A Medium's Plight

For years I have gotten strange looks and wondrous replies to the vivid imagination that some say Imust have, and the following recent event is just an example of what the life of a Medium consists of.

It was Saturday July 4, 2009 at about 12:40 pm. My mother and two children decided to check outthe stores in the strip mall after making an advance purchase for our movie that began at 1:10. Thefirst shop I saw I entered. I am not a sports fanatic by any means, but I decided to go in and look in ashop that carried loads sports memorabilia.

We talked with the gentleman manning the store for a bit and discussed the one piece of pop groupmemorabilia in the store. 'When you get Michael stuff, call me', I said. While looking over the Eastwall of signed memorabilia I confidently asked, "Hey who was that quarterback that retired and diedrecently?" His reaction was awkward and being that I knew nothing of the sports world I felt a bitout of place. "Who," he asked in return.

I said, "Oh man, now you are asking to name names....and I am not good with names, let alone anysporting facts, I just could have sworn that a retired quarterback died."

"I'm not sure who you are talking about," he replied.

"Who was that guy here from Utah that retired? I think he went to Utah State."

He gave me a funny look and said, "Steve Young, but he's from," and I butted in saying, "BYU, yeahnow I remember." He finished by saying, "But, he's still alive."

"I believe you. I just could have sworn that a retired quarterback had died tragically."

He smiled and we said our goodbyes. After watching Transformers we stopped off at the skate parkso my child could practice his skills on the skateboard. Later that evening after arriving home andturning on CNN to watch more updates on MJ, a breaking news story came over the airwaves."Former Quarterback Steve McNair has been found dead," and I was frozen in time.

Although I felt like calling that sports memorabilia shop guy back, I'm sure he's figured it out bynow.

Since early childhood my life has consisted ofunexplainable coincidences. When I was only 6years old and I returned home from school earlierthan everyone else, I noticed a man standing inour kitchen with his back to me. I said, "Hello,"and watched the guy turn and look at me as if hewas shocked, and then he took off through thehallway and into my bedroom where hedisappeared.

Of course my parents taught me to call 911 inemergencies and in my eyes, this was more thanan emergency. It took longer than it should have

taken for the authorities to arrive, and by this time I was standing in my front yard, shaking like aleaf.

I gave the officers a complete description of the man I had seen in the kitchen. "He was about mydad's height and wore a checkered long sleeve shirt with worn out jeans and brown boots. He woreglasses, that were squarer than round and they were brown in color. His hair was graying brownand short up against his face and over his ears, "I described.

"And he was just standing at your kitchen counter when you came home?" the officer asked.

"Yes, he was just standing there, and at first I thought it was my dad, but this guy was much olderthan my dad and when he turned around and saw me, he ran and took off down the hall and wentinto my room. That is when I called you."

Four police officers set off on foot to search the parameters of the yard and neighborhood, includingthe alley that ran adjacent to the backyard. Two other officers drove around in their cars for backup. While they were gone checking the neighborhood park and nearby streets, my father pulled intothe driveway after getting off work. He began talking to the officer that stayed behind with me and itwas not seconds later when the questioning began on my father.

All of the typical questions of where he was at the time I came home, to asking if he had any extraclothes in the car, were asked. As soon as he pulled out his overnight back the officer grabbed holdof his shoulder radio and began to call in for backup to the original location. Moments later, cop carsand neighbors blocked my view of the driveway I knew so well.

"We are going to ask you again sir," the officer began, "where were you at the time your child camehome from school?"

"I was at work, probably sitting down filling out the logbook to turn in to the office." The officerswere not convinced and they all agreed that my father matched the description. They immediatelypulled out a pair of handcuffs and began to take my father into custody.

When I saw what they were doing I began to shout, "It wasn't my father--the man was much olderand had gray hair! His clothes don't even match what the man was wearing and his glasses aredifferent," I begged for them to listen.

My father stood in the driveway and withstood the humiliation the police officers were putting himthrough. "Dad, I told them it wasn't you. Why are they doing this?" I cried.

"Connie, look at me," he said. "What happened while I was at work? Are you okay? Did this mantouch you or say anything to you?" His questions made me cry harder.

"No dad, he wouldn't talk to me, he just ran, and that's why I called the police. He didn't seem meanbut when he ran after I saw him and said hi, I thought he was stranger danger."

"You did the right thing by calling the police. It will be okay." Just as he said those words the policeofficer walked toward us and began to pull the keys from his belt.

"I'm sorry," he told my father. "We had to make sure that your story was true. We called your placeof employment and verified your story, so you are free to go."

"I'm sorry," I cried to the officer.

"You did the right thing by calling us over. We may not have found him today, but we believe you,and we'll keep more officers in the neighborhood."

He informed my father of various ways to avoid instances such as the one we were in. First andforemost he stressed the importance of making sure an adult was at home when the children arrivedhome.

After the slew of emergency vehicles and neighbors cleared our yard my father took me aside andasked me to describe once again what this man looked like. His facial expression as I described theman, told the whole story of who was in our kitchen that day. My father's dad, who passed before Iwas born, had decided to come for a visit that day. When my father brought out a bunch of oldphotos and asked if I recognized anyone in them, I pointed right to his father, who was wearing thesame outfit I described to the officers.

It just so happens, that a Medium's life is not always explainable to those who are not willing to takethe time to listen. If you judge your child or friend as crazy because you would rather not take thetime to understand where the story is coming from, then sooner or later you may find that you couldhave missed out on many a great message or visit.

Author's Bio:

Clairvoyant Medium, Healer, Writer and Teacher. From early on in life, the gifts of spiritcommunication were clear, the messages were even clearer. Now a practicing ProfessionalClairvoyant Medium takes the metaphysical and unexplainable and puts reason to the unreasonable.