“I just need to know you’re still alive!”

Neither my ex-husband, George, nor I were brought up to believe that life continued after death. We were raised in a very strict religion from childhood, and were taught to believe that Armageddon is due to happen in our lifetime. Fire would rain down from Heaven and all of the non-believers and those who are weak of faith would be destroyed. The good news for those who survive is  they go on to rebuild the Earth into a Paradise. We believed that once someone dies they remain dead until God decides to bring them back in the resurrection on earth after Armageddon. Should he choose not to resurrect you, you’re just gone for good. It would be as though you never existed.

 

I can’t express the immense amount of pressure we felt from trying to live up to the standards of this religion. It was as though all our efforts to be strong spiritual people never seemed to be quite good enough. The result was that it broke our spirit and trust in a god that is supposed to be loving.

 

For some reason, I was able to last longer than George. He gave in to his insecurities within the first year of our marriage. The pressure was so great that it broke him. He couldn’t live up to the expectations of the religion, let alone, the expectations he put on himself. I stood by him for years, always feeling that I could somehow pull him through and out of his depression. It didn’t quite work out.

 

After our marriage dissolved we both quit the religion altogether, much to the chagrin of family and friends. His family lost all respect for him. It was very sad. The heavy guilt was still there, but we continued to search for something different on a spiritual level. George was looking in to other churches as well as studying anything he could get his hands on regarding religion and spirituality. We would have long conversations about what could be the real truth regarding a god. “Does God exist?” and “What do you believe now?” were questions that would lead to countless discussions.

 

After our divorce we settled into our lives as hard as it was. George and I were still very much friends and partners in raising our children. The kids were with me during the week and with Dad on the weekends.  By this time, George was suffering from acute pancreatitis, in extreme pain and had very little energy.  He wasn’t his usual self as his illness progressed, and it became increasingly more difficult for him to have the kids on the weekends.

 

While I did the best I could, all of my energy was spent working two jobs to support the lot of us. Between getting the kids to school each morning, working days, nights and weekends, I was doing well to just drop them off to George on Friday afternoon before another shift. Never mind the fact that I just left them with a man already dead on his feet, I was nearly falling down with exhaustion myself.

 

Somewhere towards the end of last year, 2007, a friend of mine introduced me to a television show on the Lifetime Channel called, “Lisa Williams – Life Among the Dead.” Oh, did it grab my attention! Could it be true? Could this woman actually have the ability to hear messages from dead loved ones? Wow, I was enthralled!

 

I was able to open up my mind to the idea that maybe, just maybe, we aren’t really gone for good when we die. The experiences on the Lisa Williams show seemed too real and wonderful not to be true.

 

Then it happened. At the age of 39, George succumbed to his illness and we lost him at the end of January, 2008. His death was absolutely devastating to me. It seemed my whole world went right with him. We relied on each other for everything. He truly was my closest friend and kept me grounded to this earth. Nothing seemed right in a world without George! How would I ever have the ability to raise our children without him? I lost every bit of confidence and  couldn’t comprehend trying to go on without him.

 

I discovered Lisa Williams was coming to Denver to do a live show. I immediately bought tickets in hopes of hearing from George. I had to know if he was still alive somewhere!  I’d never looked into psychics or mediums outside of her show. Especially, in light of the fact that it was strictly forbidden by our former religion, and I was still halfway holding on to what I was taught about them. As the date of the show approached, I felt increasingly nervous. I would talk out loud to George, just in case he could hear me, and tell him that he has to be there for me! I would cry over and over again and tell him, “I just need to know you are alive!”

 

During the show, Lisa brought up a ‘George.’ I tried to get her attention, but the auditorium was full of people in search of loved ones and she passed on me. Then she brought up a clock or a watch stopped at 4:00.  At the end of the show she pulled out a list she had made while in her dressing room for people she had to make mention of for passed loved ones. Well, she said my daughter’s name, but by then I felt deflated at not hearing from George, so I didn‘t think twice about it.

 

The next morning, I looked at George’s watch on my son’s dresser. It was stopped at 4:00! I didn’t even know it was broken. I decided to try one more time. I took my daughter with me and we drove to the mall where Lisa was doing a book signing. We stood in line after her talk and all the while I kept talking to George in my head, asking him to please let us know if he is OK. When we approached her, I asked, “Did you ever find the George you were looking for last night?”  Surprised, she stopped writing in my book and said “NO!” So, I pulled the watch out and showed it to her. She said, “Oh my god, that’s it!” Of course, she doesn’t do readings at her book signings, so I just quickly asked her, “Is he OK?” She said, “He went very quickly, yes, he’s OK.” I couldn’t help shaking.

 

When she looked back down at the paper her assistant had written our names on, she just stopped. “OH! This is the name I called out for last night (referring to my daughter). That same spelling, too! I never spell this name that way, but there it is!” After a few hugs we were on our way and my heart and head were pounding. George is OK!!!

 

I started visiting Lisa Williams’ website daily after my friend showed me that Lisa posts messages from those who have passed for their loved ones. I read through them religiously, just in case George might have something, anything, to say to us.

 

One day, I found a posting in her blog from someone in Denver who sympathized with her regarding her schedule, as he too is a medium living a hectic pace, helping people reach loved ones. I couldn’t believe it. There was another medium right here in Denver! Was he real? Could he be someone like Lisa? My mind was in a whirl!

 

I called to set up an appointment. He was kind and understanding on the phone. I didn’t give him a clue as to who I wanted to hear from or needed to contact. He had to leave town for a week to record a television program, but promised to meet with me as soon as he returned. Again, I spoke to George the entire week insisting that he’d better show up for this! By the time the week passed, I arrived for the appointment with my daughter and a load of insecurity and suspicion. I had absolutely zero confidence this was going to work.

 

I was determined not to give this man a bit of information he could use to pretend that someone in spirit was there for us. I was immediately taken with how low key and down to earth Anthony was. Even though I was high strung and a bundle of nerves he remained calm and serene. While arranging the chairs for our meeting, he suddenly stopped and asked, “Who’s George?” I said, “He’s someone we’re here to reach.” He laughed and said, “Well… OK, he’s already here and we haven’t even started yet!” Anthony knew his name right off the bat!

 

Throughout the entire session, true to my intention, I didn’t give Anthony any information he could creatively build on.  Yet, he went on to describe our lives perfectly.  Actually, George went on and on about our lives, through Anthony.   He laughed a lot and talked about the good times, before he got sick.  He talked about the sports car he used to drive. He spoke about his illness, and the lack of support from his family right up to the end. He even asked me to pray to help him forgive them. George told me about his life on the Other Side. He talked about the resting place he is in, and would remain for a while, to recuperate from his illness and life on earth. He asked me to remember the places in the mountains we used to visit. He said it’s a lot like that for him. He told me to just picture him surrounded by lots of trees and a stream, just the way he likes it!  He spends a lot of time by that stream thinking, and the sun is always shining.  He said he is the happy-go-lucky guy we all used to know.   

 

He told me religion doesn’t matter where he is now.  He said there are no Buddhists, no Catholics, no Jehovah’s Witnesses. None of that matters anymore! We’re all the same when we get there and we are all accepted for who we are. That was huge for me!

 

He apologized for leaving us.  Especially, our 13 year old son, who will need him most of all in these tough years to come. He even brought up the little things that our children and I were now doing on a day-to-day basis that confirmed even more he is really still with us. He told us he was at the Butterfly Pavilion with us over the past weekend. He even laughed and brought up that when I hear a bird outside I’ll say hello to him because I feel it’s him saying hello to me! 

 

George reminded my daughter of how he taught her to ride a bike. He told her to keep an eye out for butterflies, because it is him saying ‘hello’.  Now, it’s pretty amazing to watch my daughter ride her bike up and down the street with butterflies following her!

 

Anthony also mentioned the watch and asked why it was stopped at 4:00.  I couldn’t believe he mentioned it, because I didn’t even bring it with me!

 

I was overwhelmed with relief after our meeting. Just to know he is still alive and  not sick and in pain anymore! He’s just fine! Of course, the grief still crept in from time to time. The guilt of how our lives played out and his love for me even after the divorce kept haunting me.

 

A second visit to Anthony did much to heal my wounds. George was right there again to insist that he is still with us and loves us, and will always be there to help. He even brought my grandfather with him this time. George and my grandfather, also named George, got along quite well. They had a deep respect for one another. George mentioned him often after my grandfather died, not so many years ago. Especially, because my grandfather died of pancreatic cancer, and our George’s condition was very similar. George often thought of my grandfather during his own illness. And, I think it is wonderful they are together now, in the same place.

 

Then Anthony told me my grandfather wants me to say hello to his wife, “Um, Myrtle like turtle?” I couldn’t believe he said my grandmother‘s name! There is no way he could just pull a name like Myrtle out of the air like that! 

 

This visit proved even further there really is life after death. No longer will I fear death. In fact, George restored my belief in a god, the “Power’s that Be” or a Life Source!  No longer will I live in fear of a God who doesn’t accept us for who we are.  George’s passing simply lead to his rebirth into a new life!

 

George mentioned two things he feared to me just days before he passed away.  One, is that the world would go on as if he had never even been here. The second, is that he would be forgotten. My life and my children’s lives will certainly never be the same without him; and, he knows for sure, he could never, ever be forgotten.

 

My healing has begun. I go back from time to time to listen to the recordings of the meetings with George, through Anthony. I can’t speak for the validity of all mediums, but Anthony has more than proven he is the real deal. I know I can never repay him for what he has done for us. This gift is truly priceless.

 

Donna Lacey

 

I feel your peace,

Anthony

https://www.anthonyquinata.com

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“First you die.”

The Restoration of Hope After the Death of a Child   Chapter Leader in The Compassionate Friends Organization MARIE LEVINE Author of “First You Die: Learn to Live After The Death Of Your Child” April 20, 2004   My credentials are a lot less complicated than most special guests. Simply stated, I am a bereaved parent. My just turned 22-year old son Peter was killed in 1993 in a horrendous auto accident while being driven home by a friend.    Now, there are a lot of professional counselors and therapists out there who can talk to you about the many “stages” of grief. I am not one of them. I am simply a Mom who enjoyed a fabulous 22 years with a terrific son who was robbed of his life and left me here to figure out how to go on without him. It’s interesting that today is the fifth anniversary of the disaster at Columbine High School in Colorado. I have often referred to that terrible day. Five years ago I was where those survivors are today. Then, as now, it was the only story on the news. I sometimes think that was the very beginning of people recognizing how important it is to acknowledge the lifetime effect a child’s death has on the survivors and how possible the impossible truly is.  Today I’m going to talk a bit about my own experience. I want to share some of what I’ve discovered. I’ve discovered that even though your world seems to have ended, ( and indeed the world you’ve come to know has ended) it is possible to find a new “normal.” I’ve discovered that though we control very little in our lives we do have choices. I’ve discovered that time is my friend. And I’ve discovered that hope – the opposite of desolation can be found even when all seems lost. And that it is the restoration of hope that signals we are on our way to the resolution of our grief after such a devastating loss. Life can be beautiful again. Losing a child is an indescribable experience. We all learn to live through loss in our lives. We start early and learn, as we grow, to recover from some truly devastating losses – our grandparents, our pets, aunts, uncles, mothers, fathers husbands, wives, sometimes even sisters and brothers. We can lose our dignity. We can lose our reputation. All acceptable, recoverable losses in the grand school of life as we know it. But losing a child is the ultimate life lesson. What we learn from this is that we are forever changed and because we know that most people live a fully accomplished life without ever having faced such a tragedy and only some seem singled out, it becomes our CHOICE whether the experience expands or diminishes us. No loss can prepare us for the loss of our child. It’s just different. It’s a loss so unthinkable, so calamitous we fear even letter a thought of the possibility enter our consciousness. When we hear about someone losing a child we are immediately grateful it wasn’t us. When it’s someone we know, we don’t know how to respond. When the uninitiated hears about someone who has lived through such a loss – they often turn away and shudder at the thought. “If it was me – I would die!” is the most common response. Well, that is the first thing you learn. YOU DO NOT DIE FROM THIS! You may think you should because you just want to be with your kid again and you are desperate to stop the pain. However, you survive and enter a whole new world – no longer a civilian, you are now an alien in this new place and your life begins all over again. Disbelief becomes your constant companion. There is no comfort to be found. People try. They are terrified at the totality of your grief. The usual attempts to comfort us brings on a wholly different and unexpected set of responses. Anger, rage, impatience. We scare ourselves. And there is real fear. An almost paralyzing fear – because once you know the impossible is possible – everything changes. Early grief is a time of agonizing confusion. We hurt so much and we have no resources to comfort ourselves. Nothing – no amount of preparation can prepare us for the totality of such a loss. Be assured – every early response is okay. You may think you are going crazy because of the jumble of disconnected thoughts racing through your brain. But it’s okay – it’s called grief. Peter was killed only blocks from home. Four young men in a car and only one died. The other three were only scratched. Go figure. During my first barely surviving days my conscious loss was only of Peter. Peter was my only child. Trying to grasp the reality of his death was so consuming, I didn’t realize how enormous the loss was. How much of me died too. He was everything. It took time for me to realize that even more than Peter was lost. It wasn’t long though, before the full scope of my loss began to be understood. I didn’t even know if I was a Mom anymore. Certainly, I would never hear that word directed at me. No more birthday or holiday celebrations. No more shopping for presents. No more listening to the events of his day. No more buying his favorite foods. No more photos. No more phone calls. No more being as important as a mother is to a child. Peter was my future! Impossible but true. I had lost my future. From there the losses began to pile up. A daughter-in-law, a wedding, grandchildren, A comfortable old age surrounded by my expanding family. Unconditional love, someone to leave everything to… all gone in an instant. Not to mention the people in my life who would no longer be able or willing to cope with my torment and who would drift away and out of my life. I was clearly in uncharted territory. Or was I? I began to read. I read everything I could find on death and dying. Especially on paternal bereavement. I began going to meeting of The Compassionate Friends an international support group for bereaved parents and siblings. I became a prolific “journaler” making entries several times a day. Whenever thoughts of desperation filled my mind- which was very often – I would open my journal and begin to write to God – to Peter – to the fates. My journaling ultimately led to writing my regular column, and becoming editor of, a newsletter for bereaved parents. And it was the response of those who read what I was writing that led to finally writing my book, “First You Die.” So many reader said they felt I was writing about them. Ultimately I realized how universal our responses are even though each one of us has had such a unique loss. I set to building memorials for my son. A page in his college yearbook – that he never got to see. A scholarship at his high school. A Kitty Pavilio at an animal shelter we used to visit – Peter loved cats. A bench in a neighborhood park. Slowly I came to realize I had not been singled out. There were many like me. Walking the streets, riding the trains – looking like regular folks. But in truth, aliens, like me. Civilians cannot know about this place where everything is just a tad out of sync – like a film slightly off it’s sound track. Aliens go about their damaged lives trying to get their footing while re-investing in themselves. And for me – now childless, there was an added dimension to my grief. Who was I? What was I? What would become of me? So many terrifying possibilities. I’m sure many of you know the feeling. Those of us who have survived the loss of a child recognize in each other the same kindred spirit of war veterans. No need to explain. We simply understand. Shortly after Peter died, I began to explore the possibility of a spiritual life. It just didn’t seem possible that anyone as vibrant and alive and energetic as Peter could simply evaporate. I felt as though i had been cut loose, floating in the universe, unable to grab onto anything. I need to know if so much of what I was reading implied, there really could be another place for us. My search soon lead me to a young, fairly unknown medium named James Van Praagh. I managed to get a private reading (don’t forget – it was 10 years ago – haha) and the experience was life altering for me. James convinced me that Peter goes on. I write about that reading in detail in my book. Being convinced that Peter’s beautiful spirit continues restored my hope – that instead of traveling further away from him as the years pass – we are getting closer to being together again. Since that initial reading, I’ve witnessed so many of my bereaved friends receive information from the other side. I’ve watched and cried with them and been astounded at the evidence of an ongoing spiritual existence. And my precious son has assured me on so many occasions that he is still with me. I relish those moments. Learn to recognize signs that your son or daughter are trying to let you know that they are with you. And take comfort in the positive stories of others who have experienced some sort of message from the other side. I find I no longer need a message to be reassured of his ongoing existence. I think I know that it is as hard to get a message through from that side to us as it is to get a message across to them. The psychic airwaves are very busy these days! Especially with all that cell phone traffic! During the past ten years I’ve met hundreds of bereaved parents and every newly bereaved parent that I meet brings me back to my earliest days. I never believed then that I would be able to go on and I know how impossible it seems to many of you. But everyone grieves in their own way and in their own time. For those who are newly bereaved I would say that grieving is hard work. Don’t put demands on yourself to “get better” quickly. You’re not sick. You’re broken. You can be mended but you’ll always have a missing piece. You are not in control. Nothing in your experience could have prepared you for this. Take it one hour, one day at a time. Don’t listen to the advice of the uninitiated – even professionals I’ve met, who suddenly loose a child, admit they knew nothing until it happened to them. Don’t expect a miracle cure. There isn’t one. A broken heart can only be repaired. Read all you can about people who have survived similar losses. Listen to their stories. Discover what those further along on the path have experienced on their journey. Learn from them. They were once newly bereaved. You may discover that reaching out to help others who are newly bereaved, helping those who arrive here frightened and alone, may be your best therapy. Hope returns. You are not alone. We are about to enter the second most difficult time of the year. The end of year holidays are difficult enough with “joy” being shouted from every rooftop. But for me, this time of year is even harder. Spring. As much as I love it again (I hated it for years) it still reminds me that everything returns …except Peter. With Mother’s Day and Father’s Day embedded in the season, I am reminded, too, of just how alone a person can feel. It’s a season of complications and a magnifier of all we have lost. I always allow myself a little bit of a wallow at this time of year, until I see the first buds on the trees and the first sounds of the songbirds returning. As the weather warms and brightens I can’t help but feel glad I am still here to enjoy a beautiful day. And glad too, that I have gained the strength to reach out to those who have joined me on this terrible journey. Being here to lend a hand and hold out a light has restored my own sense of purpose and given me a means to measure how far I’ve traveled. I’ve met some extraordinary people along the way who have enriched my life and taught me lessons I might never have learned. In July I’ll be going to the National Conference of The Compassionate friends. I’ll meet some old friends and make some new ones and keep learning new coping skills. And I’ll talk about Peter and everyone else’s kids .. the way we talked about our kids when they were here. Being together with 2000 people who really understand what it feels like … who can enjoy a good laugh as much as a good cry …it’s simply the best therapy. As your journey continue you will discover that you too have choices. Ultimately you can choose to despair or you can choose to relish the life you have left to live. Remember, nobody gets out of here alive! In time we will all be together again. No need to rush. And always know – our kids are watching and rooting for our survival. During the time we have left here in this life, we owe it to them to live our lives in tribute to their memory – to make them proud of us – for as long as we live, they too shall live. Bless you all and thanks for “listening.”          Marie is the inspirational author of ‘First You Die: Learn to Live After the Death of Your Child.’ Inspired by the loss of her only child, this book has been acknowledged as a significant addition to the literature of bereavement.     For the past several years Marie has led the Manhattan Chapter of The Compassionate Friends, a self-help group for bereaved parents and siblings. She is currently organizing a TCF Chapter on Eastern Long Island. For more information on Marie Levine’s book, go to http://www.firstyoudie.com To contact a Compassionate Friends Organization in your area go to http://www.compassionatefriends.org   Compassionate Friends does not endorse or recommend seeing psychic mediums as part of the bereavement process. I’m in no way, by posting this, suggesting that Compassionate Friends endorses, or supports me or any other medium, professional, or otherwise.  http://www.anthonyquinata.com

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Surviving My Child’s Suicide

December 6, 2001 started out as my days often did, hectic. There was no way to know that when the day was over, my life would feel as though it was over too, and would never be the same. My daughter died that day by her own hand.  

Chrissie was born a preemie at 28 weeks she was my little miracle and my little angel. As she grew up, she lived each day as if it were a year. Chrissie was a joy to be around. She was an honor student, she had lots of friends and she loved life. 

But there was a dark side to my daughter’s life. Chrissie suffered from depression, anorexia and multiple personalities, and it was hard on her to understand why. Even with help she did not feel there was an hope.  When Chrissie gained her wings it really tore me up since she was my baby and I was supposed to protect her. Not have her take her own life when she was only 15 years and 22 days old. 

This is the beginning of my new life, a life without my 15 year old daughter, a life where people treat you so differently, like it can rub off on them. I didn’t think that many of the friends I had would leave me during this time, but they. 

I learned I had to wear a mask in public and grieve in private not to speak of my angel child to anyone.  The few people who did stay with me let me talk about my daughter and for those few I feel blessed.  Then I joined several groups that helped me through the path I now walk, and they have been there for me as well. The groups I found let me speak freely of my angel.

 I was not one to believe that I would be able to hear from my daughter after she passed.  I have learned that with a reputable psychic medium I can. I met Anthony in one of the groups I was in. Anthony was doing readings for people who had lost loved ones. I thought, “Okay lets try this.”  I missed my baby girl so much and it was worth the try. 

Anthony knew nothing about Chrissie before hand but when he was finished I felt like he knew her all her short life.  Anthony told me things no one knew about except my family. 

Anthony mentioned her bubbly personality which she did have. He told me that her grandparents are with her along with her dog Lacy.  Anthony told me about all the little things we used to do together like going to Dairy Queen, and what her favorite ice cream was.  Anthony told me she likes my curio cabinet (gift to me after she passed) that I have with things that were important to her in it.  Anthony also told me that I have not changed her room since she left which is true. Anthony also told me the little things she does in the house to let me know she is here with me. 

 Chrissie even told me about heart problems at the time of the reading. I knew my dad had heart problems and I just did not believe she was talking about me. At the time I did not realize my blood pressure was sky high and I ended up in the hospital with chest pains.    

Chrissie talked about her sister’s baby being a girl before she was born and which she just had 4 months ago. She also talked about her nephew who is 4 years old.  There was no way Anthony could have gotten the information he gave me before hand. It was his wonderful gift  of speaking to our loved ones who have passed on. 

Just one reading with Anthony and I had answers that I needed.  Anthony gave me the peace that I so searched for. I knew she was with my parents and grandparents.  Chrissie was at peace which made me feel better a little.  Still, I miss her each and every day. I see her friends going on with their lives and wonder what hers would have been like.  

One of the most important things I learned right after Chrissie died is to take baby steps at first since I was in shock, and not to get rid of anything for the first year because I may regret it later.  I still live my life one day, one step, at a time. Some days I take one step forward two back.  I have her ashes at home with me and I now keep a candle going for her every day.  I  will continue to keep the candles going for her since she said it helped her.  

I decorate the spot that I have her ashes for the holidays and on her birthday and on her angel date I release balloons for her.  I speak out to any group that will listen about the warning signs of suicide and I walk each year in the Out of the Darkness Walk.  Suicide is an illness caused by depression and it needs to be treated.  So many young people die from suicide more than die in any war.  This is why I do the American Foundation for Suicide Prevention walks.

 

We have a memorial foundation set up in my daughter honor.  To remember her and to give scholarships to students from her high school to help them go to college.  We have given a Memorial ring to the college that she wanted to go to so a student who would not be able to get the ring got one.  We give books to schools in her memory.  Any way that we can find to keep her memory alive is what we do.  We plan to have a cottage in her memory to help young adults with anorexia. 

I do know that she is finally found peace and is not in an pain. Anthony’s reading for me was so helpful in my knowing she is in Heaven and she is not in any pain and she sends her love to me.  I thank God that I met Anthony for he has given me peace to know my angel is ok and I will join her when it is my time.   

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“Love that matters never ends.”

People come to see a medium such as myself because they want to know that their loved ones on the Other Side are alright. At least that’s what they’d tell you. 

Personally, I think that people come to see me because their loved ones on the Other Side orchestrate the meeting. In other words, they use me to let those that they left behind that they haven’t died, nor has their love for them. Their hope is that their messages of love become catalyst for healing. I’m sure that’s why, over time, I’ve come to realize that the “waiting list” on the Other Side is much longer than the one I work with here. 

Gina’s Story

In all the years since my parents had died, it never occurred to me to see a medium. At age forty five, I was the “orphan” who never grew up, forever confounded at my lost confidence. I heard about Anthony by chance one day in a bookshop. At the time, I was feeling proud of myself, having determined that I was through wallowing and that I was moving on from everyone,–living, dead, as well as the old images of a Catholic God that I just couldn’t relate with. I was experiencing many personal breakthroughs with Energy Healing methods that I had discovered in my quest to get better from an auto accident, but the idea of seeing a medium still seemed more novel than real. The shop owner raved about Anthony, so I just hoped to hear anything that might heal my loneliness and hurt. 

What I got was more than I bargained for. Anthony noticed my mother standing between me, and my sister-in-law, there for both of us. He said she was standing next to Mother Mary and holding the rosary. For two years before she died, my mom had become deeply devoted to Mary and the rosary through the well-known apparitions in Yugoslavia. Anthony told me that she was saying “it wouldn’t hurt” me to say the rosary—words she had often used throughout my life to urge me on to things I resisted. I could hardly believe it. After so many blurry years without her, here was my mother picking up with me as if she had never been gone—and just when I had finally determined the rosary was not for me, despite how I had shared in her devotion and had turned to the rosary after she died. But now I groaned, twisted in my seat, and complained how I did not want to say the rosary. Anthony explained to the group that the Other Side is not necessarily Catholic, but the rosary is one of the most powerful prayers. He said even those who had not been Catholic in life often request and wish for it.

Anthony said he saw a crowd of my relatives all talking and kidding around. I thought of the warmth and exuberance of so many around my parents when they had been alive. Anthony talked about my mom, dad, uncle, and others describing exactly how they had died. 

Then Anthony said, “Charlie wants to say hi to Bob.” I had called my grandpa Charlie, and Bob was now his only living son, and my father’s only living sibling. I shrieked with delight. Anthony said of all things, that “they” were congratulating me on getting a new car. It seemed so incidental or trivial that “they” would bring up the car—yet I had spent the summer by myself trying to find the first decent car of my life on a tiny budget. Car trouble had been a running joke in our family, with my father’s string of unreliable heaps. This car purchase had been symbolic of overcoming my years of stress in dilapidated cars, embarrassed and scared as I had barely made it from job to job.

Anthony went on to say that my parents wanted to know why I wasn’t singing anymore. I was sure Anthony had it wrong; I was an aspiring writer, not a singer. But in two other sessions he repeated and insisted they were telling me to sing. My mother was saying that singing was healing for me as it had been for my father. She named “Caruso” whose operatic voice my father had loved. I pictured how my dad always sang to the old-time tunes on the radio with a gleam in his eyes. Months later, I caught myself singing full force to the radio, like I had not done since I was a girl and younger woman, when I had last felt confident and alive. Such a small thing suddenly made sense. As a girl, in my bedroom next to my parents’ room, I had practiced and choreographed singing as loud as I could to the radio and stereo, pretending to be a famous star. I hadn’t realized how much they saw. Riding in the car with my mom, I had always sung every word to every hit on the radio, providing earnest commentary between each song.

Anthony told me how my father said he was with me when I drink my tea all the time. That means my father has been with me a lot, because over the years my teacup has been like an appendage, getting me through so my times alone as I’ve struggled through chronic grief-and sickness. It seemed so insignificant when he [Anthony] said it. I wondered why they seemed so intent on telling me such trivial things. Now as time passes, I realize it was their way of telling me that they are still with me, watching over me. They, just like God, love me in the inconsequential details of my life. 

My image of God has changed to something more merciful, creative, and personal than I could have imagined. After the discernments, I cried, no, I poured out, tears for hours every day for several months. I began to wonder if I would ever stop. I was still healing from my car accident at the time, but my tears seemed to come from some unceasing pool of profound relief and wonder, most often beyond my apprehension. I am still processing my new reality, still sometimes gripped by the mystery of grief and death, but my heart knows a comfort it never knew before and a confidence that the love that matters never ends. I have a new and deeper attachment to those who have gone on, and I pray for them, happy and overwhelmed to know we all still need each other. 

I thank God for bringing Anthony into my life. Now when I hear a song on the radio that especially reminds me of my parents, I know they really hear me, and that they’re near. Sometimes, I even sing.

Gina Alianello

 

 http://www.anthonyquinata.com

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Coney Island hot dogs

Sometimes, after I do a reading, I’m amazed by what will hit home with someone as far as evidence goes. 

The son of a friend of mine flew in from New York to see his father, and also, in hopes of getting a reading with me. I was invited to a party my friends were throwing, and I suggested that I show up early and do his reading before the fun actually began. I hate missing a party for any reason! They agreed it was a good idea. 

When I got to their home, Matt and I went into a bedroom, and I began the reading. He was hoping to hear from his grandmother, and she came through like gangbusters. She talked about their relationship before she died, and some of the things that have been going on in his life, since she passed. I told him at one point that she was giving me an “Italian vibe, but I didn’t think that she was Italian.” I told him that where she was going was that she cooked Italian more than she cooked Irish food. He laughed and agreed.  He told me that she was Irish, but loved Italian food so much, she might as well have been Italian. 

She told Matt not to feel guilty that he didn’t take her to the doctor four days before she died. This brought him to tears. He knew she wasn’t feeling well, he told me, but she refused to go. He’s been carrying around this self-imposed burden since she passed.

She also mentioned names that Matt was able to confirm, such as his mother and her husband, and she talked about Coney Island. 

Personally, though I’ve been to New York, I’ve never been to Coney Island. In the reading, it came out that Matt’s grandmother used to take him there and it was one of his favorite memories. Through me she teased him about eating Coney Island hots dogs until he was sick. He admitted to me that he became sick after eating just one, but he loved them so much, he had to have as many as she would allow him to buy. 

Later I was enjoying myself chatting with people at the party when I was told that Matt called his mother, and his grandfather, both back in New York since his grandmother asked him to tell them that he had heard from her. I was also told that the one thing that floored Matt was when I brought up the Coney Island hot dogs. Apparently this was one of his favorite memories of the time he spent with his grandmother. 

When someone we love passes away, we’ll spend a lot of time recalling memories of being with them. It seemed to me that this reading reinforces what I tell people all of the time, “why wait?” Start thinking about them now, and allow those memories to help you appreciate those you love even more. Then while you’re appreciating them, call them and share those memories and your appreciation with them, now, while they’re still here to share your love and laughter with you. Tomorrow may be too late. 

I feel your peace. 

Anthony

http://www.anthonyquinata.com

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Clairvoyant readings

Every other Wednesday, I work for three hours doing clairvoyant readings at a small bookstore in Englewood, Colorado, called “Cornerstone Books.” I’ll be work the Metaphsyical Fair that the owner Deb Guinther puts on, and will be there doing more clairvoyant readings at the end of the month.

Mary, the store’s manager told me that someone was there for a reading, and I walked out into the store area and saw a man there. For reasons I didn’t understand at the time, I was expecting a female – a young female. “Who’s here to see me?” I asked.

“I am,” the man said smiling.

“Really?” I was surprised to say the least. “Are you here with someone?”

“No.”

“Huh, I was expecting to see a woman, a young woman. Are you here with your wife?”

“No, it’s just me!” he said.

“Okay then, let’s talk,” I said, leading him back to the room where I do readings. As we sat there, to be honest I couldn’t connect with him on a deep level. He told me that he really wanted to talk about his daughter, but I told him I don’t do that sort of thing. I feel as though it’s an invasion of the other person’s privacy.

As we sat there, with me struggling to connect with him, his daughter walked in. She was almost as surprised to see him, as he was to see her. I was more surprised than both of them. I finally admitted that I couln’t help him at this time, and that he might want to come back another day. He agreed.

HIs daughter came in, and fortunately, her reading was much easier. Could it be because he wasn’t there to see me for himself but for her? I really think that’s the case. This served to confirm for me that as a psychic when I do this sort of reading, I’m not a “fortune teller” so much as a Spiritual Director. As such I help people to discover the truth that they have within themselves.

 While I couldn’t help her father, I was able to help his daughter find her way out of a bad situation. She walked away with a feeling of hope in the midst of her young troubled life. I felt, and feel, very blessed to have been chosen to do this work. 

 

 I feel your peace.

Anthony

http://www.anthonyquinata

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What is a good psychic?

A good psychic is, first of all, a good person. A psychic is someone you feel comfortable opening yourself up to and discussing your concerns with. A good psychic is someone who has worked on their own self-development, and spiritual unfoldment – and continues to do so.

A good psychic isn’t perfect. No one is.

If you are looking to find a good psychic for a live reading, do your homework before baring your soul. A psychic might claim to be clairvoyant or possess ESP, but too many people feign their psychic ability to con unsuspecting clients.

How do you find a psychic? Finding a good psychic can be difficult. But a good psychic is real and professional. A good psychic is someone who is authentic and uses his or her real name and real likeness. Anyone who fears using their real name or picture publicly is in the psychic closet. What are they afraid of? How can you be sure they are even doing their own work if you don’t know who they really are? Aren’t they proud of who they are and what they do?

A good psychic isn’t focused only on the income derived from their work – but neither is a good doctor, a good accountant or a good hairstylist. Just like other professionals, good psychics charge for their time and services. But they also give back.

Just as doctors might volunteer their services at a local health fair, professional psychics are willing to share their gifts. Whether donating proceeds of a psychic fundraiser to a charity or taking calls on a call-in show, good psychics understand the power of service to others.

Good psychics have a strong personal code of ethics. Good psychics don’t allow you to consult them too often. They don’t ask you for gifts. They don’t tell you that you have a curse, or negative energy that only they can remove. And they definitely don’t cross personal boundaries or become sexually involved with their clients. They use their psychic ability for good causes.

A good psychic also respects your confidentiality. Anyone who “name drops” about their clientele is someone to watch very carefully. While it’s entirely possible that celebrities have given their permission, or perhaps received a free psychic reading in exchanged for their name to be used, you probably wouldn’t want your name to be mentioned publicly. A good psychic respects the confidentiality of all clients – including well known ones.

Good psychics know their limits They refer clients to the appropriate professionals, including mental health practitioners, attorneys, physicians, and others when necessary.

Good psychics don’t impose themselves on others. They step in when their services are requested in an appropriate setting – which is probably not the grocery store, the gym or the airport. If they feel a very important message must be imparted, it will be done compassionately, gently and often with no mention of the fact that the message is from a psychic or a medium.

Good psychics focus on the message, not themselves as messengers. They have their egos in check. They don’t take themselves too seriously. They are aware that they don’t know everything, that they aren’t better than others, and they may be mistaken at times – they are just like every other human being.

The really good psychics, the best psychics are spiritual coaches and teachers, who encourage you to learn to access your own inner wisdom and spiritual gifts.

Donna West is a professional writer and researcher on psychics and astrology.

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The devil’s advocate?

 

I did a session recently with a woman who actually booked the appointment for her sister and herself. When they pulled up only she came to the door, her sister stayed in the car. I was surprised and asked if her sister was coming to the appointment too. 

 

“No, she told me she thought about it, and she’s decided against it. She thinks that what you’re doing is ‘the Devil’s work.’” 

 

Well, it’s not like that was the first time I’d heard that. I’ve been told a number of times that I’m offending God, and I’m going to hell because of the work I’m doing. Interestingly, I didn’t choose to do this work, I believe that God chose me. 

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I am Your Soul

 

I Am Your Soul  

 

I am the gentle loving whisper heard, softly speaking words and sounds of comfort to you when you believe that harshness, pain and darkness defines who you are, and you wrap yourself in a blanket of suffering. I am the light which flickers, dances and moves around you, drawing your focus away from the gloom, away from the web of illusion you caught yourself in … finding yourself now laughing in joy as you watch the dance of light, and I remind you who you are.

 

When tears fill your eyes, I am the comforter who embraces you and gently fill you with my warmth. When you doubt, worry, or fear, and your steps are shaky, unsure of where to step next, I am the voice of intuition which guides you, encouraging you to place one foot in front of the other.  I am the trust who moves you through doubt. I am found in your laughter. I am the well of compassion which overflows and spreads through out your world, as you reach out from your heart to the life of another.

 

The illusion of judgment gently put aside and it is my breath which gently blows away the clouds of mist which before obscured, here in the heart, the life of another-are you also found. I am the wonder and awe you feel as you watch the beauty of nature unfold, ever changing … just as you are beautiful and ever changing! I am found in your trust, in your faith, in your kindness, gentleness and passion. When you embrace yourself and others – I am there! When you see through a fear which has bound you in chains for eons-there I am, dancing a dance of pure joy and celebration!

 

When you lift your heart, your voice, your life, in communication to the Creator… I am there. When you are so afraid, yet still reach out for clarity and truth- I am the one holding you and whispering words of encouragement. When you hear the wind, you hear me speak to you. When you hear the birds, you hear the song I sing to you. When you are frightened and wonder how can you heal the wounds of many, and yourself- I am the lantern which shows you the way.

 

Sit in a room, so dark. Light a candle, made small by the vastness of the darkness … or so it seems. Watch how the light of one small candle dispels the darkness and allows what has been hidden by the cloak of darkness to now be seen. Magnify that light a million times, and then again … and yet again, until you magnify it seven times.

 

There in the brightness of that radiance of all there is… I am! I am your soul of love and light. I am you.

 

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Suicide – the point of view from those who have done it.

Last year I was filmed doing a small group session. It was an open session meaning that anyone who wanted to show up did. No one had any sort of advanced notice who was coming to the event. They simply pulled into the parking lot, paid the fee and walked in. No one even asked them their name. 

I arrived an half hour before the event began with the two people who were going to be doing the filming, Rachel and Miguel. “Someone’s going to be here tonight hoping to reconnect with someone who committed suicide,” I told Rachel. 

“How do you know?” she asked. 

“Because the person who did it is already here. I can feel the energy and it’s as heavy as it gets.” 

When the session began I said, “I know one of you is here because someone you love took their own life.” There was only one man there that night, and I was pulled towards him. I looked at him, and let him know by doing so I knew it was him.

He raised his hand as tears started to roll down his cheeks. “That’s me,” he said softly. 

“I know,” I told him, “and you need to know that she’s here. She’s saying she loves you, and it’s not your fault. But so you know it’s really her, and it is a her, yes?”

“Yes.”

I then began to give him the evidence she was giving me as to their identity. Before we were done, everyone in the room was in tears, including me.

Life, as we all know, is difficult. We are here to learn our lessons in the midst of difficulty.  When I was working as a Spiritual Director I used to give talks about being “wounded” and the necessity of the wounding. Most people develop a sort of armor around their souls when this happens. When we develop that shell, our task is to then take it back off.

Unfortunately, there are souls that are never to put on this shell on to begin with. For them the pain they feel festers and becomes something like a terminal disease, one which is hard to understand and detect because they keep their pain well hidden. In the end, many of them see themselves as having no other choice but to take their own lives, but even this sort of thinking is part of the disease.

Fortunately, I’ve heard over and over again from those who have committed suicide that God (Light, Source, etc.) does not judge those who take their own lives. I’ve been told that God is very compassionate and understanding when this happens. 

Why? Because he knows who we are at the core of our being. He’s aware of the pain that brought this about. God does not make mistakes, but understands, and forgives, when we do. 

Still, not one of them has ever told me it was the thing to do. They have all said that it would have been better to stay here and learn the lessons they were supposed to learn here. I’m not saying that they’re tormented with regret over their decision. I’ve not heard from one who was. I am saying that it’s not something they recommend that their loved ones do. 

I once did a reading for a woman and asked her if she knew who “Laura” was. She told me she was a friend of hers. I asked her to ask Laura to make an appointment with me because someone wanted to talk to her. 

Laura came in (by this time I forgot the request) a few weeks later and her uncle came through. He mentioned that his sister (Laura’s aunt) had tried to commit suicide several times after his death. He asked Laura to ask his wife to come to see me. 

A couple of weeks later a woman came to see me. Her brother came through. He mentioned to her that his wife had tried to commit suicide several times since he died. That woman I found out after the reading was Laura’s mother. 

Three months later a young lady came in with her son, and her mother. “Your father is telling me someone tried to shoot themselves in the head. Do you know who this is?” 

“Yes, it’s my mother.” 

“I did that,” her mother confirmed. 

“You attempted suicide several times he’s telling me. Is this true?”

“Yes.” 

“He wants you to know that it’s not the way to be with him again. He wants you to stay here until it’s your time. His ‘job’ now is to help you through your journey through your grief.” 

“But it hurts so much not to be with him.”

“I know. Grief is the price we pay for love. The end of grief in this world is life and happiness with your husband in the next. Please hold on until that day. Your husband wants you to know that when you’re finished with your journey here, you’ll see him again in a world of joy. And I promise you, you will see him again. When you do, he tells me that it’ll be as though one second hasn’t passed since the last time you saw him. Please hold on until that incredible day.”

If you’ve lost a loved one to suicide, they want you to know that you will be with them again one day. Until then they want you to know that they are always with you, while you continue on your journey, now. 

I feel your peace.

Anthony 

http:www.anthonyquinata.com

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