Chapter 9
by Roseann Babelli
Joe was determined to fulfill his personal dream of becoming more than a police detective. He certainly was on his way and could’ve earned a greater status, but sadly by his own hands he died at a young age.
Joe and I dated for about a year. There was no explanation at the time for why our relationship ended other than the fact that he “wasn’t happy.” It was like a switch was turned off and it was over. I didn’t understand his unhappiness at the time. He was a quiet man but had a sense of humor. I did not know he suffered from depression until after the revelation of his death.
After we broke up, we both went on to marry other people rather quickly. I ran into him only once after we went our separate ways. He looked so sad. I felt he had a lot to say to me, but it remained unsaid. I never saw him again.
I remember being stunned by the news that Joe had taken his own life. He was buried nearby, and I felt such a yearning to search for his grave. It was an unusually warm day. It had rained the night before, so the ground was all muddy. I came to a certain spot and was stopped by some unseen force. When I started to doubt myself, I visualized two gold letters with Joe’s initials in my hand. I was breathless, got on my knees and began to scrape the mud off the plaque. Joe guided me. I was in the right place all along.
A year later, I was in my laundry room and Joe appeared to me. It was only for about ten seconds. He was wearing a navy-blue suit and white shirt, and his tie was undone. I focused on the tie. A year later, I had a psychic reading. The medium described everything Joe was wearing, and Joe said, “I never liked that tie. I wanted to be buried in my uniform.” That is when I knew that Joe had something to say that was bigger than I could have possibly imagined. What he could not tell me in life, he said in death.
Nearly twenty years later, I attended a Purple Paper event. Roland spoke of a police officer. Just like the feeling I had at the cemetery, I knew Joe had a message for me. Joe came through again.
The message said, “Joe didn’t want to talk about how he was feeling. I never wanted you to be overwhelmed with what I had to go through. Maybe I should’ve taken better care of myself throughout the years. 1975 was a tough time. Today I am peaceful. (Repeat that to them.)”
Now I understand what Joe couldn’t tell me. The message was surprising, comforting and shocking all at once … magnified by one million. It was something I needed to hear. It affirmed my beliefs that our loved ones are still here with us, always embracing us with love that never dies.