During a recent radio show, the interviewer asked about my first psychic experience. I was eight years old, so sick in bed with the flu that I thought I was going to die, and being surrounded by twelve angelic lights.
“That’s quite a story,” the host said. “Did you really feel you were going to die?”
I laughed. “Well, I was a melodramatic little girl. Whenever I got sick, I got very sick. Fevers, aches, stuffy head, sore eyes, blotchy skin – you name it. My mother used to say,” and I imitated her voice, “‘Carolyn, when you get sick, you get really sick.'”
The radio host and I shared another laugh, and then we had to break for local news, weather and a traffic report. As I sat back in my chair and half-listened to talk of cold fronts and tangled highways, my mind went back to that long ago morning, when my head felt so hot I thought my brain was melting.
My mother took my temperature and told me I wasn’t going to school that day. I offered a silent Thank you! prayer, and went upstairs to my room while my two sisters, envious because I had a day off, pretended I had the cooties.
Later, my mother prepared lunch – alphabet soup, Wonder Bread toast and a glass of milk. My stomach was too queasy for food, and I tried to sleep, but I was so achy I just lay like a log and stared at the purple curtains that shaded my windows from the afternoon sun. Even the Holly Hobbie pictures on the wall seemed sad.
I closed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest. just like I saw dead people in the movies do when they were in coffins. Then I said – probably in my most theatrical voice – “God, I feel so awful! Just let me die!”
My bedroom door opened, and snapped shut. Whoosh-click! I heard the door crack open, then gently close. And again. Whoosh-click, whoosh-click, whoosh-click. Why was this happening? The windows were closed, so there was no breeze in the room. Mom was downstairs, probably ironing. My room was quieter than a tomb, except for the door opening and closing.
I counted the door opening 12 times, and each time it opened, I had the sense of a tall light gliding into the room. In my mind, I imagined slender white columns that thinned to a point just below the ceiling. Twelve of these light beings had gathered around my bed.
I drifted into sleep knowing that I was surrounded by something special.
When I awoke about four hours later – no head cold, fever or chills. Interestingly, I was refreshed yet tired, the same kind of feeling I get now after an invigorating run.
I didn’t tell this experience to my family or friends, because I didn’t think they’d understand, and I was afraid of being ridiculed. I already had a reputation for histrionics. So mum was the word when mom asked me how I was feeling.
“Okay,” I warily answered. And after another good night’s sleep, I went back to school.
“We’re back the announcer said, and I snapped out of my reverie. “So, before we take some phone calls from listeners, tell me – what’s your favourite part about being a psychic medium?
I smiled. “Knowing that I’m surrounded by spirit. Now, and all through my life.”