Dearly Departed (2 page)
One message I received from my father through Georgina was a song, ‘Edelweiss’ from
The Sound of Music
. This song was sung over and over in my home when I was a child, and when we travelled to Austria before my father’s passing, he arranged for edelweiss to be picked from the top of the Alps and we still have the pressed flowers today. This was a very touching message for me, and when I went home that evening I found a music box my dad had bought for me that I’d forgotten about, and on the top of the box was the word ‘edelweiss’. I played the music box and it still worked after eighteen years. My dad definitely connected with me. I was blessed to have experienced this with my dad. Thank you, Georgina!
Eleisha Martyn, Northern Beaches, Sydney, Australia
A very short note to thank you for today’s reading—I hope to visit you again when you return from your trip as I found great comfort in your ability to translate my father’s messages. It was really lovely to meet you and I wish you well on coming ventures. Have a wonderful holiday.
Cristina, Five Dock, NSW, Australia
I had a Dearly Departed reading with Georgina to contact my mother. I learnt several things about my mother that I did not know—like she was a big fan of Lucille Ball and she liked
Mother
& Son
. I had no idea—it was only after I asked others in the family that this was confirmed. There were also family rituals that I could not remember because I was the youngest child. These were cooking pikelets as a special treat; and each child having their own eggcups to stop fighting. It was an exciting experience and I would recommend it to anyone with an open mind.
Larry, Marrickville, NSW, Australia
T
here’s a reason you’ve been drawn to this book. You may have lost someone very special—a family member, close friend or pet. Or perhaps you’re caring for someone who is asking you difficult questions such as these:
‘What’s it like when you die?’
‘Is there really life after death? What’s it like? Is it heaven or hell?’
‘Will we see each other again?’
‘Is there such a thing as communication from the other side?’
‘Can they forgive me for not being there when they took their final breath?’
‘Have they enough clothes to wear?’
‘Did they link up with Dad?’
‘Has he passed over safely? How will I know?’
‘Why have they left me all alone?’
‘I can’t go on like this—the pain’s too much. What can I do?’
You may relate to some of these questions, or perhaps you’re soul-searching; looking within at your own mortality or your own purpose; testing religion, philosophy and science—pushing the boundaries as to your own unique reason for being. You may be bargaining with God: if you’re a better person now, will you reserve a seat in heaven rather than hell? Why do we suffer so much in this lifetime, and what’s the point?
Messages from beyond can be delivered when you least expect it—sometimes by a distant stranger holding a bear with the date 2004 on it! Our ‘dearly departeds’ do communicate with us from the other side, giving solace, understanding and hope to continue on our life’s journey. Sometimes their messages are so subtle they can come to us through a song, a movie, words spoken in a conversation with a friend, dreams or thoughts that just pop into our heads.
Spirit will find a way when there seems no way. I’m not a scientist, researcher, theologian or scholar. I’m a psychic medium who on a daily basis works with the living to tap into the other side— the afterlife.
Come with me on this journey, be open-minded and allow Spirit to speak to you through these stories and give you hope, encouragement and a sense of comfort that there’s something more than in the breath we take—there’s another world beyond this one!
1
Message from beyond Message from beyond
Death is not extinguishing the light; it is putting out the lamp because the dawn has come.
Rabindranath Tagore
T
ired from a frantic year’s workload, I was keen to board the plane to start my overseas vacation to paradise. I had chosen Samoa, where there would be no mobile phones, just quiet sandy beaches and gentle ocean waves—seven days of sheer bliss. There was still some time for last-minute duty-free shopping before my flight was called, and I always treat myself to a new bottle of perfume with each overseas break. It’s as though the holiday destination becomes branded in a sensory experience. Then, each time I put on a particular scent, I am instantaneously transported back to the scene and the memories of times spent in different lands come flooding back.
It seemed silly at the time, but on this occasion I was drawn to a sign that said ‘Teddy bear with every purchase’. Now I didn’t actually need a teddy bear, especially one that I’d have to carry out of the country and then bring back a week later stuffed in my suitcase with my other holiday purchases. But the feeling was overwhelming—I needed to buy that perfume. Was it the name ‘Giorgio’, which was similar to my own name? Well, the fragrance smelt rather yummy, but I really wanted the teddy bear. It beckoned me from the large sign over the perfume counter. I had a feeling I had to give the bear to my son Brendan’s new girlfriend, Latoya, and to tell her it was from her sister Claira.
When the assistant was packing up my purchase, I asked where my bear was.
‘There aren’t any left—they’ve all gone,’ she said.
‘Are you sure? I really feel there’s a bear in the shop I have to have.’
She rolled her eyes. Off she trotted to the storeroom, while I waited.
‘You’re in luck, this is the last one,’ she said. It was a bear, the size of a large dinner plate—fat, happy, wearing a yellow and white striped jumper, with a large red ‘G’ embroidered in the centre.
Attached to one of its paws was a large satin label that read ‘Giorgio Beverly Hills 2004 Collections Bear’—strange, as it was March 2006, but that was the bear that went with the package deal.
Surely Latoya would also think it odd to be given an outdated bear as a gift. In fact, I didn’t know too much about Latoya, as I’d only met her briefly when she and Brendan were passing through Sydney on their way to the outback for the haymaking season.
Brendan had mentioned to me on the phone that his new girlfriend was from a large family, and that one of her sisters, Claira, had died in a car accident.
Brendan’s 21st birthday party was a month later so I packed the teddy bear in my bag, along with other surprises I’d bought the family while I was away, and boarded the plane for the short one-hour flight. Like all young people, they were keen to open their presents from overseas. I pulled the bear out of my suitcase and handed it to Latoya, saying: ‘This is for you, from Claira. It’s a gift from her to you. I feel she wants you to know she’s thinking of you.’
Latoya looked at Brendan, and tears welled up in her eyes as I relayed the story of the bear and gave her a whiff of the perfume.
Georgina, this is just like the sweet-smelling perfume Claira liked to wear, and 2004 is the year she died. She was fourteen when she died. She was staying with our dad in another state. We were very close growing up; there was only three years difference in our ages. Mum and I had only spoken to her over the phone just before Christmas and were very excited to hear her say she would soon be coming home to live with the family again.
I remember Mum gave Claira a warning that day about getting into cars with drivers who were unfamiliar, reckless or who’d been drinking. I was to learn later the significance of her message—you see, Mum had a secret she hadn’t shared with me or anyone else in the family. I too had a secret—it was so weird—about three days before Claira died I was watching television. It was a random thought, like I was daydreaming. I saw my uncle getting a telephone call saying Claira had died. I just knew it would be on the road, in a bus or car.
Christmas came and went. Late Christmas night, I was snuggled up in my bed reading, when suddenly the light flashed on my mobile phone—there was no ringing sound, just the flashing of the light. ‘Claira,’ I thought. I’ll always remember the time on my phone—11.15 p.m. The next morning was Boxing Day and the downstairs phone rang. Perhaps it was the thought of Claira the night before, plus the weird experience I had had when watching television, that made me rush as fast as I could to answer the phone. No-one ever rang me on this phone, preferring to contact me on my mobile. So the thought of wanting to answer the house phone was out of character.
As I stood at the top of the stairs, it was too late; my uncle had beaten me to it. I saw his face and he started to shake, and I just knew it was about Claira and that she had died. It was my worse fear, the unusual vision I had experienced several days before had become a living reality. I was so scared—I knew what he was going to tell me. I was dreading the news. Claira had been killed in a car accident late the night before.
Mum needed to be told. My uncle and I lived out of town near the beaches in those days, so we drove the one-hour car trip to Mum’s place. I cried non-stop the whole way—but I knew I needed to be strong for my mum. As we approached her home, I tried to pull myself together. But Mum acted as though she already knew. When she saw me, she said, ‘Please don’t tell me anything bad.’ She started to run around the house like a crazy woman.
You see, Georgina, the secret Mum hadn’t shared with me was that she had a dream, a premonition, prior to speaking to Claira on the phone that day, where she’d seen a car rolling over and over and someone thrown through the front windscreen. We learnt from the police that my father’s girlfriend was drunk that night, and she was behind the wheel of the car as it sped out of control, rolled and Claira was thrown out through the front windscreen. Apparently she was sitting in the back of the car, sandwiched between her boyfriend and another passenger—wearing no seatbelt.
We were told she died instantly. However, we were to learn later this was not the case. You see the policeman’s wife had come out to the accident site that night and heard Claira’s boyfriend calling out, ‘Libby, Libby—where is Libby?’ Although we called my sister Claira, in fact that was her middle name. Her first name was Elizabeth, and Libby was the name some people chose to call her. Her boyfriend’s cries prompted the policeman’s wife to go searching with a torch in the surrounding roadside and scrub, and thankfully this was how she discovered Claira who was badly injured.
We were so grateful she did this, otherwise Claira may never have been found. The woman stayed with Claira until she passed away. The accident and circumstances weighed heavily on her mind, and she felt we should know the true facts. One thing she mentioned was that just before Claira died she was smiling. Yet the coroner’s report said she had eight fatal injuries—so how could she possibly be smiling? It was one of the things about the accident that I felt puzzled about— I had no explanation as to why someone in such bad circumstances would ever consider smiling.
After the funeral and church service, we were driving to the cemetery when Mum told me of her dream and the premonition she had. I can recall that day so clearly—it was raining, and as they lowered Claira’s coffin into the ground, the rainwater was trickling down the sides of the coffin. People had scattered rose petals on top of the coffin and as I looked inside her grave, I felt so helpless. I just wanted to jump into the plot and be there with Claira—I didn’t want her to be alone. I was devastated, and I truly believed I could never ever recover from her death. So I made a promise to Claira that when I had my first daughter she would be named Claira, after her.
The healing begins
Just over a year later I holidayed again with Brendan and Latoya. Latoya’s mother, Mary, was keen to meet up with me once more, as we had met briefly before. This time she wanted me to experience some of her traditional Island cooking. Mary is proud of her strong indigenous roots, hailing from the Torres Strait Islands, off the far north coast of Australia, scattered as far away as Papua New Guinea. Their food is wonderful—cooked slowly in banana leaves, with loads of coconut milk, vegetables and meat. I was to experience a true feast of the Island kind that went from evening, to breakfast then lunch—a smorgasbord of delights.
It was during our times together that I was able to discuss Claira’s passing with Mary. On our previous meeting Mary was too emotional to talk about her daughter’s death; however, this time she was more open. I was blessed to be able to share stories of my clients who have had Dearly Departed readings, and relate the experiences and lessons I had learnt as a psychic medium from the messages imparted to the living from those who had crossed over as they gave proof that life indeed lives on in another dimension, and how at times they have left messages and symbols to their loved ones that they are indeed thinking of them.
It was later in the week that Latoya shared with me the comfort she personally felt when listening to these stories. One particular theme that played over and over in her mind was hearing the case stories of the loved ones who, in their final hour, would speak to someone standing by their bed or close to them. They would call their name, have a conversation with someone as though it were a two-way street, listen and respond, yet family and friends standing by couldn’t see anyone else present. Some did recognise the name being addressed, but these people had already crossed over, leaving those present feeling their loved one may be hallucinating.
But now Latoya understood that these were returned loved ones who manifested as the dying person’s guardian angel or spirit helper, here to pave the way for the transition of the spirit to the other side, making the forthcoming journey of the soul easier with someone familiar, comforting and loving.
‘Georgina, now I know why Claira was smiling before she died. I believe it was our Aunty Robyn who came to collect her. She died in 2000, and she and Claira were always close. Claira would always give her a big hug and smile when they visited. It makes me feel good and peaceful to know that when Claira died she was not alone.’
