Right. Maybe I should have.

MY MOTHER CROSSED ON O OCTOBER 5, 1989, at 3:54 a.m. I didn't have to call Sh.e.l.ley to tell her my mother had officially left this world. Mom did it for me. Around ten o'clock that morning, before I had a chance to call her, Sh.e.l.ley phoned me to extend her condolences. To some of you this might sound strange, but for us it wasn't . . . we had that type of connection. 5, 1989, at 3:54 a.m. I didn't have to call Sh.e.l.ley to tell her my mother had officially left this world. Mom did it for me. Around ten o'clock that morning, before I had a chance to call her, Sh.e.l.ley phoned me to extend her condolences. To some of you this might sound strange, but for us it wasn't . . . we had that type of connection.

I didn't have to ask how she knew-I a.s.sumed that her guides had told her. But in this case, I was wrong-my mom mom had told her. I was lying on my bed when the phone rang and Sh.e.l.ley asked how I was holding up. I was kind of numb, but was mentally preparing myself to get ready for a family wedding two days later, in which I was part of the bridal party. It was my mom's wish that if anything happened to her, her nephew's wedding would go on as planned, and I was instructed to make sure that her family didn't use her death as an excuse to bail out. had told her. I was lying on my bed when the phone rang and Sh.e.l.ley asked how I was holding up. I was kind of numb, but was mentally preparing myself to get ready for a family wedding two days later, in which I was part of the bridal party. It was my mom's wish that if anything happened to her, her nephew's wedding would go on as planned, and I was instructed to make sure that her family didn't use her death as an excuse to bail out.

When Sh.e.l.ley called me that morning, I was trying to figure out just how to accomplish this.

"John," she said excitedly, "I have all these messages for you!"

We knew so many of the same people from our seminars that I figured she had condolences for me from our colleagues. Not exactly. Sh.e.l.ley had pages and pages of notes that had come directly from my mother, she said, that morning. It seemed that my mom had barely crossed over, and already she was a force to be reckoned with on the Other Side! After being sick for so many months, I'm sure that she desperately wanted me to know she was okay as soon as she was able. But was I able to hear this now?

"Your mom wanted me to tell you," Sh.e.l.ley began, "that she appreciates what everybody did for her and that-"

"Whoa . . . stop! Wait a minute!" I interrupted, mid-sentence. "I don't know if I want to hear this yet." Remember what I said earlier about waiting a certain amount of time after a loved one's pa.s.sing before seeking out a medium? Well, it was true for me, too. I was only human, and I didn't feel ready. At that moment, I wasn't a psychic-I was a son who had lost his mother and was in the initial, shocking stages of mourning. I interrupted, mid-sentence. "I don't know if I want to hear this yet." Remember what I said earlier about waiting a certain amount of time after a loved one's pa.s.sing before seeking out a medium? Well, it was true for me, too. I was only human, and I didn't feel ready. At that moment, I wasn't a psychic-I was a son who had lost his mother and was in the initial, shocking stages of mourning.

Sh.e.l.ley had no patience for that.

"John, I know how difficult this is," she said firmly, "but I also know how hard your mother worked to get these messages through to me to let you know that she's all right. So I know that you're gonna get your a.s.s up outta bed and get a piece of paper and a pen and write all this stuff down So I know that you're gonna get your a.s.s up outta bed and get a piece of paper and a pen and write all this stuff down, because I also also know that I didn't work my b.u.t.t off at seven o'clock this morning doing this for someone know that I didn't work my b.u.t.t off at seven o'clock this morning doing this for someone who's not going to appreciate everyone's efforts who's not going to appreciate everyone's efforts . . . . . . right?! right?!"

I never told her this, but at that moment she was downright getting on my nerves.

There I was, indulging in a well-deserved moment of wallowing, and that's all I wanted to do! The invitations for the pity party were out, and I was going to be the guest of honor. But my mother and Sh.e.l.ley wouldn't be RSVP-ing for that kind of get-together, Sh.e.l.ley informed me. So I dragged myself off the bed, fetched a pen and paper, and dutifully began writing.

"There's something that was in your mom's room," Sh.e.l.ley began, "and she told me to tell you it's now in your your room. It's something of a religious nature . . . I think it might have a room. It's something of a religious nature . . . I think it might have a Mary Mary connotation . . . and she also wants you to know that there's going to be some sort of mix-up with the flowers, the pink carnations . . . in the next few days. And also, she's showing me hand-carved Jesus faces made of wood, and I think they're from Italy . . . she likes them. . . ." connotation . . . and she also wants you to know that there's going to be some sort of mix-up with the flowers, the pink carnations . . . in the next few days. And also, she's showing me hand-carved Jesus faces made of wood, and I think they're from Italy . . . she likes them. . . ."

I was listening, but in my head I had another whole mental commentary going on that was worthy of the most stubborn cynic. As I sat in bed, I scanned my room from floor to ceiling. Nope, there was nothing nothing of a "religious nature" in here, I told her. Sh.e.l.ley was just plain wrong. Then this whole mix-up with the flowers . . . how would I know if there was going to be a mix-up at the wake? I'd have to wait. And the hand-carved, wooden, Italian Jesus references? I just laughed at that one. I used to tease Sh.e.l.ley, who was Jewish, that she had "Catholic envy." She didn't, of course, but she was fascinated with the religion. I told her to lay off the Catholic references because she was of a "religious nature" in here, I told her. Sh.e.l.ley was just plain wrong. Then this whole mix-up with the flowers . . . how would I know if there was going to be a mix-up at the wake? I'd have to wait. And the hand-carved, wooden, Italian Jesus references? I just laughed at that one. I used to tease Sh.e.l.ley, who was Jewish, that she had "Catholic envy." She didn't, of course, but she was fascinated with the religion. I told her to lay off the Catholic references because she was all wrong all wrong. I could tell by her voice that she was getting a bit indignant at my reaction. I'm sure she was thinking that I wasn't appreciating her time and energy, especially since she had hernia surgery pending the next day.

Two days later, we all dressed up and went to my cousin's wedding. An hour before the ceremony, there was indeed a mixup with the flowers for the wedding party. The flower shop was supposed to send white carnations for us to wear, but instead sent pink-which clashed with the bouquet. That was validation hit number one.

The next day was the first day of the wake. What I remember most vividly was the vision of Sh.e.l.ley hobbling into the funeral home that day. I say "hobble," because she had just had her surgery, and upon being discharged from the hospital, she forced her husband to take her to the funeral home instead of going straight home like the doctor ordered. It wasn't so much to pay respects to my mother because, as far as Sh.e.l.ley was concerned, the two ladies had already had their private "visit" with each other the morning Mom crossed. Instead, it was to check in on me and make sure I was hanging in there.

After my mother pa.s.sed, Sh.e.l.ley insisted that I call her every night and "download" the events of the day because she wanted to make sure I didn't bottle up my emotions. She wanted me to know I had a friend who was ready to talk and who was just a phone call away.

As everyone gathered together at the wake, I noticed a string of rosary beads hanging on the inside of the casket and leaned in to take a closer look. They were hand-carved, Italian-made, wooden rosary beads, each bead shaped in the face of Jesus. I immediately investigated where they'd come from and found out that they'd been sent by my mother's older sister, Rachel, who'd picked them out on a whim. Validation hit number two.

Later that night when I returned home, I walked into my bedroom, turned the light on, and gasped at what I saw.

The day Sh.e.l.ley had called me with my mom's messages, I'd been sitting up in bed leaning up against my headboard as we talked on the phone. But it wasn't really a headboard . . . it was the mirror from the bureau in my mother's room that used to be positioned directly opposite her bed. Due to her deteriorating condition, the family had thought it best to take the mirror down so she didn't have to stare at herself all the time and constantly be reminded of how sick she was. The only other place the mirror would fit was right behind my headboard, and oh, yeah, taped up to the mirror was a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus and a photo that was taken at an apparition site of the Blessed Mother in Medjugoria, Yugoslavia.

I couldn't see any of these things when I was talking to Sh.e.l.ley on the phone because they were behind my head as we spoke. Standing in the doorway of my bedroom, I looked at those photos and wept uncontrollably. I called Sh.e.l.ley at around 2 a.m. and told her about all the validations that day and apologized to her for not being appreciative of her time and friendship that morning on the phone. She told me it was all right, not to worry-that's what friends were for.

ENGAGEMENT DAY.

Sh.e.l.lEY PROVED TO BE A CONDUIT between my mother and me again and again, pa.s.sing along her messages. It was like she was my mom's personal secretary here on this side. Why didn't my mother just come directly to me, you ask? That would seem the simpler way, but really it isn't. Before she pa.s.sed, I distinctly instructed my mother that when she wanted to connect with me from the Other Side, to go through someone like Sh.e.l.ley. I knew that if I got things psychically from my mom, I wouldn't trust the information because I was too close to her. I would worry that what I was getting would be jumbled up with my emotions and memories, and brought on because I missed her. between my mother and me again and again, pa.s.sing along her messages. It was like she was my mom's personal secretary here on this side. Why didn't my mother just come directly to me, you ask? That would seem the simpler way, but really it isn't. Before she pa.s.sed, I distinctly instructed my mother that when she wanted to connect with me from the Other Side, to go through someone like Sh.e.l.ley. I knew that if I got things psychically from my mom, I wouldn't trust the information because I was too close to her. I would worry that what I was getting would be jumbled up with my emotions and memories, and brought on because I missed her.

When it comes to anyone close to me coming through from the Other Side, I trust the process better if the information is coming via another psychic, especially Sh.e.l.ley, who always let me know that Mom was around me during the most intimate, joyous occasions of my life.

IT WAS THE FALL OF 1993, and I'd just picked up Sandra's engagement ring-a pear-shaped diamond with three small chips on each side. I'd bought it from friends of friends who worked in Manhattan's diamond district. 1993, and I'd just picked up Sandra's engagement ring-a pear-shaped diamond with three small chips on each side. I'd bought it from friends of friends who worked in Manhattan's diamond district.

I was very excited about popping the question a few weeks later, but first I had to make sure that Mom knew of my purchase. I got into my car, opened up the ring box, and held it up: "Mom, you're the first one to see the ring!" I said out loud. I drove home with a smile on my face, and when I got there, I had two blinking messages on my answering machine.

"John . . . it's Sh.e.l.ley. If you're there, pick up. Your mother won't let me get any work done today. Call me back as soon as you get this message." Click Click.

"John . . . it's me again . . . all right, I know this can't be true, and what your mom is telling me must be far off, because I know we're such good friends that you would have told me about this . . . but she's so d.a.m.n excited . . . call me back!" Click Click.

In the back of my mind, I was hoping that Sh.e.l.ley had gotten a message about the ring from my mother, but I didn't want to think about it and get my hopes up. I dialed Sh.e.l.ley's number, and when she answered, she told me that my mother had been "hanging out" with her all morning and was very excited to tell her I was getting married. Sh.e.l.ley was perplexed by this message, because even though she'd accurately (and eerily) predicted that I'd end up with Sandra in a reading she'd done about seven years earlier, I hadn't told her yet about my potential engagement.

"Your mother is all excited, and she said you showed her the ring 'first'? Does this make sense to you? What's she talking about? Am I cracking up or what?"

Please imagine that you're me and you're sitting on the edge of the bed, listening to Sh.e.l.ley deliver this message-confused but with spot-on precision-all the while staring at the ring in your hand. This was just another moment of my being wowed and amazed by her uncanny accuracy.

I confessed to her that it was true . . . and we went out and celebrated over a hamburger deluxe and a roast pork sandwich with extra duck sauce (of course).

Sh.e.l.ley was to astound me with her accuracy again and again during our friendship. Shortly after I moved to Huntington, Long Island, Sandra asked me to do a small group reading for her mother and a few of her mom's friends. I called Sh.e.l.ley and invited her over for dinner. What she didn't know was that she was going to work for her supper that night as well. I sprang it on her at the last minute when I picked her up at her house, telling her I had this group to do . . . would she mind partic.i.p.ating? She laughed and said she already knew she was going to be working that night-her guides had told her, and she'd meditated in preparation before I picked her up (yes . . . she was that that good). good).

We started the group, and some amazing details started to come through about my mother-in-law's family. The funny part of it, though, was that Sandra had to act as "guest medium" during the group because the women we were reading only spoke Portuguese. Sh.e.l.ley and I joked that we would say a sentence, and Sandra would translate what seemed like four paragraphs. We were convinced that Sandra was adding in a bit of her own "translation" of the Other Side as well. But it was during this group that Sh.e.l.ley rendered me speechless for the second time in the almost fifteen years that I'd known her.

The first time was when my Uncle Carmine had died. I'd asked her to do a reading for my cousin, his daughter, Little Ro, and she agreed. A few hours before the session, Little Ro and I were having a bite to eat at a local diner, and I saw Sh.e.l.ley across the room in another booth. (Yes, both of us practically lived lived at diners.) I went over to her table to say h.e.l.lo and to tell her I really, really appreciated that she was squeezing my cousin in for a session instead of putting her on her long waiting list. And then I made the gravest error possible. at diners.) I went over to her table to say h.e.l.lo and to tell her I really, really appreciated that she was squeezing my cousin in for a session instead of putting her on her long waiting list. And then I made the gravest error possible.

"I just hope," I continued, "that her dad . . . my Uncle Carmine . . . comes through for her and . . ."

"d.a.m.n it, John!" I thought she was going to hit me. "I can't believe you just told me her father died and that's who she wants to connect with . . . I thought she was going to hit me. "I can't believe you just told me her father died and that's who she wants to connect with . . . and you told me his name! and you told me his name!" What was I thinking? One of the first things you learn in Basic Mediumship 101 is to never divulge anything ahead of time so the integrity of the experience won't be violated. That doesn't mean you should be cagey and evasive. Quite the contrary, you should validate what does or doesn't make sense . . . but don't offer information, which is what I'd just done. Sh.e.l.ley immediately wanted to cancel the session.

I stood up and firmly told her that if I had to march back to my table and tell my cousin I just messed up her chance to talk to her dad-whom she missed and loved so desperately-because of a stupid mistake on my part . . . well, I just couldn't do it. Sh.e.l.ley begrudgingly agreed to go on with the session, but she was clearly annoyed with me.

About an hour and a half later, we arrived on Sh.e.l.ley's doorstep. She welcomed my cousin and me into her beautiful home and directed us to sit in the breakfast nook off her kitchen. Little Ro sat there waiting, nervous-but I a.s.sure you, not more nervous than I. For the entire car ride over, I was praying to her father to come through, despite my pre-reading faux pas.

When it was time, Sh.e.l.ley invited my cousin into the den for the reading. Ro asked Sh.e.l.ley if I could sit in on the session, and Sh.e.l.ley said that was fine, even though she was still a bit ticked off at me for making her job more difficult than it needed to be. Now, both she and Uncle Carmine were going to have to work twice as hard since I'd already given away some prime validating information.

The reading lasted over an hour, and Sh.e.l.ley came through with dozens upon dozens of accurate details about my uncle-from the clothes he wore to the location where he lived-it was like she was reading from a list compiled by Uncle Carmine himself. She even "embodied" him at one point during the session by mimicking what he'd do and say, capturing his gestures. My cousin laughed and cried, and I took notes so she wouldn't forget a word. Then, near the end of the reading, Sh.e.l.ley looked over at me, her face beaming.

With a burst of confidence, she declared: "Why . . . his name isn't Carmine . . . it's Carmen! Carmen!"

Oops, strike one for Sh.e.l.ley, I thought. I put a big "X" down on the piece of paper where I was keeping a tally of validations. Or, wait . . . maybe there was another energy on the Other Side Sh.e.l.ley was going to bring through who also had a "C" name. I was racking my brain trying to think of another "C" name, when I heard my cousin reply, "Yes!"

"What?!" I asked, totally interrupting the session (another no-no).

"His real name is Carmen, not Carmine," Ro explained.

"But . . . Carmen is a woman's name!"

Little Ro explained that it was the Italian way to spell it like that, and that Carmen really was was his official name, I just didn't know it. My big error at the diner gave Uncle Carmine an opportunity to come through with an even more detailed and obscure validation about himself that only intimate family members knew. Hurray for him. That night, I saw a change in my cousin, as if a weight had been lifted. She knew that her daddy was still with her. his official name, I just didn't know it. My big error at the diner gave Uncle Carmine an opportunity to come through with an even more detailed and obscure validation about himself that only intimate family members knew. Hurray for him. That night, I saw a change in my cousin, as if a weight had been lifted. She knew that her daddy was still with her.

The group session in my living room with Sandra's relatives was about to be an instant replay of that kind of Wow! Wow! validation. Sh.e.l.ley and I were delivering messages as a team, alternating like a relay duo pa.s.sing the baton as we brought them through. Then, as I was finishing one message, I felt Sh.e.l.ley staring at me. She was sitting in a chair to my left and had turned to fully face me with this inquisitive look on her face. validation. Sh.e.l.ley and I were delivering messages as a team, alternating like a relay duo pa.s.sing the baton as we brought them through. Then, as I was finishing one message, I felt Sh.e.l.ley staring at me. She was sitting in a chair to my left and had turned to fully face me with this inquisitive look on her face.

"You wore your mother's nameplate under your tuxedo on your wedding day?"

Pow!

My jaw hit the floor. The day I got married, as I was getting dressed, I looked at my mother's picture and told her out loud that I was going to keep her with me that day by wearing her name-plate that said "Princess" under my tuxedo shirt. n.o.body, not even Sandra, knew I did this, and quite honestly, up until that moment when Sh.e.l.ley made that statement, I'd almost forgotten about it. But at that second, the emotions I felt so long ago came back to me, and I couldn't speak. My eyes welled up, I looked down, then I looked over to Sandra and smiled-then back to Sh.e.l.ley.

"I did . . . I did wear that nameplate!" I told her. "Thank you for that."

THE GREETING COMMITTEE.

OVER THE YEARS, I watched as Sh.e.l.ley developed an uncanny ability to connect with extremely recent pa.s.sings during her readings, whether it was during a private session or a group reading. Neither of us could figure out exactly how she was able to do this, but I think it was just part of who she was and what her job was here in this world. One evening in 1994 when she and I were giving a talk at a seminar called "Gifts of Love" at the Smithtown Sheraton in Long Island, she made a connection with a man who'd lost his wife a few days before. Everybody in the audience was shocked and very moved-not the least being Sh.e.l.ley herself, who at one point (in her trademark, blunt, mother-from-Queens fashion) asked the man, "What are you doing doing here? So recently after your wife's pa.s.sing? You should be at home!" here? So recently after your wife's pa.s.sing? You should be at home!"

Another night when Sh.e.l.ley accompanied me on one of my group readings in New Jersey, she also brought through a woman's son who had crossed a few days earlier. Then there was a benefit I organized for Hospice Care of Long Island where I asked Sh.e.l.ley and Lydia Clar (the woman who'd given me my first reading) to read the audience. We all did good work that evening, but I must say, Sh.e.l.ley's messages were so detailed and specific that on more than one occasion she brought the entire room to tears. I was standing in the back of the room, listening, admiring, and watching my friend do her thing when she connected with the spirit of a grandmother of one person, and then another woman's son, both of whom had pa.s.sed within the month.

"John . . . where are you? Are you still in the room?"

"I'm back here, Sh.e.l.ley. . . ."

"Here I go again . . . what is it that you call me?"

"The Greeting Committee!"

Sh.e.l.ley told the entire room how I tease her with that nickname at these events because you could put her in a room full of people and she'd connect with the most recent pa.s.sing. I decided that one of her purposes in having this ability was to be the first one to say h.e.l.lo h.e.l.lo to people who were new to the Other Side. I kept threatening to get her a sweatshirt that said "Greeting Committee" on it. She made me promise in front of everyone at that benefit that I to people who were new to the Other Side. I kept threatening to get her a sweatshirt that said "Greeting Committee" on it. She made me promise in front of everyone at that benefit that I would would finally buy her that shirt after all these years. I wish I had. finally buy her that shirt after all these years. I wish I had.

In June of 2001, the friend and teacher I had known for half my life made her transition to the Other Side after succ.u.mbing to cancer. In a way, it was like a deja vu of losing my mother. I'd been keeping tabs on Sh.e.l.ley's condition throughout her illness, since we always spoke with each other two to three times a day at length.

Then I noticed that our calls were becoming shorter and less frequent, usually ending with Sh.e.l.ley asking if she could call me back later because she was feeling tired. When she asked me if I thought her diagnosis was terminal, I could not-would not-answer. I knew it was because I was shown this by my guides. But even when her family pressed me to answer that question, I was evasive in my response-perhaps because I held out hope and faith that she could beat this, despite what my guides told me. I didn't want to it to be true.

Sh.e.l.ley split her time between her apartment in Bayside, Queens, and her house in Vermont. (Her husband, Marvin, had pa.s.sed about ten years before.) Sh.e.l.ley's daughter would graciously call me and give me updates about what was happening and what the doctors were saying.

One afternoon I got a message on my answering machine from her daughter with the usual update, but this time I stopped in my tracks when I heard it. There wasn't anything emotional or urgent about this particular message, but there was something about her daughter's tone that made me feel I needed to see Sh.e.l.ley right away and that this visit would be our last.

I called the Crossing Over Crossing Over producers and cancelled two tapings I was to do that day, and within minutes, Carol had printed up driving directions to the hospital in Vermont off the Internet. An hour later, I was heading north on the freeway without a suitcase or a change of clothes or even a toothbrush . . . and without telling my wife. I called Sandra from the car and told her I was somewhere in New England and I wouldn't be home for dinner. producers and cancelled two tapings I was to do that day, and within minutes, Carol had printed up driving directions to the hospital in Vermont off the Internet. An hour later, I was heading north on the freeway without a suitcase or a change of clothes or even a toothbrush . . . and without telling my wife. I called Sandra from the car and told her I was somewhere in New England and I wouldn't be home for dinner.

She completely understood-Sandra and Sh.e.l.ley had struck up a great connection of their own, and we'd spent many a Jewish holiday together, with Sandra always teasing Sh.e.l.ley that one of these days she was going to have to feed her a big bowl of matzoh ball soup like a proper Jewish mother should. That was their little joke together.

The entire drive to the hospital, I listened to an Enya CD. I've always loved her voice and music, but when she released the song "Only Time," it immediately reminded me of Sh.e.l.ley. And here I was, months later, driving up to see my friend for the last time . . . realizing that the song is correct. In life, we have only time. But how long, we never know.

According to my Internet directions, my drive to the hospital should have taken me about four hours. But when I got to the hospital, after getting lost (please, no psychic jokes about that), it was seven hours later. Still, I was able to spend a couple of hours with Sh.e.l.ley alone, even though she slept through most of my stay. When she did wake up, I think she was a bit alarmed to see me. Not that she thought she had crossed over or anything . . . but seeing me would have tipped her off that the time was near.

I put her mind at ease and even got her to smile a few times. At this stage in her illness, Sh.e.l.ley had lost mobility and wasn't able to speak. At one point, she was trying to tell me something, and she was mouthing it, but I couldn't understand her. I didn't realize it, but one of the nurses had walked into the room and was standing behind me when I said, "Sh.e.l.l, look at me. Whatever you're trying to say . . . send send it to me. . . ." Meaning, telepathically send me the message and see if I can get it. Immediately, my head began to itch . . . and I asked her if she wanted me to scratch her head. She nodded and I scratched, much to her relief. it to me. . . ." Meaning, telepathically send me the message and see if I can get it. Immediately, my head began to itch . . . and I asked her if she wanted me to scratch her head. She nodded and I scratched, much to her relief.

"Wow! How cool was that?" the nurse standing behind me piped up. "What is that, some psychic thing? I heard that Mrs. Peck is a psychic. Is that really true?"

I smiled, looked at the nurse, and then back at Sh.e.l.ley, and said, "Not only is Sh.e.l.ley Peck one of the country's top psychic mediums, but she's also a great astrologer and numerologist. But to me, she's my buddy." I winked, and Sh.e.l.ley smiled. I stood there for a couple of hours watching her, going over our relationship and my memories in a weird, fast-forward kind of way. I waited for her to fall asleep before I left after midnight, way past official visiting hours.

Sh.e.l.ley crossed over just a few days later.

I WANT YOU TO KNOW WANT YOU TO KNOW that while writing this chapter, I had to stop a number of times because the memories opened up my emotional floodgates. I could barely type through my smiles and tears. I always say that our tears are a tribute to the feelings we have for our loved ones, so we should never hold them back. It's not a sign of weakness or sadness, but instead, a physical sign of our appreciation and affection for them. that while writing this chapter, I had to stop a number of times because the memories opened up my emotional floodgates. I could barely type through my smiles and tears. I always say that our tears are a tribute to the feelings we have for our loved ones, so we should never hold them back. It's not a sign of weakness or sadness, but instead, a physical sign of our appreciation and affection for them.

People ask me all the time if I've heard from Sh.e.l.ley since she pa.s.sed. Because of the connection I had with her, she falls into the same category as my own family. She was so close to me that I can't be objective about whether she's coming through to me or if I'm just thinking about her. But there was a connection one night three months after she pa.s.sed that I'm certain of.

I had just come back from a group reading in New Jersey, and I was to meet Sandra at the home of our good friends, Jon and Stacy. The whole car ride there, I couldn't get Sh.e.l.ley out of my mind, and I knew it was her way of letting me know that she was around. Our teachers, our friends, and our spirit guides on the Other Side are always around us, sending signals that they're taking care of us and guiding us on our path. And the guidance and love we get from our teachers and friends on this earth doesn't stop once they cross over, but continues on a higher plane.

On the way to meet Sandra, I decided to stop by my office in Huntington to use the rest room because the drive was a bit longer than I had antic.i.p.ated. When I walked into my empty office, there was a video on my desk marked "Sh.e.l.ley"-it was a taped interview she'd given the year before for a cable-TV special called Messages from the Dead Messages from the Dead, which launched my show, Crossing Over Crossing Over. The producers of that show had heard that Sh.e.l.ley had crossed over and had sent me her entire, unedited interview to keep.

I slipped the tape into the VCR and sat on my couch in the office, watching and hearing my old friend laugh and speak about our relationship. There were moments on that tape I'd never seen before.

"What makes John special?" the interviewer asked her. My ears perked up at this one.

"What doesn't doesn't make John special is a better question," she answered. "He's the type of person who would drop everything he's doing and run to wherever you are if you needed him. I know he would do that for me if I ever needed him." make John special is a better question," she answered. "He's the type of person who would drop everything he's doing and run to wherever you are if you needed him. I know he would do that for me if I ever needed him."

To me, it was as if she'd made a psychic prediction during that interview and was now showing it to me from beyond the grave. In that interview, she basically recounted my rush to the hospital a few days before she left this world. And as I listened to her, I couldn't help but cry. Even though I'm a medium and I know she's all right and still around . . . I miss her.

CHAPTER 8.

THE 9/11 FACTOR.

I BELIEVE THAT WE ALL DECIDE BELIEVE THAT WE ALL DECIDE when to leave our physical body and "go home" or "join G.o.d." I don't think most of us are aware of this choice on a conscious level, although some people who are highly attuned to the spiritual world, including children, sometimes are. But mostly, it's a subconscious "knowing" of the soul that it's time to leave this realm and move onward to the next one. Perhaps we've learned all we're capable of learning or need to learn here, and understand it's our time to "graduate." Or perhaps our leaving also involves teaching other people left behind important lessons of their own that they'll learn as a result of our departure. when to leave our physical body and "go home" or "join G.o.d." I don't think most of us are aware of this choice on a conscious level, although some people who are highly attuned to the spiritual world, including children, sometimes are. But mostly, it's a subconscious "knowing" of the soul that it's time to leave this realm and move onward to the next one. Perhaps we've learned all we're capable of learning or need to learn here, and understand it's our time to "graduate." Or perhaps our leaving also involves teaching other people left behind important lessons of their own that they'll learn as a result of our departure.

But although I believe we choose when when, I'm not necessarily sure if we choose how how-that is, I don't know if we can decide upon our method of departure. If we could, I'd guess that most people would pa.s.s on in a loving and pain-free manner . . . maybe drifting off to sleep in a loved one's arms. Then there would be the adventurous types who'd want to do it while jumping out of a plane or scaling Mt. Everest.

But the reality of life is that death is rarely peaceful, pretty, or fun for that matter. Even with my strong belief that we choose when we cross over, like anyone else I still have trouble coming to terms with the fact that so many people die violent or cruel deaths- which brings up this question for many: If there is is a G.o.d, how could He or She make us suffer unduly? And what about tragedies we endure, such as earthquakes or volcanoes or plane crashes that kill hundreds at a time? a G.o.d, how could He or She make us suffer unduly? And what about tragedies we endure, such as earthquakes or volcanoes or plane crashes that kill hundreds at a time?

The most recent tragedy still on all of our minds, which has become part of the fabric of our lives in New York City, is the terrorist attack on the World Trade Center on September 11, 2001. In a few horrible moments, thousands of innocent lives were taken, and scores of families were left heartbroken and stunned, wondering why. It's difficult for me to answer that question except to say that, in keeping with what I believe and as hard as it is to hear, all the people who crossed over in the attack that day needed to go on to the next spiritual level at the same time. In fact, since the attack, I've probably conducted hundreds of readings that are September 11-related, and many energies have come through saying as such-that it was their "time," and they had to move on to other work at the next level.

After September 11, I received countless letters, e-mails, and phone calls from people who had lost loved ones that day, anxious to get a reading. Normally I'm a stickler about anyone skipping ahead on the long waiting list I have for personal sessions, but in this case, I felt I had to make an exception. First, I needed to feel that I was doing my part, like everyone else, to help the country heal after the disaster. Second, I figured that giving out socks or canned goods at Ground Zero wouldn't be using my abilities to their best advantage. I needed to do what I I do-make connections for these people who were in pain and let them know that their loved ones were safe and well on the Other Side. My staff and I randomly chose families to come in for sessions, and I saw them on my personal time on evenings and weekends. I insisted that these families speak to grief counselors both before and after a reading since it was still so soon after the tragedy. do-make connections for these people who were in pain and let them know that their loved ones were safe and well on the Other Side. My staff and I randomly chose families to come in for sessions, and I saw them on my personal time on evenings and weekends. I insisted that these families speak to grief counselors both before and after a reading since it was still so soon after the tragedy.

As I've said earlier, I don't usually remember the readings I do after they're over. By the next day, any details are wiped from my memory forever. But there have been a handful of sessions, especially in the last two years, that have left an indelible impression on me. During one seminar in Long Island, about six weeks after the World Trade Center attack, I was doing a reading on one side of the room when I was suddenly seized by a new energy coming through. It was a firefighter calling out the name of his wife, Nancy. I felt a forceful pull toward a pretty woman sitting in the second row.

Nancy Carroll had come to the seminar from Ridgewood, New Jersey, in the hopes of connecting with her husband, Michael, a fire-fighter who had died on 9/11. She was given a ticket to the seminar by a friend who had bought it in July-two months before the attack. Not only did Michael come through that day with details of Nancy's life since he'd pa.s.sed (and details of events still to happen), but he also came through with his signature sense of humor.

John: I have a rescue worker coming through [looking at one woman, then pointing directly at her]. Are you Nancy?Nancy: Yes, I am.John: I have a Michael coming through. Do you understand this? He pa.s.sed on September 11th.Nancy: Yes . . . yes, I do.John: I don't know if he's a fireman or a cop, but here we go. He's showing me a gavel, but I have no idea what it means.Nancy: I do. His friend was killed with him . . . his name was Michael Judge. He was a chaplain for the fire department.John: Wow. Okay-and he wants to acknowledge Robert.Nancy: That's his friend, a firefighter, who gave his eulogy at his memorial.John: And he's telling me there's another Nancy he wants to acknowledge. Not you . . . a different Nancy.Nancy: Yes . . . his sister.John: Connected with her . . . there's a changing of companies or something.Nancy: Yes! Nancy and I have been running Michael's small business since he died . . . and we're selling the business this week.John: He also says a very special h.e.l.lo to Billy.Nancy: That's his brother . . . he's a retired fire captain.John: He says Billy isn't doing well, and the family needs to know that . . .Nancy: Yes, I think that's true. He's very upset about Michael.John: He says he's glad you "turned down the reporter," whatever that means. He says the reporter didn't have the children's best interests at heart. That they were only interested in the story. Do you know what this means?Nancy: Yes, I do! A news show called me and wanted to do a story on my kids . . . but I didn't feel right about it and I said no . . .John: Okay. Now, do you have a picture of Michael that was in the newspaper? He says it's a picture of him rescuing a girl.Nancy: Yes! I was just looking at this!John: Because Michael says he was with you when you were looking at this picture. He also says they'll give you what you want that's connected with you. You will get it . . . whatever this means. . . .Nancy: Okay . . .John: He says the Florida trip is postponed, not cancelled.Nancy: We were supposed to go to Florida a month after he was killed.John: Did your daughter have a dream recently that was very shocking to you?Nancy: Yes!John: Michael was with her in that dream, he wants you to know that. And he says he enjoyed his memorial. He says that Mayor Giuliani was there.Nancy: Yes, he was!John: And he's telling me that right now . . . there are people at the site who are being injured in some way.Nancy: I'm not sure what you mean.John: I don't know either, but he's saying people at the site are injured, and there's a "DN" connection to you involving that. Okay . . . [pause, then sarcastically], he says, "Now aren't you glad I didn't wear my ring to work?"Nancy: Yes! Because I get to have his ring now!John: Michael tells me he's a Catholic and you pray for him. He thanks you for his prayers. He says they help him tremendously. He tells me you carry his rosary beads with you.Nancy: I do!John (laughing): Oh . . . hold on. He also tells me you carry a 5-by-7 picture of him! (laughing): Oh . . . hold on. He also tells me you carry a 5-by-7 picture of him!Nancy: Well, I don't usually . . . but it's in my purse now!John: And [laughing] he tells me he's such a good-looking guy!Nancy: Yes! He looks like JFK, Jr.John: It's very important for his family to know that he's still doing what he did here. He's still a rescue worker on the Other Side. And Michael tells me there's something important happening this weekend in the town you live in.Nancy: Yes, twelve people in our town were killed on 9/11. We're having a special ceremony for all of them. I'm going to that.John: He wants you to look out for a bird on that day. He says it's a validation that he's always with you. There's going to be some kind of a sign with a bird.Nancy: Okay.

One week later, on the morning of the ceremony, Nancy was awakened by loud noises in the house and her mother shaking her by the shoulders. "She said, 'Nancy, wake up . . . there's a giant bird flapping around in the bathroom!" The two women raced down the hall to find that a stray bird had somehow gotten through a crack in the open window and was now trapped in the bathroom, flailing about, with no intention of leaving. Nancy was shocked. Could the "sign" have been more obvious? She didn't think so. After trying to usher the bird out the window themselves, Nancy and her mother called Animal Control to come and get it.

"I told my mom, 'Well . . . I guess this is my bird!'" But even without such a dramatic signal, Nancy had no doubt that her husband had come through "like gangbusters" in the reading the week before, and he'd be with her on this day and always.

By the time Nancy had come to the seminar, the hope she'd held on to for days-that her husband had survived the World Trade Center collapse-was gone. Together since they were teenagers and married for thirteen years, she described their relationship as soul mates who "couldn't wait for the other to walk through the door at the end of the day." As Nancy explained some of the details her husband came through with during the reading, the rest of the seminar attendees gasped.

"The photo of my husband in the newspaper was a picture of him coming out of a building, holding his hat over a woman's head to protect her. I had framed it and put it up in the living room. And Michael said to me at the time, 'Why would you frame this one? It's not like it's a rescue or anything! It's ridiculous!' But I really liked the photo. The night before I came to the seminar, I was looking at the picture, and I was feeling really annoyed at him . . . annoyed that he had 'left' me. And I flung the picture across the room and said out loud, 'How could you leave me?!'" 'How could you leave me?!'" But as Nancy found out, he hadn't really left her. In fact, he was with her at that moment when she'd been in such pain. Similarly, he'd been at home to comfort their three-year-old daughter, Olivia, through the pain of missing her daddy. In a vivid dream just three weeks after September 11, Olivia had a "play date" with her dad who was on the Other Side. But as Nancy found out, he hadn't really left her. In fact, he was with her at that moment when she'd been in such pain. Similarly, he'd been at home to comfort their three-year-old daughter, Olivia, through the pain of missing her daddy. In a vivid dream just three weeks after September 11, Olivia had a "play date" with her dad who was on the Other Side.

"My daughter had been very sad, and she really missed her father playing with her," recalled Nancy. "Michael had just put up one of those wooden play gyms in the yard, and he loved to play with Olivia on it. She was so sad. But one morning she came downstairs and was so happy. She told me, 'I had a dream that Daddy came into my room, got me dressed, took me out to my new play gym to play, and then took me to McDonald's!' She was in a great mood." Nancy didn't know it at the time, but her daughter had experienced a "visit" from her daddy, which he confirmed in the reading.

Not only did Michael come through with specifics that only Nancy knew about, but she was struck by the way way he had come through with them-for example, his joking about her having his wedding ring. "Michael had been a fireman for sixteen years, and when he went to the academy, they were taught to never wear jewelry on the job," said Nancy. "He'd come home from work and say, 'Darn, I left my ring and watch in my locker!' Then he wouldn't be due in to work for another two days, and it would drive him crazy because he didn't have his ring or watch on. I used to always tell him, 'Why don't you just wear them while you work?' but he wouldn't do it. Three days after September 11th, when I realized that he probably wasn't coming home, I went to his locker to get his backpack. And there were his wedding ring and his watch sitting there. I was so happy to have these things-I was so happy he'd left them there. I put his wedding ring around a long chain, and I wear it around my neck." Nancy pulled the ring out from under her sweater and showed the group. he had come through with them-for example, his joking about her having his wedding ring. "Michael had been a fireman for sixteen years, and when he went to the academy, they were taught to never wear jewelry on the job," said Nancy. "He'd come home from work and say, 'Darn, I left my ring and watch in my locker!' Then he wouldn't be due in to work for another two days, and it would drive him crazy because he didn't have his ring or watch on. I used to always tell him, 'Why don't you just wear them while you work?' but he wouldn't do it. Three days after September 11th, when I realized that he probably wasn't coming home, I went to his locker to get his backpack. And there were his wedding ring and his watch sitting there. I was so happy to have these things-I was so happy he'd left them there. I put his wedding ring around a long chain, and I wear it around my neck." Nancy pulled the ring out from under her sweater and showed the group.

There were a few details in the reading that didn't make sense to Nancy at the time, but which were validated in the weeks to come. She couldn't figure out what Michael meant when he said people were being hurt down at Ground Zero, so she called up Michael's station the next day to check on it.