“And now here is my secret, a very simple secret; it is only with the heart that one can see rightly, what is essential is invisible to the eye.” ~ Antoine de Saint-Exupery The Little Prince
Alice is the oldest person to have ever sought out my services as a psychic. She came to see me late last year, at age 98, driven to my house by her grand-daughter Donna.
After she was settled, and her family had gone off for a drive to give her some privacy, Alice gravely informed me that she needed some spiritual advice before she died. Could I work with someone who had already lived their life and was right at the end of their time here?
“Don’t worry,” I reassured her. “Let’s just do what I would ordinarily do in one of my sessions, and we’ll see what comes up.”
We sat at the table where I work, and I held Alice’s frail hands in mine, closed my eyes, bowed my head, and offered up a prayer for the Highest Good. Then I sat quietly for a moment
It is wonderful to work with the elderly, and anyone drawing close to the end of their time here on earth. Their lives stretch out richly before them, and the connection to the spiritual world is always strong and immediate.
Immediately I got a name, ‘Agnes’, and sensed that she was one of Alice’s guides. It was the most powerful and immediate connection, as if Agnes was right here beside us.
When I opened my eyes and looked up at Alice, so that we could begin our session, her soft grey eyes held mine. There was a bright curiosity there.
I explained how I start my session, with the prayer and the connection, and that I then opened myself up to any first impressions. I told her about Agnes, and how strong her presence was.
Then we sat for over an hour, as I shared information about Alice’s aura, and why she had chosen to come to this life. We discussed love and family, and I was able to give her clarity about some of the incidents and relationships that she was still trying to come to terms with after nearly a century of life.
Finally, as the session was coming to an end, Alice became quite teary, and told me she had a terrible confession. I couldn’t imagine what it could be – Alice has led a good life, filled with caring for others, kindness and love.
“I have an imaginary friend,” she whispered through her tears. “She’s been my friend since I was little. I’m always talking to her, and sometimes at night in my room, after everyone else is asleep, she comes to visit me, and she sits on my bed.”
I didn’t say anything, just reached across so I could hold her hand.
She laughed. “I must be a bit funny in the head,” she said. “And there’s one other thing… My whole life I have felt lonely on the inside, like something precious is missing. I have no right to feel like this. My parents were very loving, and I had tremendous brothers. I had a happy marriage and my own two girls and their families have been very good to me. And I had plenty of friends, although, of course, they are all gone now.”
“And your sister,” I prompted. “You must have been very close to your sister.”
Alice looked at me strangely, and the energy between us suddenly became very uncomfortable. “I never had a sister,” she said crankily. “You’re very much mistaken.”
We moved back to safer ground, and I answered the last of her questions, and then her grand-daughter arrived back at my house and Alice and I said goodbye.
Alice’s grand-daughter knocked on my door last night, to let me know that the old lady had died peacefully in her sleep on the weekend. Donna had sat with her grandmother for the last few days of her life, and Alice had been conscious and lucid til the last. Alice was insistent that Donna contact me after her death.
Donna had a large envelope with her, and she took out the contents to show me. In it were photocopies of some old documents. One was the death certificate of Alice’s mother. It clearly showed that she had given birth to three sons and then after a gap of six years, two twin girls, Alice and Agnes.
My skin prickled with recognition. Agnes… The presence I had felt so strongly in the room with us that day.
There was also a death certificate for Agnes, who had died at age four from scarlet fever. The family had lived in a small town in Outback Queensland. Donna had discovered that her great grandmother and Agnes were buried in a family plot in that small town. She was now planning to go out there to find their graves.
Alice had told Donna all about her session with me on the drive back to her nursing home, and Donna had then diligently visited the State Archives to see what she could learn of her family history.
She had found the information weeks before her grandmother passed away, and Donna told me it had given her grandmother much peace.
Alice’s family had never spoken of Agnes, and Alice had grown up believing that Agnes truly was imaginary. She had learned from a very early age not to speak of Agnes, but had maintained that love and connection with her twin sister for her whole life.
We both cried, and hugged, and as she left, Donna withdrew another small envelope from her bag. “This is for you, from Gran,” she said.
I opened it after she left. In a spidery hand, Alice had written me a short note. In part, it said Thank you for restoring the missing part of my heart.
Last night I lay in bed and thought of my own beautiful grandparents who have now all passed away, and some dear friends whose lives ended too early. I felt the weight of all their love. And it made me smile to think of Alice and Agnes, together again, and catching up on a lifetime’s worth of being apart.
Love truly is a force powerful beyond all we can imagine.