After meeting with Deseret Tavares, I decide to consult another psychic.
Although Deseret offered broad predictions and insights into my life, as of now I don’t have any context to interpret the reading as true or false. But if I see another psychic, perhaps they will provide a control, sort of like in a scientific experiment. I reason that by seeing a second person, I will have some comparable “data” to analyze before drawing any conclusions about all this paranormal activity and fortune-telling mumbo-jumbo.
Fortunately, I have lucked upon access to a highly sought-after celebrity psychic named Tyler Henry, a twenty-year-old clairvoyant specializing in talking to those who have “passed on.” His popularity has recently skyrocketed due to the launch of a hit show on E! titled, Hollywood Medium.
Since Tyler and I share the same network publicist, I reach out to him and ask if Tyler will be coming into the E! offices anytime soon, and, if so, could I have a sit-down with him. Tyler has said yes.
So after having gone forty-six years of my life and only seeing one psychic (that breakup-predicting lady in Manhattan back in 1993), in the span of one week I will have seen two psychics.
When I greet Tyler in the E! lobby my first impression is a common shallow one: The slim, pale young man in the button-down shirt and black old-man slacks is shorter than he looks on TV. Of course, everyone always says this about male celebrities. Embarrassingly enough, after twenty years of meeting celebs, I still say that too.
“Hello,” Tyler says formally. As we shake hands his grip is so weak, his hand so brittle, that I fear I may break it.
I notice he is wearing makeup, having apparently just come from a shoot, and his blond hair is parted sharply to the side.
I walk him upstairs to my office, small-talking about the Kardashians and how he is going to overtake them in the ratings. He guffaws. Once inside my office, I offer him a seat on my couch. I notice Tyler’s forehead is glistening. I apologize for it being so warm in my office today. He smiles and shimmies out of his black sport coat. “I’m going to take this off,” Tyler says. “I always get hot.”
“I’ve noticed on your show that you sweat a lot during readings,” I tell him.
“It is a very physical process.” He sits gently down and delicately crosses his legs as I sit in a chair directly across from him and fold my hands.
Tyler explains, “As I start taking on symptoms and picking up on things, they can come through basically the other five senses. So I always tell people the sixth sense goes through the other five. So, in other words, I might hear a voice, I might get a smell. Or in some cases I might get a physical sensation that corresponds with how someone has passed.
“Oh,” I say. “I have pictures for you! Your manager asked that I bring some to help you channel.”
“Oh, awesome!” he says with such childlike chipperness he reminds me of an actor on Glee.
I hand him a photo album. “This was a picture book my wife put together for my fortieth birthday.”
“Wonderful,” he says, placing it on his lap without even looking at it.
He reaches into his leather bag and pulls out a sketchpad and a pen. “What I will do is scribble and let you know what kind of stuff pops in and we will go from there and go all over the place. If anything makes sense, let me know. If something doesn’t, let me know too. We will go all over.”
“Sounds good,” I say. Sticking to the same skeptic’s plan as I did with Deseret and being reticent about revealing too much to him, I add, “I’m ready.”
Tyler stares down at the floor to my right foot and begins furiously scribbling, mumbling an occasional “OK” and “hmm” and “interesting” as I watch him silently.
“OK,” he says suddenly. “I feel I am inclined to talk about your mom’s side of the family initially, as this is who is coming through. Is that OK?”
“Yeah, whatever you want.”
“I feel that on your mom’s side of the family there is a reference to a father figure.” Tyler still is not making eye contact as he scratches seemingly random shapes onto the paper. “So, OK yeah. I am going to Mom’s side and we have a man coming through for your mother. Which would mean your mother would still have to be alive. So your mother is still living. Is that right?”
“Yes,” I reply. She is.” Maybe just a good guess—or he’s read my Facebook page.
“She has a man that is insistent to come through for her right now,” Tyler adds. “He’s making reference to ‘the five kids.’ And then ‘the three kids.’ But it’s all on that side of the family. So…does this mean anything to you?”
“My God, that is crazy,” I say, my stone face melting as I realize that right out of the gate he has tapped into a Ken Baker Family fun fact that is not Google-able. “My mom has five kids. And she has three stepkids.”
“This man who is coming through is one of the primary energies I am connected to. The impression he is giving me when it comes to his passing is that he acknowledges that when some of his grandkids were born, like, he was really old by the time his grandkids were born. He is making an emphasis to say he didn’t feel like he was a young grandfather. For whatever reason, he is acknowledging a feeling of being older.”
“I’m not sure what you are saying.”
Tyler pinches his brow and looks up. “How do I word this? It’s almost like he’s acknowledging…”
“Wait,” I interrupt. “Who is this man talking to you?
“This would be your grandfather on your mom’s side.”
“OK,” I say, masking my shock that he would know that my mother’s father died at age seventy-five when I was just five and that my memories of him are of a cancer-ridden old man in a wheelchair who couldn’t play with me. Tyler’s depiction is spot-on.
As I bite my tongue, Tyler continues, “The way this comes through is that he has a closer relationship with his children on the other side than he did in real life. Because he is acknowledging that he didn’t get the chance in his life to really get to know them.”
“Well, that is really true,” I reveal. “My mother was raised by a single mom who didn’t really know him that well most of his life.”
“Then that makes sense,” Tyler says with a friendly grin, then closes his eyes, pauses, and adds, “There is a reference to this that I want to talk about, and it is that he establishes a way closer to connection to family on the other side than in this life. The man, your grandfather, that is giving me reference to wait—” Tyler cocks his head like a confused poodle. “Sorry, two people are talking at once. OK. He is coming through and referencing either an Erb or maybe a Herb.”
I feel the blood rush from my face. I stare at Tyler. Speechless.
“OK, he is referencing, I am getting, the name Herb,” Tyler continues.
“Herb was my grandfather’s name, Tyler,” I share. “Herbert Murphy.”
“Oh, great,” Tyler says matter-of-factly. “So this is who we are connecting with right now.”
As Tyler returns to scribbling on his pad, I mentally rifle through how he would know my grandfather’s name was Herb and how he would know my mom wasn’t close with him. I realize I had mentioned this family fact in a memoir I wrote back in 2001. Could he have read my book before meeting with me? Possible.
“Do you know if there are any alcoholics on your mom’s side of the family?” Tyler asks.
“Yes,” I reply. “Her brother.”
I’ve never revealed that about Uncle Ron.
“OK, the way this is coming across is that I have a reference from him to geographical difference between you and this side of the family. There is a reference to her brother and where is he currently?”
“He lives an hour away from my mom.”
“So where would your mom be living currently?”
“In Buffalo, New York.”
“So you are separated from them currently.”
“Yes.”
“OK, sooo,” Tyler’s face is now beading with sweat, his pale cheeks tinged pink. “There is a reference to alcoholism—there is one living alcoholic who is a man.”
“That would make sense about my uncle Ron,” I say.
Tyler adds, “That is your uncle on your mother’s side. Just good to keep that in mind.”
Tyler scribbles away for a minute before stopping and sighing. “I have a person coming through who passed away from cancer. They are making an insistent focus on referencing the two kids, the two kids.”
“Well, I have two kids.”
“OK, so you have two kids currently.” He scribbles more and mumbles several OKs before stopping as if he is frustrated that he is having trouble communicating with this apparent dead person.
“I apologize, but readings can be like a puzzle and we have to figure it out,” he says. “Someone is coming through who is a fatherly figure but he is acknowledging himself as not being on your mom’s side. I am sensing paternal, paternal. This is a new individual coming through. This man is making his presence known that he is here now.
“He is making a reference to hockey,” Tyler says.
“Well, I have always played hockey. My kids play hockey. It is a big part of my life. My dad was really into my hockey.”
“OK, so on your dad’s side, do you know who his two brothers would be?”
“My dad had two brothers.”
“They are both dead,” Tyler states as fact, though I am not sure how he would know such a thing, seeing as though my uncles (one was the town dog catcher) were about as far from being public figures as you could get. “And I’m getting that one of his brothers had the same biological mother and father.”
“Yes, his brother Lynn just died this year.”
“Did anyone deal with a heart-related issue or challenge?”
“They all did,” I say, swallowing a lump in my throat that is emotionally welling up. “All of them. And diabetes.”
“I am so sorry,” Tyler says with a sensitive pursing of his lips.
“It’s OK, I was super close to my dad, but not really my uncles,” I say.
“I quickly want to talk about health for you,” Tyler tells me. “I want to mention that you have to keep in mind that you have susceptibility to an inflammatory thing. I am going to describe this as best I can. There is a reference to an inflammation-based disorder. Or an inflammatory-related thing that would generally involve joints but it is more than that.”
“Well, I have arthritis in my right hip,” I say. “It’s often really painful.”
Tyler says, “You are a little young to be getting arthritis.”
“Yeah, but it is from hockey, from repetitive strain. I have to be on top of it and keep it loose and strengthened. If I don’t, I am limping.”
“Keep in mind to get yours checked—and there is also reference to one eye being worse than the other and progressive decline so one being worse, and one declining in one eye.”
OK, now Tyler is pulling out deep background medical stuff about me that I have never shared publicly. I want to stand up in my office and shout, “You’ve passed the test!” But instead I just keep passively answering his questions, to judge his overall performance before grading him.
“My right eye is really weaker than my left,” I explain. “It’s tricky to get glasses that work for both eyes. That would be correct what you are saying.”
“I am not worried about it, but keep an eye on it, so to speak,” Tyler says. “But I am getting something, a susceptibility you might have to possibly testicular cancer or tumors or something along those lines.”
“I don’t have any testicles,” I reply, adding with a laugh, “just kidding.”
Tyler guns out a hearty ha-ha-ha, but turning serious adds, “I would get checked regularly. The reference is to the endocrine system and or lymphatic system.”
“I do have a small benign tumor on my pituitary gland, and I have to keep it monitored. But this situation is a big deal because if I don’t keep track of my hormone levels, it could affect my sexual function. So maybe that is what you are picking up on.”
“None of it worries me much, but just watch it.”
We’ve been talking for almost a half an hour now and, quite honestly, I am impressed with Tyler’s insights and knowledge about my personal life and family. Either he is legit, or he had a team of researchers and private eyes investigate me beforehand, though this seems less and less likely.
Tyler flops his hands on his lap. “Any other questions,” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “I want to go back to this man you talked about a few minutes ago. You said he was a fatherly figure. I’m wondering if my father is trying to come through. He died twenty-two years ago. He was my best friend.”
“Sure, sure,” Tyler says eagerly. “What was his first name?”
“Larry.” My stomach is tense. If Tyler is able to channel my late father in a believable way, I am not sure how I will react emotionally. I could easily become a sobbing mess just like the celebrities do when he reads them on his E! reality show.
“OK,” Tyler says while sketching. “Let’s see if we can get anything on that at all….”
Tyler looks away to his left and draws circles and lines and shapes on his sketchpad as if in an artistic trance.
“OK,” Tyler says about thirty seconds into his trance. “The man is snapping his fingers. Like, snap, snap, snap. Whoever this is, he is snapping, referencing that his transition went way too quick or fast. He is snapping. It was a quick transition from here to the other side.”
“I don’t know if this is it, but my dad always snapped his fingers, and taught me how to snap, and he was pretty young when he passed. Actually, he was fifty-one when he died.”
“Yes, there is a reference…hold on…who had the stroke on that side of the family?” Tyler looks at me quizzically. “He is having me say ‘stroke.’ ”
“Who is ‘he’?” I ask.
“This would be your father.”
My face grows hot. “My father’s dad died from a stroke,” I say.
“Well, I have with me here a man who died from a stroke and a man who died from lung cancer.”
“My dad died from lung cancer,” I reveal, my eyes welling with tears.
“The stroke and the lung cancer are coming through,” Tyler says. “They are together.”
I am in shock and blink back tears.
“Hmm.” Tyler cocks his head. “Your dad keeps saying, ‘Philadelphia.’ ”
The word doesn’t ring any bells for me, other than that I have visited the City of Brotherly Love a couple of times.
“And, OK,” Tyler continues with a grave expression, his cheeks growing redder. “I keep getting a reference to the lung cancer thing. The reference to this is that he is saying, ‘I either got misdiagnosed initially or there was an issue about the timing.’ There is an acknowledgment of either, ‘I go for a test and I got told I had something else and I go back and actually get diagnosed with lung cancer.’ ”
I tell him, “My dad had been coughing a lot because he had smoked all his life, and I remember he had gotten a lung scan and was boasting about how the doctor told him his lungs were ‘clear.’ Then a few months later, he went back in and they found he had lung cancer and it had already spread. He died a year later.”
“Right, yes, OK,” Tyler says, closing his eyes. He opens them. “Yeah, he is referencing this, but he is acknowledging a sense of closure or peace with the people that he is referencing, and they are your siblings. He keeps talking about ‘the five’ and he is saying, ‘I have closure.’ There is an acknowledgment though that he knows he was given permission to pass away. And that he could go.”
I am trembling and wipe tears from my cheek with my forearm, smearing my beige TV-ready makeup on my sleeve.
“When he died, all my brothers were there with him, he was unconscious, and they told him he could go, that it was OK for him to die. I wasn’t there.”
Then it hits me like a brick to my heart.
“Tyler, why did you say, ‘Philadelphia’?” I ask.
“Well, I didn’t say that—your dad did,” Tyler says with a gentle smile.
“Holy smokes!” I smack my hands to my thighs. “I just realized that when my father lost consciousness, I hopped on a plane to get home to Buffalo. I had to make a connection and when I landed at the airport, I rushed to a pay phone and called my mom. She told me, ‘Kenny, I am sorry but your father just died at the hospital.’ ” I bite my lower lip. I press the tears back. “And I had totally forgotten until now that the airport I was in when I found out he died was in Philadelphia.
“Oh, my gosh, Tyler.” I am now a blubbering mess. “My brothers told him to go, Tyler. I couldn’t make it home in time. I felt terrible.”
“Just know that he is with you and that he is proud of you. And he loves you so much.”
“That is amazing, Tyler. No one knows that Philadelphia thing, that level of detail. I had totally forgotten myself where I was when he died. My gosh. You have a gift that is incredible.”
“Thank you,” Tyler says. “I can’t emphasize enough what is so beautiful is the connection and knowing that he is around you always. And when he comes through he is making a point right now of telling you how proud of you he is and he has gotten to see you and your kids. That’s big for him. That’s really big for him. He is definitely aware of that. And as he comes through he is sharing that love and acknowledgment. He sees it all. Everything.”
“Tyler, this is very powerful to me.” I get up and grab a tissue off my desk and blow my nose.
“Just know that his connection to you is so strong that he didn’t need to have you actually be physically present there to say goodbye. He says he feels like he had a lifetime of time he got to spend with you. To him, that was closure. So please know that he is around.”
After clearing out my nose and wiping dry my tears, I see Tyler out to the E! lobby and wrap a big hug around his bony body. “I can’t thank you enough,” I tell him. “You really blew me away. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
I scurry back up to my office, feeling a sense of calm and relief. Until now, I had thought I had grieved and processed my dad’s death, but after seemingly getting communication from him I realize I hadn’t fully healed. I needed to hear from him. The word to describe what I feel is…grace.
But that couldn’t be real. Tyler must be an illusionist. How could someone possibly communicate with a dead person? It seems the stuff of magic and fantasy.
My creeping doubts getting the best of me, I call my mother back in Buffalo and tell her what I have just experienced. Then, believing that maybe my brain convinced itself it was Philadelphia, I ask my mom the single fact Tyler knew that blew me away most.
“Mom, do you remember when I called you from an airport and you told me that Dad died?”
“Yes,” she replies. “Of course, I do.”
“Do you remember what city I was in?” I ask.
Without pause, Mom replies, “Philadelphia.”