she went into a meditative state and could hear the words from ‘Source’ energy. It was like listening to a panel of compassionate Guides. When Source wanted to speak to her she felt it in her body as a pain in her shoulder. Then when she settled in to hear the message, Source would tell her insights into her own life and about loved ones around her. Now she channeled for clients.

I quietly whispered to her about my big secret. I was relieved to be able to confide in someone who had first-hand knowledge about a topic that had the propensity to totally freak me out. I told her about what I saw, what my Night Owl children saw, and some of the happenings in our household.

She replied calmly,  “You do what I can’t do.”

I stared at her. “WHAT do you mean” ????

She didn’t elaborate further but instead advised me to visit a friend of hers who was apparently ‘just like me’ but she was a professional Intuitive Counselor who helped people ‘just like me’ to calm down the activity in the household. She could also help me get over my fears and help my children who were ‘just like me’.

Denial is not a river in Egypt.
I thanked the Channeler for the information. We exchanged business cards and parted ways. But I still put off engaging support from someone well-versed in the spirit world, a.k.a the Medium. It was too weird. Frankly, it was scary.  Denial feels like a source of comfort, but it’s actually a bad habit that runs deep and can hurt like hang.

After another week or two of wakeful evenings – window blinds flying up in the middle of the night, my youngest unable to sleep because a spirit kitty cat was wandering around her room, and the last straw – the nursery rocker rocking on its own with me and my baby sitting in it – I called the Intuitive Counselor and politely begged for the next available appointment.

I met with the Intuitive Counselor at her downtown office.  She was a young woman – slim, blonde, fashionably dressed, calm, reassuring and absolutely no nonsense about getting down to the task at hand.  She didn’t know anything about me other than what I’d told her briefly on the phone: That our household had a lot of spiritual activity and I was concerned for my children.

After a brief joint meditation she calmly noted, “Do you know how many relatives are standing around you? This room is packed.”

I broke down and wept. Intense Relief.  Thank you, God. Someone else can see them too.

The young Medium clearly identified my grandfather and great aunt, who had been staying close by me for some 10 years.  There were many others, but these were the Spirit Guides who stepped forward now.

Outed from the Psychic Closet.
I was overwhelmed. And I was grateful.  Someone was actually seeing what I was seeing, hearing and feeling. A huge weight was being lifted off my shoulders. Now what I really wanted to know was why this was happening to me and my family, and what could I do about it?

“You are an Indigo – an early Indigo. I’m an Indigo, and so is your friend the Channeler. Your aura – It’s obvious,” she said.

I stared at her. ‘What IS she’s talking about?’ I considered myself well-informed but this data was not housed in any part of my memory bank.  She explained to me something about being highly intuitive and that the energy gave off a bluish purple aura around me. I kind of nodded, not understanding in the least. It was like she was speaking a foreign language that I couldn’t identify. She saw on my face I didn’t get it.

“It’s like this – You are clairvoyant. That’s your first channel.  Clairaudience is your second. You can hear the other side. You are an Empath – you instinctively know how people feel. Sometimes you get totally overwhelmed by their feelings. It can be very hard for you to cope in crowds or be around needy or volatile people. And when you don’t see people from the other side, you feel them.  That’s your third major channel of psychic ability.

My brain was screaming. ‘What’????   I couldn’t talk. I gulped.

Part of me was in a panic. I started shaking in my chair.  My head started yelling, ‘This isn’t happening to me! I’m not one of THOSE! I’m a NORMAL person, for crying out loud!”

But there was a part of me that was very calm. That part of me was deep in my core, and it was clearly saying, ‘Well. there it is. out in the open. finally. phew.”

I had no idea when I walked into her office that morning, that this young woman would be outing me from the Psychic Closet.   I thought she was going to tell me how to make it all go away.


It was a surreal experience. But what I gradually took in was, things weren’t ‘happening to us’ as I’d always thought.  It WAS us.  The combined energies of my children and I – our 6th senses – are like tuning forks or radios that broadcast and invite visitors to us, and allow us to tap into knowledge from the non-physical world.  We do it naturally, and it isn’t going away.

My path was now clear. All I had to do was: (1) Learn to get over the fear of seeing and communicating with dead people; (2) Learn to establish boundaries to manage encounters with ghosts and crossed over spirits, and then; (3) Learn to calmly accept lessons from Spirit as part of daily life.   That’s all.

With thanks to Spirit for infinite return.

(c) 2010, 2011, 2012, 2013  The Accidental Medium. UltraMarine Media Inc. All Rights Reserved.