Chapter 29
by Joyce Maione-Pezzulli
I had tried for years to see Roland for a private reading but was never able to have one. When I finally had the opportunity to see him at one of his events, my expectations were as high as those of everyone else in the room. I was hoping Roland would share a message from someone in my family, especially my mother and brother. I was there with my daughter, Audra, and even though we thought we were early, the only two seats together were in the second row. I usually like to sit near the back so I won’t be too conspicuous.
When Roland began explaining his method and other aspects of how he receives his messages (to be truthful, I really wasn’t paying attention), I was only thinking, “OK, get on with the readings.” He began to single out several people, behind me, to the sides of me, and in front of me, telling them what he heard, explaining who he saw standing with them. Halfway through his presentation, he took a break, and I was thinking there was still time for me to get a reading. My daughter got up to use the restroom, and while she was waiting, I saw Roland talking to her. I anxiously awaited her return to her seat, but Roland did not have much to say to her, just that there were a lot of spirits moving around her, but no message.
The second half continued much like the first half and I still didn’t receive a message. At the end of the evening, Roland commented on how many people were waiting for a message and pointed to a couple of people. Then he pointed to me and asked who I wanted to hear from. I answered, “My father, my mother, and my brother Ralph.” He asked how my brother had died. I said I did not know. My parents had found him in his bed after he had passed. Roland looked at me and then asked me to stay after to talk to him.
When my daughter and I approached Roland after the session, I was thrilled to learn that not only did he have a Purple Paper for me, but he had three of them, two of which were recorded before the event and one that he drew on while we were talking to him. On that one, he drew two stick people and the words “father and brother.” He also stated that my brother died at 7:11 p.m.
I received my first Purple Paper; it was from my mother, Therese. I was not concerned with the spelling of my mother’s name since I could relate to everything written on it, especially the drawing of rosary beads (“special beads”) in the corner. She always had at least one pair of rosaries on her person at all times. She mentioned to Roland that I should “keep the beads,” another confirmation that the message came from spirit for me. The paper read, “Theresa finally is peaceful. Tell my family that when I passed, I needed to find my mother. It was such a long time. I missed her so much. So when I say ‘I’m finally peaceful,’ [it] is because I found her. Our lives were good. We were good. Heaven has peace.”
It stated that she had to find her mother, something she had worried about ever since her mother had passed. Her mother had been afraid to die, so when she did, my mother wanted assurance that my mémère was safe in heaven and at peace. I was so happy that they were together; my mother had missed her very much.
The second paper I received that evening was from my brother Ralph. It showed a person lying down inside a house with three hearts around him. My brother died in bed. He had three sons, whom he adored—Jeffrey, Matthew, and Nicholas. He had their names tattooed on his arm after each one was born and also had their names stenciled on his truck. Those hearts drawn on the paper unequivocally represented his love for his three sons. Also written on the paper was this: “I felt like I fell asleep, but it was an aneurysm. I felt a tingling feeling and passed away. I don’t remember anything after 7:01. There was something about leaving the house. I didn’t want to be late.”
My brother had the same unbelievable old-world work ethic that my father had and was never late for work. I can’t even remember a time when he called in sick; he was so dedicated to his job. He was even at work when he was having a heart attack two years prior to his passing, calling my parents to say only that he wasn’t feeling well before they picked him up and brought him to the hospital. I met them at the hospital and was alone with my brother when he coded. Gratefully, the doctors brought him back to us. Of my four brothers, I was closest to Ralph, even more so because of that life-and-death experience. He would call me whenever he had a problem, which makes it strange that he never told me, or anyone, that he had an inoperable brain tumor. We knew he suffered from headaches, but we chalked it up to the stress of his job. We only found out about his tumor three months after he died and only because my mother went to the same doctor as Ralph, who told her his diagnosis.
Roland’s Purple Paper said it was an aneurysm and that he went quickly. He had come home from work that day, had supper—his dishes were still in the sink, his keys and cell phone on the table—and took a shower. He must have had a bad headache because he apparently went straight from the shower to his bed. We believe he died on Saturday night, October 18, 2003, but he wasn’t found until Monday, October 20, 2003, when his boss called my parents to tell them Ralph hadn’t shown up for work. He was only forty-
nine years old.
My mother died six months later, on April 15, 2004, on the morning she was to be discharged from the hospital. She had gone in for a colon operation and had progressed nicely. I went to see her every day and told her we would celebrate her birthday when she came home. The night before she died, the weather was really foggy. My mother worried about me driving at night, as I had only one good eye, and told me to stay home. “I’ll see you tomorrow when I am discharged,” she said. We argued about it, as mothers and their children tend to do, before I gave in to her wishes. She really did not want me to drive. I went home and took a short nap on the couch, waking up at 7:00 p.m., thinking that I would stop in for a quick visit before visiting hours were over at 8:00 p.m. but thought better of it. I would see her in the morning, I told myself.
The call came at midnight. The hospital said, “Tell your family to come to the hospital. Your mother is not doing well.” I called my family, who all raced to the hospital. I was delayed trying to call one of my brothers, whom I hadn’t yet reached. When I finally got in the car, I was further delayed by a driver with his emergency flashers on, going so slowly, and I couldn’t pass him. My family made it to the hospital before me. I arrived there in time to hear my sister scream out in sadness as my mother passed away. I felt so guilty about not being there for her, for my family, for me. I do believe now that the delay was not happenstance. My mother passed the way she needed to go, without any unnatural intervention, and without me having to remember the painful reality of her final moments.
My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer not long after my mother passed. An active, hardworking man who was still on the job at eighty-five years of age, he died two years after my mother. He’s with my brother Ralph Jr. and my mother now, along with my nana, his mother, each of them watching over the loved ones they left behind. How do I know that? When Roland gave me those messages from my mother, Therese Maione, and my brother, Ralph Maione Jr., the date on both of those Purple Papers was significant. They were both dated November 6, 2015, the same day my daughter was in a minor car accident. Somehow I don’t think it was a coincidence. I believe they were both there, watching over my daughter from heaven, making sure she was safe, and they wanted me know that.