Elsa’s Story

Love and kindness are never wasted.

They always make a difference. They bless the one who receives them, and they bless you, the giver.

~Barbara de Angelis

“I had the strangest dream last night,” I said.

Dave, my fiancé, replied, “So, what’s new?”

I was slowly learning how to embrace my gift as a psychic medium. I always seemed to have strange dreams, but this one was different. I just couldn’t put my finger on it. I didn’t recognize any of the people, and it didn’t make sense.

He snuggled up to me and said, “So, are you gonna tell me about it?”

I took a deep breath, trying to put it together in my mind as I described it.

“I was walking through this grassy field, tall grass, like waist-high. I was carrying a little blond girl, probably about four or five, in my left arm and a dark-haired baby boy in my right arm. I stepped across this wire fence, and a tan-skinned man in a long-sleeved denim shirt was walking toward me. When he got to me, he took the little girl and said, ‘I’ve got her now. Thank you.’ Then he turned, and they walked away. I turned to the right with the baby boy, and we walked off. Then I woke up. It was very strange.”

Dave said, “I don’t know, darlin’. I’m sure it will reveal itself if it’s supposed to.” He got up to go to the shower and get ready to leave for his early morning bartending job. The bar opened at 7:30 a.m. for the people who got off work on third shift, and Dave was always there to greet them with a smile and their “nightcap” before they went home to sleep.

The phone rang at 8:30. It was Dave. I thought he must have forgotten something when he left for work.

Dave said, “Hey, baby. You know Missy, the one who bartends, right?”

“Yes. Why?”

He said, “Her little girl was killed last night in a wreck. Sad deal. We will want to make sure we put the visitation down on the calendar.”

I said, “Okay. Oh, gosh, how awful! I never met her daughter. Was she a teenager?”

Dave said, “I don’t know. I think she was young, like a little kid. She was riding with her dad, and he went off the road.”

I said, “Oh, my! Okay, let me know when you find out more, and I’ll put it on the calendar.”

The visitation was a few days later. Dave and I went to the funeral home. The line was so long that it stretched outside. As we got inside, we could see there was a big TV with a slideshow presentation that people were watching. As the line moved, we got close enough to watch it. When I saw the little girl’s picture, my knees buckled. It was the little blond girl in my dream! Her name was Elsa. She was five years old. I grabbed Dave’s arm and squeezed it tight, trying not to make a scene. I choked back the tears. He looked at me like I was crazy, and I pulled him down to my level so I could whisper in his ear.

“Dave! That is the little girl who was in my dream!”

He looked at me and whispered, “Are you sure?”

I said, “Yes! I am positive! Oh, my gosh, Dave, what am I supposed to do?”

He looked away, as if thinking, “Keep it to yourself.”

We walked on through the line. It was all I could do to choke back the tears. I thought to myself, If it were my child, I would want to know. But how on earth do you tell someone something like this? Dave and I both gave Missy a hug and walked past her little girl, dressed like a fairy princess in her coffin.

Months passed, and I never said a word. In fact, I tried to put it out of my mind. Missy had begun bartending in the evenings at the bar where Dave worked, so our paths were now crossing constantly because he played in the band there one or two nights a week. She would always bring me a Mountain Dew while I watched Dave play.

One night, after the bar was closed and Dave was packing up his music equipment, Missy came up and asked me about helping her with some healing work. She was having a really tough time. I told her that a friend of mine, a shaman, was coming down in a few weeks to host a healing circle, and she was welcome to come. She said she would.

On the day of the healing circle, there were just four of us: Missy, another lady, the shaman, and myself. At the end of the day, the shaman asked if we wanted to share anything with each other, reminding us that we were in a sacred, safe place to speak.

I took a deep breath and said, “Missy, I know we don’t know each other very well. You have always been kind to me. There is something I need to tell you that I hope will give you some peace and healing.” Then I told her the story of my dream and how I had it the night her daughter had passed. I told her I couldn’t make any sense out of it until I saw Elsa’s picture at the funeral home and realized it was her little girl’s spirit that I was carrying. When I told her that I handed Elsa to a man in a long-sleeved denim shirt with tanned skin, her eyes filled up with tears.

I reached out to comfort her and said I was sorry to have upset her, and she said, “No, you didn’t. It’s fine! That was my dad! He always wore long-sleeved denim shirts and worked outside, so he was always tan. Now I know they are together, and he is taking care of her! Thank you so very much. You have no idea how much this means to me to know this.”

I said, “I was so afraid. I didn’t want to hurt you, and I didn’t know how to tell you. Do you have any idea about the baby boy? Who he was or belonged to?”

She smiled and said, “Well, I found out a few months ago that I am pregnant, and I haven’t told many people because of everything that has happened. But I just found out the other day it is a boy!”

After that day, I began to embrace my gift. Even if I don’t always understand what I am being shown, I always trust there is a greater reason behind it.

— Pamela Freeland —