Talk to Me Page 6

  The next day I woke up with a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart that not only lasted all day but was also unlike anything I had ever felt before. It was Lyman’s and my wedding anniversary and the first time that my husband and I weren’t together to share the day. Lyman was attending his nephew’s wedding in Oklahoma. I spent the day getting my yard ready for the big upcoming graduation party so that I could at least spend the weekend with my husband and kids. I was feeling pretty good about being ahead of schedule. But the ache and lump in my throat continued. Throughout the day I kept telling myself, ‘Stop being a baby, you don’t even celebrate your anniversary.’

  As the week went on, neither Lyman nor I had heard from Michael. We are a very close family, and a phone call or text two or three times a day is the norm. But we had heard nothing at all from Michael, and he hadn’t returned any of our messages. On Thursday we went to his college and asked if he’d been seen; however, because we didn’t have the necessary form, that information couldn’t be given to us. (Parents, please learn from our experience and ask your college student to fill out this form.) By Friday we were very concerned, but we didn’t want to ask around, as we felt that it was important for Michael to have his independence. Friday evening Lyman called Michael’s work, and he had not yet arrived. So then we made a few more calls to his friends and fellow classmates, and after that we decided to contact the hospitals as well as the police and requested a wellness check.

  Once the police arrived, we were drilled as to why we would be concerned. They just didn’t seem to get what we were telling them, that this lack of communication with our son was extremely unusual for us. Finally, they went to his apartment and asked us to wait outside. Then, within minutes, we had our answer . . . Michael was gone. We were told he’d been deceased for about four days. This meant he died on May 25, the day I had the ache in my heart and the lump in my throat. I now believe, without a doubt, my soul knew that Michael, my baby, was gone.

  I have never cried so much in my whole life—it was unending. I felt as if someone had just ripped my child from my womb. How could this have happened to our family? It happens to other families—not ours. That’s the false sense of security we all feel.

  But somehow, even after his death, Michael has managed to show us that he is still very much around. The first morning after our loss, Lyman found at eye level in the closet a duffle bag strap that had been missing for almost a year. Spencer had borrowed the bag and all the kids were aware that Lyman wasn’t happy about the strap being missing. But on this morning—almost taunting Lyman—there sat the strap! When Lyman asked Spencer where he found it, Spencer said he didn’t find it, and nor had Jordan or I. It just appeared . . . Michael? Then, during the first year after Michael’s passing, we experienced TV shows freezing at scenes that only had meaning to us, and the radio playing just the right lyric at the right moment. We knew Michael was communicating with us. We also believe that we may not have heard him if that bag strap hadn’t shown up on the first morning.

  One evening I was browsing in the bookstore and there on the shelf were Allison’s books. I am a believer that if I open a book randomly and get a message, then it’s meant to be for me. So I purchased all three of her books and read and reread them from cover to cover. I knew then that I needed to attend one of her seminars and see what she had to say.

  In April 2010 I did just that. I was amazed at the people she brought through for others. I didn’t get called upon that evening—at the time I only had one question for Michael, ‘Are we on the right track with our private investigation?’—although I do feel his presence daily. I also believe that because we are such a close family, Michael would want his dad to be present when he came through.

  A month later I thought I would at least email Allison’s office to get my name on a waiting list for a reading. I knew this could be a long wait, if it was to even happen. I received a reply with dates available for a phone reading. However, because I really didn’t want a phone reading, I decided instead to fly to Arizona in October and take my chances at being called on at her seminar. I made a note on my to-do list to email Allison’s manager, Mark, and let him know of my plans.

  On 24 May 2010, the one-year anniversary of the last time I saw Michael, I was at our favourite deli with Lyman. Strangely, I hadn’t really thought about the location or the date until I received a call from a number I didn’t recognise. Because I was selling tickets to a cabaret fundraiser event in Michael’s honour for the Art Institute of Portland Film Department, I had to answer all calls. It was Mark, calling about booking a phone reading with Allison. You guessed it, I never got to my to-do list!

  I told Mark of our plan to attend Allison’s October seminar and he said she was going to be in Arizona on 25 June, and that she could do a reading then if I was interested. No hesitation, we were flying to Arizona in June!

  As nervous as I was prior to the reading, once Lyman and I were there I was completely relaxed. I felt some sort of comfort. Allison was so welcoming, and made us feel as if we were friends from afar just coming to catch up. There is no way Allison could’ve made up the messages or the personality that was coming through from Michael. I knew it was my son, and he was happy, and he had a lot to say.

  While Michael was growing up, I always used to tell him that it was so important for him to communicate with others, as he lacked in this area. Yet, on this day, he was really open and communicated so clearly. I was very proud of him. Of course, we have always been proud of our son. It was just nice to know he had found a strong voice.

  Michael did touch on his death and let us know that he was okay. He specifically gave us the name of someone who he stated was a ‘friend’ of his, and said this friend knows something about his passing and is carrying guilt. He spent some time on this subject, and that told us we were on the right track with our investigation. What brought Lyman and me to tears during the reading was when Michael said that his head was sore and he had a hard time breathing before he died. Allison demonstrated this by grabbing her neck as she repeated what Michael was saying. Allison had no idea that the cause of death was asphyxiation. Without us asking the question, both Michael and Allison made it very clear that our son did not take his own life.

  Michael wanted to talk more about his siblings. From what he shared with us, we can help guide his brother and sister, and I believe this will give us the patience needed to help them move towards some important goals. We also asked if Michael was with his godfather, a wonderful character who had died unexpectedly just five months after Michael’s passing, and he confirmed that he was with ‘Slick’. This was very funny to us. His godfather’s nickname was ‘Spike’, and Spike’s nickname for Lyman was ‘Sly’—Sly’s nickname + Spike’s = Slick! And Spike was quite slick personality-wise, too. It was comforting for us to know this.

  Through Allison he shared the one song that I would sing to Michael and his siblings as if it were their own personal lullaby:

  ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow’. Then Allison kept mentioning ‘Father Iz’ and ‘rainbow’. Followed by ‘Father Iz and over the rainbow’. We got the rainbow part, but the ‘Father Iz’ we just weren’t sure of—until we realised what it might be. We asked if he meant ‘Brother Iz’, the deceased Hawaiian musician, Israel Kamakawiwo’ole. Yes! That’s what he was saying.

  Michael wanted us to listen to that version, and he wanted us to know he was with Brother Iz. My husband Lyman grew up in Hawaii and was friends with Iz, so it was nice to hear they were together.

  I should also mention that after we got home from Arizona, Lyman’s ‘Iz’ tank top was sitting out in the open on our bed, returned by a T-shirt-borrowing daughter. This shirt is always buried in the closet but, for some reason, Jordan dug it out to wear that weekend while we were in Arizona having our reading. We hadn’t shared with her any information about the reading or Michael talking about Iz. The ‘coincidence’ struck us as uncanny to say the least!

  During the reading, Mic
hael said ‘Happy Birthday’, and initially we thought this was because in two days it would have been his 24th birthday and ‘24’ was his favourite number. But he kept repeating it, and Allison explained it was actually a message for us. Then I realised what he meant. You see, Michael was conceived on my 21st birthday, and I would always tease him and tell him he was ‘the gift that just kept on taking’. It was an ongoing joke that we shared, and still do.

  Other things that took our breath away were when Allison spoke of Michael’s ‘black truck’. Michael loved his truck! We were also stunned when Allison said he was spending lots of time with a petite, elderly lady, born around the 1920s, who was probably a grandmother figure to him. The lady is Michael’s 91-year-old great-grandmother. He said he would be waiting for her on the other side when she crosses over.

  Michael gave me the ultimate gift—coming through in our reading and communicating! Afterwards, I smiled so much I thought I would need to get Botox for my wrinkles. I still haven’t stopped smiling. For the first time since Michael’s passing I have been able to sleep through the night. I no longer wake up with tears. I can honestly say that I am at peace. Of course, there will always be days that are harder than others, but I know my son is okay, I know that he is with us daily, and my faith tells me that when I pass he will be there for me.

  We believe Michael was instrumental in the timing of Mark’s phone call in May, as well as making it possible for us to have the personal reading in June. We will never be able to thank Allison enough for sharing her gift with us. What she does for families like ours is a blessing.

  I can now move forward and work towards writing and passing the ‘Michael Bill’, which will require all states to have a detective called to the scene when a death has occurred regardless of what the police and medical examiner think may be the cause.

  We had always hoped to help other people who find themselves in the same situation so at least our son Michael didn’t die in vain. Now we are able to move forward with peace in our hearts.

  THE LOSS OF JENNIFER’S LITTLE PRINCESS

  In Houston I met a wonderful young woman named Jennifer when she stepped onto my stage with her request. She softened her voice and said, ‘My daughter, can you talk to her?’

  I nodded and replied, ‘That’s what I do, that’s why I’m here, I’ll bring her through, don’t worry.’

  With that, she exhaled the breath that she had bottled up inside of her, showing some relief to know the reading she needed was going to happen for her. Jennifer’s daughter, Irelynn, was four years old when she died—just a baby. Jennifer had a long road with Irelynn, full of ups and downs, watching her daughter deteriorate from her illness as she tried to stay positive and hope for a miracle. Now she needed to connect with her daughter so that she could start to heal herself.

  I began scribbling, happy that I could feel the little girl coming through so strongly. My smile grew wide at how easily a four-year-old who’s all heart can come through just like that! There are some people who had much longer lives than this little girl, but they died without loving or truly living—they’re so much more difficult to bring through.

  There were many beautiful moments in Jennifer’s reading, which she talks about in her story, but one part I loved was that Irelynn was dressed in a princess costume. I turned towards Jennifer and I said, ‘She still lives with you, you know. She says she’s happiest there with you. She does say her chest had trauma, it hurt. Did she have trauma in her chest area when she died?’

  Jennifer nodded. ‘Yes, her heart stopped and the doctor had to work on her to get her heart restarted. There was trauma to her chest.’

  ‘Your daughter is eating birthday cake and says she wants you to celebrate her birthday still, and make it a happy day again. She’s also wishing you “Merry Christmas”. She says she’s “the princess”. She’s dressed in a princess costume and she says that she likes all of the Disney princesses.’

  Jennifer then shared that before her daughter passed away, the family took her to Disneyland, and she was dressed in a princess costume.

  ‘That’s important, Jennifer,’ I explained, ‘because she’s letting you know that was one of the best days in her little life, and she was content before she died.’

  Jennifer was visibly moved. At that time, I didn’t know all that Irelynn had suffered but it was clear this information meant a great deal to her mother.

  Towards the end of the reading I told Jennifer, ‘She still lives with you, you know. She says she’s happiest there with you.’ This made Jennifer smile, knowing Irelynn was still with her and very much part of her life.

  Then I asked, ‘Your daughter wants to know if she can go play now.’

  Jennifer nodded and I shared with the audience that the little girl was running around the room playing, so it was time to conclude her reading. The hum of a collective chuckle filled the room. It was very uplifting. Just think, a four-year-old girl was able to raise the energy in a room full of broken hearts—now that’s my definition of a true angel!

  JENNIFER’S STORY

  My name is Jennifer Pruett. I was a single mother to my only daughter, Irelynn. My life became very empty on 22 December 2009, my daughter’s fourth birthday—and the day she died. Irelynn had been battling leukaemia since 18 April 2008, from the age of two. Can you imagine being so little and left without the choice of truly being young and carefree?

  She was so exhausted that she couldn’t even tell me she loved me. Early morning of that next day the worst three weeks of my life began. I was asleep in the room next to Irelynn because she had so many things hooked up to her now. So I had my little bed set up, and I needed some good quiet sleep to carry me through. It was then that my mum came in crying, ‘Jennifer, get up, Irelynn’s heart just stopped.’

  I ran out of the room, looked at her and lost control of my emotions. All I could see was the doctor pounding on Irelynn’s chest really hard, trying to give motion to her lungs because her heart had stopped beating. I dropped to my knees, my face went numb, and my sobs had no end. I can’t even explain the unimaginable pain running throughout my body. I was saying out loud, ‘No, no, no, God, please no, don’t take her, she is my world. I need her.’ Irelynn then came back to us. I went in to see her; she was so swollen and her skin was so stretched. I leaned over her and broke down. I could see an impression in her chest from the doctor doing compressions. It was more than she or I could bear. She was then put on life support for her breathing and dialysis for her kidneys.

  I can remember the doctor’s words: ‘We now have her on everything we can. But I need to tell you that I have a feeling Irelynn will not make it longer than twelve hours, and in my professional opinion we should probably just let her go.’

  So I processed what I had just been told: Irelynn may die by morning. Again, I went numb and cried for many hours and I found myself unable to eat, or even function, as a part of me was dying with my little girl.

  Irelynn’s grandfathers were her best friends. They had a wonderful bond. So I knew I wasn’t the only one hurting at losing Irelynn. My dad and I talked for a minute privately, then we both leaned over Irelynn as she lay motionless. I told her how hard this was for me and that her papa was here with me.

  My dad whispered, ‘Hey, Papa’s girl. Sweetie, Mummy has something very important to tell you.’

  I leaned over her again. ‘Irelynn, we see you’re struggling and so tired. Papa and I would like for you to know that if you want to let go, we’re okay with that. We won’t keep you here if you need to go.’

  Then I turned away and silently prayed, ‘God, I beg you, please give her the strength to make it to her fourth birthday.’ I knew how much she loved birthdays.

  Miraculously, Irelynn made it. I always said Irelynn was a fighter. But I knew our time together was almost over.

  The night before her birthday I had a feeling it was going to be her last night with me, so I asked the nurses if I could sleep next to her. It was a challenge bec
ause of all the lines, tubes and equipment she was attached to, and just the thought of jostling her terrified me. I went to bed at about 3 a.m. I had spent a lot of time talking to Irelynn about heaven and all the good things I’d heard about it. I told her how much I loved her and would miss her sweet face every day of my life, and how incredibly proud I was of her.

  At 5.13 a.m. I woke up from a very short sleep because what seemed like a bright light came on, yet nothing was different. I went back to sleep then the light came on again: I was in a dream state and saw my grandfather and Irelynn. They had their backs to me and Irelynn was holding his finger. She turned around and said to me, ‘It’s okay, Mummy, I get to go play now.’

  I woke up instantly. ‘Did that really just happen?’ I asked myself. I looked at the clock: it was 5.46 a.m. I glanced at the nurse; she had a troubled expression on her face. I got weak then. I looked at Irelynn and the vital signs on the monitor and saw that she was fading right in front of me—Irelynn’s legs to her hips were black, her hands to her elbows were black, and her face was so cold.

  ‘Dad, it’s time, she’s fading fast!’ I was beside myself.