by Susan K Morrow | Dec 12, 2013 | Interesting Info, Spooky Stuff, Tales from the Psychic's Diary
A lady named Lou was next. She’s a hypnotherapist and a very interesting lady. She had been in my chair before and, while we had heard from a spirit, it wasn’t clear to her who it was. This time, though, we actually made sense of it. During my pre-reading meditation for the event, I had heard a man say, in a slow, distinct voice, “Noo-truh daaaahm.” That’s Notre Dame, for those who don’t speak ghost. Actually, it’s kind of funny, but it did sound a little like a typical movie ghost. But the accent could have been English and speaking French fairly well.
Lou knew who I was talking about. He was an Englishman she had met in France and had visited Notre Dame with. I saw a short man, dressed in black, pacing and gesturing as if he was lecturing with great animation. Lou thought that was the same man, but then she said she didn’t know if he had passed. She said her father had been a preacher and gestured like that, but he wasn’t short.
I asked, “Did he wear black robes when he preached?” The answer was yes, so then I was on to the father. I saw him in the pulpit and told Lou, “The church he’s showing me is all white, with a large, arched stained-glass window behind him.” I admit this was a typical church and preacher picture, but what can I say? That’s what he showed me. Lou confirmed that this sounded like one of his churches.
I then heard the word “cotton” and saw cotton in a field. I told Lou this was either a name or referred to actual cotton. Suddenly, I heard “top” and came up with “cotton-top.” Who was the cotton-top in the family, Lou? You?
Lou smiled. She said there were five children in her family and they were all towheaded. (Just in case you’re wondering, Lou is in her 60’s and has grey-white hair. I didn’t know what her original hair color was.)
Then Preacher Man showed me himself coming out of the pulpit and sitting in a pew. My feeling was that he felt that he was not just the shepherd but part of the flock. That this congregation was his family and he felt as if he was one of them. Lou confirmed that this was her father’s style. Next, he walked toward the side door of the church, flung off his robes, and walked into a white cloud. He was prancing with joy. I told Lou that, whatever his idea of Heaven had been in life, he found exactly what he expected when he passed. His joy was palpable to me, and he seemed so pleased to have made contact with his daughter.
by Susan K Morrow | Dec 12, 2013 | Spooky Stuff, Tales from the Psychic's Diary, Your Life
At my friend’s funeral today, I kept feeling the nudge to pat the man next to me.
Pat him. Give him a comforting pat. See? He’s dabbing his eyes. Pat him. Pat him on the shoulder. Now. Now. Pat him.
I hesitated. Finally, when I had collected myself somewhat, I sang the last hymn. (Hadn’t been able to sing the first two for all my bawlin’ and squallin’.) Then the funeral was over, and the family began to leave. I put my arm around the stranger’s shoulder and patted him. He said, “You have a beautiful voice.”
Is that what that was about? Surely, that was not a directive just for ME to get a compliment, right? It must have been to comfort this man?
Mysterious ways indeed.
by Susan K Morrow | Dec 12, 2013 | Spooky Stuff, Tales from the Psychic's Diary
(Psychic’s note: I could not bear to put an image with this story.)
I’m on the 90th floor of a very tall building. Looking out of the windows surrounding the cubicles of my office, I can see a lot of other buildings, but only one nearby that is close to the height of this one. About three blocks away, there’s water, sparkling brilliantly in the bright sunshine. The sky is clear and blue. Inside, my coworkers and I are carrying on business as usual. I’m standing, as if I am a supervisor, talking to someone who is sitting in a cubicle. I’m a woman, but I’m not Susan.
Suddenly, there is a loud noise. Outside, two aircraft fly toward one another in front of our windows. One of them has a ball on the front instead of a nose cone. It looks alien, foreign, frightening. The two aircraft pause and seem to confer, then turn and fly off and out of my line of sight.
Then there is another terrible noise. Louder than anything I’ve ever heard, and I imagine that must be what a bomb sounds like. The building shudders in a hard tremor, and everyone in the room starts to run. I’m running too, and all I can think of is getting home to my children. I am panicking. I have to get home to my children. I’m crying and gasping for breath.
I wake up. I’m sitting up in my bed in Austin, Texas. Still panting and crying, I get my bearings. It is August 27, 2001. A terrible nightmare. Worst I have ever had. Where was it? Tall building, big city, water three blocks away… Chicago? On a clear day?
I collect myself and try to go back to sleep.
Two weeks later, I am watching the horrific news on TV… and it dawns on me where I had been… and when… The “how” still escapes me.
by Susan K Morrow | Dec 12, 2013 | Interesting Info, Spooky Stuff, Tales from the Psychic's Diary
My late husband, Tim, and I, shortly after we fell in love in 1983.
It was PTSD. Except they didn’t call it that back then. They called it “postpartum depression.” With some other “postpartum” problems thrown in. In the 25+ years that have followed, I’ve learned to understand it better, but at the time, all I knew, all my family knew, was that I was very sick.
The baby was 13 months old, and I was feeling a little better. I had weaned myself off of anti-depressants (too soon) a few months earlier, and I had started to dream again and remember my dreams just a few weeks prior.
The return of my dreams was important. And an angel took advantage of my newly-reopened mind to bring me some Big Messages.
In my vision dream, which I now call “my angel dream”, I stepped into (from where?) something like a room, except the walls and the floor had no substance. They were white, sort of like clouds, but solid. They seemed to be made of a soft light that you could walk on. And there was no floating mist, just this soothing whiteness.
A feminine figure approached me from straight ahead. She had dark hair and seemed to be clothed in the same light-material of the walls and floor. She was kind and told me everything was going to be all right. Then, she asked if I would like to see a picture of my family. I eagerly nodded.
Hanging on this non-substance wall was a large, gilt-framed portrait. It featured a slightly-older version of me, sitting in a wingback chair and sporting a Gibson-girl hairdo. There were three daughters in the portrait with me. Maddie, the one who was a baby when I had this dream, appeared to be 9-12 years old. She was standing just behind my left shoulder. A second child appeared to be about 5-8 years old. She was blonde, like Maddie, and stood at my left knee. The third looked to be 4-7 years old, also blonde, and I thought she and the second child might be twins, or they were at least less than two years apart. She stood in front of me. All blonde, all looked alike, and they were clearly my daughters. My husband, Tim, was not in the portrait.
That’s most of what I remember about the dream. Back then, I didn’t know I was psychic, and I didn’t know how to “feel around psychically,” like I do now, asking questions of Source and receiving the answers in various ways.
What I remember most strongly was calling my best friend and saying, “Dude. I think I’m going to be a young widow.” I didn’t know how I knew–it wasn’t just that Tim wasn’t in the portrait. It was a feeling I had, a knowing. I just knew.
And somehow, I knew it would be when Maddie was seven years old. Why seven? Why was this based on HER age and not my husband’s–or mine? These are questions I still do not have answers to.
And what in the world would my husband die of at age 42? The first thought in my head (remember, I didn’t know then about the first thought being the answer) was that it would be a heart attack. But he was going to be only 42 years old! He was healthy! I didn’t think a heart attack was probable or even possible.
I decided, all logicky, that it had to be a car wreck. An image appeared in my mind of his car on the side of I-35 between Austin, where we lived, and San Antonio, where he did indeed die of a heart attack. At age 42, when Maddie was 7.
I had had premonitions before, many times. For example, I knew when I met Tim that I would marry him. But that seems like something a lot of people experience, doesn’t it?
And what about the three daughters? I only have two, as it turned out. Two who made it here alive–there was one in between that I miscarried, and that baby would have been born 11 months before the one who is now my younger daughter, almost like twins…
I know what you’re thinking. Did I tell him? No. I only told my best friend, no one else. For one thing, I didn’t want to believe it, and I didn’t want to “feed” the idea.
When Tim turned 40, I made him get a physical, although he was very rarely sick and felt good. The doctor said what you’d expect: Lose some weight, cut back on the stress, stop smoking, get some exercise. His cholesterol and blood pressure were kind of high.
I lived with this premonition for six years. When Maddie turned 7, I prayed for more time. And maybe I got it–it was six months after her birthday that Tim died. And we got to have some really good last months together, including a trip to Disney World for the family, a gift from Tim’s parents.
The day Tim died, he was packing up and leaving for San Antonio, where he was supposed to teach a class. I was starting to come down with a cold, so I went and kissed him and he just gave me a peck. “Is that all?” I asked, annoyed. “Well, I don’t want to catch whatever you’ve got,” Tim replied. Oh, okay, fair enough.
Standing on the driveway, holding our younger one, waving good-bye, and watching his car disappear down the street, a thought flashed across my mind. “That’s the last time I will see him alive.” I dismissed the thought as that of a worrying wife.
I don’t remember ever asking “WHY?” about Tim’s death. Plenty of grief, yes, oceans of tears, but no questioning. Because I knew it was his destiny–and mine and that of our family. I had been told in a most reassuring way, and I trusted that everything would be all right.
(See my video telling what happened right after Tim died and again after my grandmother died.)
by Susan K Morrow | Oct 28, 2013 | Spooky Stuff, Tales from the Psychic's Diary
This is one of my favorite stories about my work as a medium. My client’s wife had passed away about a year before our session. During my PRM (pre-reading meditation), I heard the word “pansy”. I didn’t know if this was the flower or the name—or maybe it was even “Patsy”.
When my client arrived for his reading, I immediately told him about “pansy or Patsy”. He shook his head, obviously searching his brain for some meaning to this. I started focusing more on “pansy” and then I translated for him, “It’s the purple flower that looks like a face. You know? Those flowers? They look like they have a face?” Nothing.
By this time, I was seeing gardens full of pansies. “Purple flower with a face!” I repeated, insistently. Sorry, he said.
I decided I had to move on. I had several other images and words and messages from his wife and also from his grandparents. I was taken on a tour of his grandparents’ house and discovered that his grandmother was not a cook, a fact that I also had to drag out of the client. “Why is the kitchen full of dirty dishes?” I asked.
“Oh, no, the kitchen was always clean,” he protested.
“Then why is your grandmother showing me a sink full of dirty dishes?” I demanded.
“I don’t know. She wasn’t even in there—my grandfather did the cooking.” We were both baffled.
Finally, I asked, “Did he leave the dishes to her?”
“Oh.” We both realized that, to his grandmother, the kitchen was always full of dirty dishes that she had to clean up!
But back to the pansy. Toward the end of our two-hour reading, I asked again about the “purple flower with a face”. Suddenly, something started to dawn on my gentle client. He said, “A purple flower with a face? Well, there was something next to my wife’s bed, something her employer had sent over to the hospital. It was like a stuffed animal, but shaped like a flower. And it has a smiley face on it. And it’s purple…
“It hangs on the wall in my bedroom and when I see it every day, I think of my wife. It reminds me of her.”
God love him.
by Susan K Morrow | Oct 28, 2013 | Interesting Info, Spooky Stuff, Tales from the Psychic's Diary
This happens to me all the time. It’s what I do—I’m a medium. So why this one got to me, I don’t really know. But I think the feeling was more “overflow”—joy and wonder—than one of tears or sorrow.
What happened was an everyday occurrence—for me anyway—a mini-reading at a Home Event. The client had about 15 minutes with me, during which time I gave her a lot of info from spirits on the Other Side. One of the images I received was from her son. He showed me a wreath and I thought “Christmas”, but he showed it to me on his head, so I added that maybe it was a laurel wreath? It made me think of St. Lucia. I gestured that this was worn on the head and asked if any of this meant anything. The client wasn’t sure.
Sometimes medium work is like that. I actually never miss, but the clients sometimes do! Really. We call it psychic amnesia, a phenomenon in which the client insists that he’s never heard of this item or symbol or event, only to remember moments or days later that yes, Grandpa did have a double-barrel shotgun over the back door. I have a bunch of stories about that.
But back to my bewreathed man. Several days later, I received a large envelope in the mail. The client had written me a lovely letter, explaining what happened as she reviewed the notes I had given her from her mini-reading. She saw that I had written “wreath – head” and suddenly she got it! She enclosed a copy of a photo of her son, one that is on her refrigerator and seen by her daily, and in it—ta da!—he’s wearing a Christmas wreath on his head.
The client’s story had a lot more to it, such as how the wreath happened to be placed there, and I was so glad to share in her experience. It’s part of what I love about my work, getting to know people and share in their lives.
As I sat there in my car, with the letter and picture in my lap, I started to cry. There weren’t a lot of tears, just some sobbing kind of breaths. I thanked the client’s son for coming through so clearly and in a way that was meaningful to his mother, for allowing me to do this for both of them. And I thanked God/Universe for my gifts.
Then the overflow stopped. It was a very good day.
Post-script: The client later passed away unexpectedly, and I immediately thought of her son and what I imagined would be their joyous reunion on the Other Side. This story and another about “Merrill” is also featured in my book Dead On: Spirited Stories from a Medium’s Diary.
A lady named Lou was next. She’s a hypnotherapist and a very interesting lady. She had been in my chair before and, while we had heard from a spirit, it wasn’t clear to her who it was. This time, though, we actually made sense of it. During my pre-reading meditation for the event, I had heard a man say, in a slow, distinct voice, “Noo-truh daaaahm.” That’s Notre Dame, for those who don’t speak ghost. Actually, it’s kind of funny, but it did sound a little like a typical movie ghost. But the accent could have been English and speaking French fairly well.
