Extraordinary events continued to consume my every waking hour, and would creep not so quietly into my attempts to sleep. After Shylo and then John’s unexpected communications from the other side, I realised I was not in control of where this ride was taking me. At times I would find myself entertaining romantic notions. Would I meet someone special? Would I finally be able to create a stable home for Jessica? Would I be offered some significant career opportunity? These fragrant thoughts fortified me as I woke each morning, stemming from my hope that despite these devastating traumas, something good, and perhaps great, would rise up from the ashes to transcend and transform other lives.
A few days later, I sat alone at my desk. Suddenly, one of my daughter’s friends popped up via MSN message on my computer screen. This wasn’t unexpected, as I’d often enjoyed spontaneous chats with Jessica’s old schoolfriends in Australia. The message was from Justine: I’m so sad because ... The rest of the message drove a stake into my heart, as I struggled to comprehend what I was reading: Mia tried to commit suicide. They took her off the respirator today. She is going to die. Shocked and terrified, I found it enormously difficult to breathe.
Mia had been Jessica’s close friend for many years, and had remained close since our move to North America. She’d been planning to visit the US. She and Jessica had their hearts set on a trip to Disneyland and New York. Not death, I couldn’t take another death. Mia couldn’t die.
I quickly sent a reply back, asking what had happened and for Justine’s phone number so I could call her, but got no reply. ‘No!’ I screamed to the empty room. I wouldn’t allow Mia to die. She was only fourteen. Hurrying to the phone, I called Jessica’s father in Australia.
‘Mark, it’s me,’ I began, trying not to wake Jessica downstairs. The reception was bad and my emotional state didn’t help.
‘What’s going on, Liz?’ he asked.
I explained what I’d just been told and how devastated I felt, and asked if he knew any further details.
‘Just be very careful what you say and who you say it to,’ he cautioned. ‘You don’t even know if this is true.’
‘I know it’s true. I know it in my soul. I’m going to call one of the other mums from school. I need to know what happened and how Mia is. There may be something I can do,’ I said, ending the call.
With trembling hands, I pulled out my phone book, searching for one of the mothers whose daughter had also been a close friend of Mia. The shock in Katherine’s voice indicated she hadn’t heard anything. She’d last seen Mia three days before, looking wet and cold as she walked home in the rain. Katherine had stopped and offered her a lift, but Mia had refused, wanting to walk home alone. That had been early on Monday afternoon. By midafternoon that same day, she’d tried to end her life.
‘If only I’d forced her to get in the car, maybe she wouldn’t have done what she did,’ cried Katherine. I hung up the phone, leaving Katherine to try to find out what was happening.
It was now 2.30am. Praying I could do something, I buried my face in my hands, feeling utterly powerless. Then suddenly, I felt a calming light flow over me. At that moment, a part of me left my body. I was suddenly in Mia’s hospital room. I recognised it straightaway. She was in one of the main teaching hospitals in Sydney, where I’d previously worked. Intuitively I raised my arms, sending her energy and love, pleading with the universe for me to help heal her.
After a few moments, I was slowly drawn forward by an unseen force. The next moment I was reaching for Mia’s face, for her head. My hand momentarily touched her forehead. I was instantly struck by a feeling of impending death. Her brain had been severely damaged. I suddenly knew she’d never recover. Mia no longer felt alive. I recoiled in horror.
The strength in my legs gave way, as I fell forward onto my knees, sobbing. As I sobbed, a sudden knowing emerged from within. The same knowing that I’d felt when I received the calls about Shylo’s devastating suicide and John’s unexpected death. A deep knowing that there was some level of higher purpose to this circumstance that would help awaken many.
Right now, however, I rejected this knowing, fully determined to do everything within my power to bring Mia back to life. Pushing myself up from the floor, I walked across to the kitchen, picked up the phone and called the hospital in Sydney. Within moments, it was confirmed that Mia was there in a critical condition.
Within moments I was put through to the ward and spoke unexpectedly to her aunt. ‘What do you need to know? I’m not sure how much you are aware of?’ she began, her voice vulnerable. I attempted a response. She in turn offered a brief explanation: ‘Mia has been taken off the respirator and is breathing on her own. The doctors have told us she has suffered extensive brain damage, and they know she won’t live.’
‘Would you just do one thing for me?’ I asked. ‘Would you go to Mia and give her my love? Would you tell her Jessica and I love her and miss her? Could you kiss her little hand for us, to let her know we are there with her?’
‘I will, I will,’ came her gentle reply.
Ending the call, I felt completely bereft. My thoughts were now with Jessica who lay asleep downstairs.
What Mia had done suddenly seemed unimaginable. Knowing that Jessica had just lost her close friend was too much to even contemplate. I picked up the phone and called my sister, Sandra. Though we had not spoken more than three times in the past twelve months, I needed her support.
‘I’m sorry Liz, that’s awful. You must feel really overwhelmed,’ she began kindly. ‘But you can’t blame yourself. You couldn’t have done any more than you did.’
‘I don’t want her to die. I don’t want any of them to die. They are such beautiful children, and I care about them so much. First it was Shylo and now Mia. John’s death was only two weeks ago. I didn’t want any of them to die!’
We spoke for about twenty minutes. By the time I ended the call, it was almost 4am. I switched off the lights in the living room and walked downstairs, exhausted and deeply sad. I tiptoed into Jessica’s room and kissed her head, wanting desperately to shield her from the pain she would feel in the next few hours.
I tried to sleep but couldn’t, so I made several more calls to Australia. By 5.30am I was finally asleep, only to be woken up by Jessica standing by my bed, worried she was late for school. She knew there was something wrong. I could hear it in her voice as she tried to wake me.
We sat and cried on the bed together, as Jessica struggled to take in the tragic news. She kept asking me why Mia would take her own life. Several hours later, after a comforting hot chocolate at a nearby cafe, we visited Jessica’s school to inform the teachers what had happened and to tell them she wouldn’t be at school for a while.
When we arrived home Jessica sat on the sofa watching television, while I sat at my desk and opened up one of the documents I’d been working on. Suddenly a powerful energy descended. My body was turned around on my chair and I was drawn into the middle of the room. Spontaneously, I was taken into a corridor in Mia’s hospital. I could clearly see Mia standing in the shadows of the corridor. I knew straightaway that her physical body had stopped breathing. Yet she was still waiting there in spirit in the hospital corridor.
The very next moment a psychic connection surged from me to Mia. At the moment we connected, I knew what had to be done: ‘Mia, I’m going to help you sweetheart,’ I explained.
I could see a huge shaft of light pour out through me into her chest. The light expanded, as if to draw her into it. Next, a beautiful tall angel stepped through the light and into the corridor where Mia stood. As the shaft of light opened up even further around Mia, I witnessed an incredible spectacle. The very next moment I saw many people surrounding Mia, welcoming her home into the light. She had transitioned. I watched spellbound, as an older male relative lovingly stepped forward to embrace her.
Then, just as suddenly, I was back in our living room in southern Oregon. I calculated it was very early in the morning in Australia. Walking over to Jessica on the couch, I wrapped my arms around her and gently told her: ‘I think Mia’s stopped breathing now, sweetheart. I think she’s gone now.’
Later that evening I called Mia’s father, Michael, to offer support. He confirmed that Mia had passed away in the night, just prior to the time I had been psychically taken to assist in her transition. Restraining my own grief, I listened as Michael spoke of Mia’s struggle with her intense sadness. I’d no idea her emotional state had deteriorated so far. I felt such despair at not having been able to be more involved. Once again, my choice to leave Australia weighed heavily on my mind.
Michael then explained he’d had a feeling of foreboding the entire day of Mia’s suicide. As a doctor, he was in his clinic that fateful afternoon. He said that at the exact time of Mia’s suicide, his right arm had shaken uncontrollably, and he’d been overtaken by an intense feeling of dread. He also told me he had taken to reading the Bible over the past eighteen months, to somehow try and make sense of his life, and what was happening with Mia. She had been seeing a psychiatrist, who had prescribed antidepressants. In hindsight, Michael questioned whether the antidepressant could have caused her to take her life, as suicidal thoughts were possible side effects.
His next comment touched my heart. ‘Mia really loved you, I know that. She spoke a lot about you and Jess, and felt very close to both of you. She always called you Mum, and I know you meant a lot to her.’ I took comfort in the fact that Mia and several other girls at school had taken to calling me ‘Mum’ in the final year before we left.
Reluctantly ending the call, I asked him to stay in touch, and to let us know the details of her funeral. The rest of the evening seemed to pass in a haze of sadness. About 1am, I finally made it to bed. Pulling my doona up close to my face I spoke to Mia, sending her our love and asking the angels to be with her. It was at that point I suddenly heard the voice of a little girl calling out to me: ‘Mia’s here! Mia’s here!’
Opening my eyes, I noticed the hall light gently shining into my room, then heard Mia timidly ask: ‘I’ve never done this before, so am I meant to talk to you, or do you ask me things?’ She was sitting on my bed next to me, her back against my French antique bedhead, her legs curled around beside her.
‘Oh, sweetheart!’ I exclaimed, melting into tears. Then I felt an intense pressure on my throat and began to choke and cough. Struggling, I pulled myself back from the intensity of the experience. ‘Can you tell me what happened when you left, sweetie?’ I gently asked.
‘I kind of heard voices, like distant voices, like if kids were across the road ... muffled. I couldn’t clearly hear them. Then I felt like cool air, like floating, lifting ... Then it was all dark, and I couldn’t see where I was. I’d gotten stuck ... make that I got stuck getting out, because I didn’t know if I was going to stay or not. That’s when you helped me. I told Mum I hated her. I hated what she did, not what she was. I couldn’t get through to her. I couldn’t make her understand.’
At that point, I noticed the taste of smoke, like cigarette smoke in my mouth. ‘Did you smoke, Mia?’ I asked, surprised.
‘Sometimes,’ came her soft reply. ‘I’m so glad you can hear me,’ she continued, her voice sounding warm and comforted. ‘Can you see me?’ she asked.
Using my psychic vision, I looked once again. I could clearly see her sitting next to me on my bed. ‘In my mind’s eye,’ I replied, aware of the poignancy of the moment. ‘I know it was painful for you, but do you have a message for your mum or your dad, or your brother or sister?’
I could feel Mia’s mood shift, as she responded to my question: ‘I won’t hurt her anymore ... no more fights, no more arguing, no more yelling, no more screaming,’ her voice was now slow, reflective. She stood up from the bed. ‘They want me to leave now. I need to adjust to all this,’ she said, as she began to turn and walk away.
‘Do you have a message for Jessica?’ I asked, longing to continue our conversation.
Mia turned her head towards me, paused then replied: ‘Tell her I wouldn’t recommend what I did.’
As she left, I looked at my bedside clock. Thirty minutes had passed since the child’s voice first heralded Mia’s arrival, though it seemed like only ten minutes.
Immediately, I began to feel someone moving about in spirit next to my bed. The very next moment I clearly saw John and heard him say: ‘It’s very sad, very sad. She’s going to feel better because of her communication with you. It’s going to make her feel better.’
‘They knew,’ he continued. ‘Those in spirit around her knew this was coming for some time, and they were ready. They would talk with her in her sleep, trying to straightening out her wires, adjusting her perceptions of how she believed things were. In the end, it didn’t matter.’
‘When you say it didn’t matter, John, what do you mean exactly?’ I asked.
‘They knew their efforts weren’t going to come to anything. It became too big a task for them to effectively intervene. By that stage, they had to step back,’ he replied.
At that moment, I looked over to my doorway and noticed a light. Someone else was standing in spirit near my door. As I looked, the light became clearer, then I was immediately drawn back to my conversation with John: ‘She’s okay here now,’ he told me. ‘They’re looking after her. She’s adjusting, taking it gently.’
I was overwhelmed with tiredness and a sensation of slowing right down. I could still feel a slight tightness around my throat as John continued: ‘They just medicate,’ he said, referring to the mainstream medical profession. ‘That’s all they know. That’s the way they treat situations like this. They need to understand that what they’re doing is so limited. There are so many other areas of inquiry to bring real understanding and insight into a situation like this, so many different methods of correcting the imbalance. We’re going to make them stand up on their toes!’
With that, John left. As he did so, the whole room altered energetically. Another thirty minutes had passed. Propped up against my pillow, I was feeling overwhelmed, yet deeply grateful for these insights.
At lunchtime the following day I was holding Jessica next to me on the sofa, as we talked and cried about Mia’s death. Jessica was devastated with the double tragedy of John being killed in London only two weeks earlier, and now Mia ending her life.
‘But she didn’t even call me! She promised that if things got really bad for her, she would call me,’ Jessica sobbed.
‘I know, I know,’ I said, holding her in my arms.
‘We made a promise before I left school,’ continued Jessica tearfully. ‘It was a pinkie promise. She was supposed to call. And I was supposed to be there for her. But she never did.’
Powerlessness overwhelmed me. There just seemed to be so little I could do to lessen the intensity of Jessica’s pain. At that moment, I noticed the energy in the room change. As I looked across the room, I tried to tune in to who was ‘coming in.’ It was Mia, slowly walking towards the armchair in front of us. Her approach was apprehensive. She was clearly aware of Jessica’s intense emotion and unsure how her presence was going to be received.
‘I think Mia’s here, Jessie,’ I gently explained, as I looked across to the armchair.
‘But she’s not here!’ said Jessica, through huge sobs.
‘But she is here,’ I softly replied. It was then that the communication began: ‘Mia is saying she wants you to know she is not in pain anymore. She wants you to know that it’s like she had a big tummy pain for so long, and now it’s gone,’ I gently explained.
‘Yeah, but now I have a big tummy pain,’ Jessica replied, still crying.
‘She’s saying that she wants you to do all the things that she didn’t get to do, because it will be like she is doing them. She’s showing me that she is going to come and watch you dance today, at your dance practice at school this afternoon, Jessie. She’s been offered these times to come to visit me and to see you, but she can only stay a little while. It’s just short visits right now. She’s leaving again. She’s waving and saying goodbye.’
At that point, I saw Mia walk away from us. Looking back at Jessica I clearly heard her softly say: ‘Bye! Bye. Jess!’
Two hours later, Jessica felt strong enough to attend her dance team practice. They were in training for a football match the following week. As I sat on my own in the bleachers, I noticed a distinct energy shift once again. There to my right was Mia. She seemed like anyone would after a powerful trauma: vulnerable and adjusting to a new awareness.
Looking back to the football field, forty exuberant children from eight to eighteen were dancing and talking and practising their routines. I wondered how it was for Mia, now that she was coming to terms with life here on earth progressing without her. She would have loved to have been here with Jessica at an American school, with boys, gridiron games and cheerleading.
Suddenly, all the girls walked off the field to practise their entry again. I felt Mia’s energy even more intensely. Glancing around behind me, I could see her sitting to my left now, one row higher than mine. She smiled and looked at the girls as they danced onto the field. As she smiled, I was reminded of how beautiful she was. Seeing her here, my heart went out to her. How painfully real the consequences of her actions must be to her right now.
Yet already there was more of an ease about her. She seemed more accepting of being where she was and seeing life from her new reality. At that moment, I realised that just as we here have to adjust and grieve and heal our emotions after the loss of someone we love, so too do those who pass over. They also have to go through a period of adjustment, of closure from the life they’ve just had.
It was clear that Mia was being assisted in her adjustment by being able to visit with me, to communicate and be heard. Being seen and understood by someone she knew and felt close to this side of the veil seemed hugely beneficial. I hoped that in time her life, her passing and communications from the spirit world would bring the same level of healing and support to many others.
Strains of Michael Jackson’s Thriller boomed from the football field. It brought me back to the moment, to the joy of life. I searched for Jessica among the streamers and high kicks, and caught sight of her next to her friend, Stephanie. At that moment, her preciousness to me was beyond words.