Big Sis Drops In
Memoirs of the 1st December 2011
The early afternoon
Notes from the Sketch Book
First, I’ll go back a week to when my sister first communicated with me from Heaven.
I was driving home from school and I had an agonizing pain around my throat, to the sides of my neck as if someone were trying to strangle me, literally. All afternoon, I experienced this pain and I couldn’t work it out. I started to think, could it be my father doing it? I was really starting to get worried and when I confessed this to Arno, he too was becoming worried, because before he died, my estranged father said if it were possible he would come back and haunt me. The fact that Michael has come through to me makes it possible that my father could actually come through to me also. This sensation subsided when I went to sleep.
Then next day, it was back. Then it hit me that when Michael first came through to me, I experienced an excruciating, burning pain at the top of my head. In case you didn’t know, Michael had badly burnt the top of his head doing a Pepsi commercial, and experienced acute pain for the rest of his life, resulting in his relying on painkillers to dull the pain; hence the excruciating pain on and within my head. And now, it felt like someone was strangling me.
I looked into the mirror at my neck, “Tell me who this is, or go away for Christ’s sake!” I demanded, as I really had enough of this pain. Then suddenly a voice popped into my head, “It’s me, sis!”
“You got to be kidding! Della, is that you?” I was surprised and happy at the same time. Suddenly, I was able to see and sense her soul; she was so beautiful that I was smiling through my tears.
“Thank God it is you, Della! I thought it might have been the old man trying to strangle me! I was getting worried,” I giggled.
We said our long-awaited hello, as I thought I wouldn’t have contact like this with my sister until I ascended to where she is. I was so excited that I was able to have this opportunity to say I love you, as the last contact with my sister was in hospital, in intensive care a day before she died. Before that, I hadn’t visited her for over three months and felt guilty, but that’s another colossal saga about her being kept away from her family.
My sister Della, five years older than I, had a car accident at fifteen. She’d broken her neck, and spent the next fifteen long years in a wheelchair as a quadriplegic until passing away, hence the strangling feeling in my neck.
She conveyed her concern she had about her stil-alive son. While she was conveying to me her concerns in simple language (so I could hear her clearly) I was still captivated by her perfect image that made me become teary again. She was standing taller than I with beautiful, shiny, straight white-blond hair down past her shoulders. This is the first time I have seen her standing since her accident when I was nine years old. It was beyond words.
My sister asked didn’t you think it was strange to see your dog on its back earlier today, as if someone were playing with her; not once, but twice?
She wondered why I didn’t put the two incidents together: the pain in my neck, and her love for dogs. I did comment yesterday to Arno, while we were sitting outside, and we noticed the strange antics of our dog. Arno and I laughed, wondering if Michael or someone was playing with our dog.
She was concerned about her son, and asked me to help him. “You need to ring Danny! He needs your help.”
Afterward, I told Arno excitedly that it was my sister that gave me the neck pain. We joked and said that would be right as she was always a pain in the neck (jokingly of course), but her life was full of drama and she usually called upon her little sister, me for help.
We realized that both my sister and Michael had validated with symbolism, through their physical trauma they had experienced when alive, and that they had lived with this pain daily; physically and subconsciously. Hence, they imparted this experience on me initially, so I could identify who they were, before receiving verbal confirmation as to who they were.
I mentioned to Arno the concerns that Della, my sister had about her son, and my apprehension about telling my nephew that I spoke to his mum. I didn’t want to upset him in any way, as I don’t know how he would react. I said I would have to find out his opinion about being able to speak to deceased loved ones. I felt a little reluctant to ring him, as I cannot lie; telling the truth seems to be ingrained in my soul, which can be very nerve-wracking sometimes.
The next day, the strangest thing happened. Danny actually rang me out of the blue; we must have talked for over two hours! We hadn’t communicated for over six months. I didn’t inform him that I spoke to his mum the day before, as I wasn’t sure how to explain the fact that I was able to communicate with his deceased mother, and that his mum had popped in yesterday worried about him.
I thought later about the astonishing, uncanny fact that my sister communed with me the day before her son contacted me with his dilemma—and the fact that I did not instigate the communications. I just was the messenger and humanitarian, giving support and compassion to both. It was also a time to place all cards on the table with Danny, about why my father was suing me, and it wasn’t the reason Danny had been told (another family saga).
The reasons for Della’s concerns regarding her son are many and huge; a whole saga about his inheritance. I won’t go into it now, as it would take up the size of a novel. My sister wrote an emotional extensive five- page hand-written letter in my diary through me to her son, and the people involved the night before we went on a family holiday.
It was very factual, precise and extremely heartfelt with raw emotion; it was just so her (well, the old her, the person we knew well). The use of language was just how she spoke when she was alive. She used this dialect manner so that the people who knew her would know it was her (validation) and I definitely know it was not me, myself and I who solely wrote this; I never use this kind of derogatory language. I would on no account bring myself to do so, but because it was my sister, I let her write it through me.
I was shocked and uncomfortable when I read it afterward. I have shown some of my closest friends and they were amazed, giving them goosebumps as they discerned it was not me who wrote this, even the handwriting style was very different from mine, which was obvious.
I know my sister (where she is now) has no need or want to use this language, but she knows if she uses the language she has now come accustomed to, it would not validate that it is truly her, hence she used the language speech she was accustomed to while alive, which is very logical.
I would love to show you, since it is fascinating and immeasurably validating. However, since it is extremely personal and exceedingly austere (with extensive use of swearing), I feel uncomfortable about placing it in this Journal, and I do not wish to offend anyone.
When she wrote it, I only felt infinite love and deep sorrow for her son’s happiness ,and so the letter served a sole purpose: to help set things right in her son’s world, as her son is an exceedingly compassionate person, allowing himself to be easily taken advantage of when it comes to money.
It is akin to his mother, losing more than the shirt off their backs, sending them down under the poverty line unfairly. Hence, his mum didn’t want what happened to her be allowed to happen to her son, as she made sure if nothing else that he was set up in life—even after leaving herself struggle, as long as his inheritance was safeguarded.
I did confront my nephew on what was in the letter. He was stunned that I knew the secret that had been purposely kept from me as to not worry me or anger me. He wanted to know how I found out, as he knew he didn’t tell me.
My sister thanked me, but was sorrowful, as I felt I couldn’t intervene and it was maybe a little too late and very exhaustive and heart-wrenching for me to take on what would be required to set things right.
Arno; on the other hand, does not want to sit back and do nothing, as my nephew is close to his heart and he feels for him greatly for what has happened to his inheritance. I was torn on what to do.
Michael felt my thwarted emotions regarding my nephew and my sister and the people who took advantage of them both, and so Michael asked my sister in front of me to not ask this of me. Michael said to my sister compassionately, “your sister has been through too much heartache all her life and needs a break from it all, and your son wishes for her to not get involved and it would be too much turmoil to endure.”
My sister agreed, knowing that I would always be there to support her son when he asked me to do so.
Getting back to the lighthearted fun-loving story: on the 1st December 2011, I had just left Linda’s place and was heading to school to pick up my children. I had just finished filling her in on the events going on. I mention my sister Della’s name. Next thing, the pain at my throat came rushing back, tenfold.
“Della, is that you? Can’t you come through to me without the pain?” I said as I was rubbing my throat.
“How else do you know it’s me, sis?” Della laughed, as she was quite clear to hear.
“I thought it could have been the old man, coming back to hurt me!” I laughed worriedly. “Hang on! I’ll pull over at the park up ahead, so we can chat!”
I smiled, as I was beside myself, that I had my big sis back in my life.
I pulled into the car park at the park overlooking a duck pond. Next thing, Michael popped in and said hello too, so in the mist of beyond, my two favourite dead people popped in at the same time. I wished that my mum would pop in and say hello as I miss her dearly.
Just after I was thinking of her with such emotion, guess who said a very kind, loving hello? My Mummy!
She and I cried. I was sitting in my car by myself, talking aloud with tears flowing down my face. Her image was flawless. She looked so perfect and happy and at peace. I could not see any trace of the heartache that was embedded on her face and stance as when she was alive, which was lovely to witness.
She spoke to me, mentioning things I only know, so I knew that it really was my mum. (That goes for my sister too.) They mentioned things that I had forgotten, but when prodded to remember, the memories of those things and occasions made us all laugh as we reminisced.
So, when they started chatting with Michael, who was next to them, it just validated again, and confirmed to me that it’s not just some spirit playing with me, and pretending to be these three people standing in the mists before me. It confirmed that it’s not me just being “crazy” and I’m not having some kind of delusional breakdown.
Hi Destiny. See, now do you trust me? Told you so!
Hi Michael. Yes, I do know it is really you and not some ghost lunatic. I just wish you could tell me something more of your past to convince your family that it is really you.
Destiny… you know my hands are tied on that. We have rules too, and oaths to stick by. Could you imagine if we started that—past validations, then no one will leave you alone. You know what I mean? And we will lose sight of the real reason I am here, talking to you now. So if people don’t want to believe us, then so be it!!!!
Destiny, this is why you are able to not only hear me, you can sense me and see my soul. This is the way it is meant to be so there is not vital need for silly validations side-tracking us from what is more important and meant to be.
Okay! You are again very right. Thanks for reminding me. Let’s just shush so I can finish this Journal, at least get it up to date.
I had Michael’s and my sketchbook in the car, as I had just showed Linda what Michael had written. So I grabbed the pen and opened the sketchbook.
Della tried writing through me. Della made Michael go first, to teach her how to do it, and of course he had to try and trick her and see if she was observant as to teach her a valid lesson. I’ll tell you in a moment what they tried to write and convey. My sister gave up and drew a flower and a foo. Della always drew foos when she was alive, hence this was comically reminiscent of the old days.
Notice Michael wrote his name with a K to see if my sister could pick up on such a little detail. He told my sister that elementary things count the most.
That was funny! It took her a while, but she did pick up on the fine points. 🙂 It was wonderful to be witness to you speaking to your mother and sister.
I’m glad you were present, Michael. One big happy family! xxx
You’re welcome, but I should thank you for accepting me into your family, the way you have. xxxx
After Michael enlightened my sister about intricacies, she started teasing us, as she always used to have fun doing with me. She started singing, Tammy and Michael sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G…”
Your sister is such a stirrer… she’s worse than me!
You just play nicer!
Michael and I were becoming very bashfully embarrassed as she was jubilantly persistent on embarrassing us, as that was a typical trait of yesteryears gone by. “Della… stop it! You’ll scare Michael away. And if I have to choose who I want to stay and chat to, I would have to of course pick Michael,” I laughed to stir her back.
“That’s lovely! After years of not seeing me! I come to visit you and you pick Michael, Michael Jackson, over your long lost big sister,” Della snidely laughed, stirring of course.
“Yeah! Well, we are talking about you on one han,d and Michael on the other,” I shook my head and laughed as I used hand gestures to point out the obvious choice in front of me.
So she in turn started singing the “kissing in the tree song” again. This is the silly teasing song she always stirred me with when we were kids, and she’s still doing it. It is lovely to see and know that they can still experience trouble-free comical joking around.
Next thing, Michael and Della were stirring and teasing each other in goodhearted humour, until I said, “Come on guys, stop. Group hug! Give mum a cuddle from me.”
Michael gave my mum a shy gentle cuddle for me. I had tears flowing again. To see the three of them, side-by-side was beyond words of expression. They were so happy and to see their flawless reflection was also beyond words. I could never imagine what one’s perfect image would be.
This would have to be one of my most precious moments since my kids were born; when I first laid eyes on them and held them in my arms.
To see my mum so happy and so perfect continued to bring tears to my eyes, as I have never seen her this happy, and she always seemed to have the weight of the world on her shoulders. Her life truly was heartbreaking and full of adversity, and so to see my mum now was glorious. I thanked God and the heavens and Michael for allowing me this unique gift of communication; to have this chance to see my mum and my sister.
Next thing, I had all my relatives visually and verbally popping in to say hello too; my three brothers whom I never got a chance to meet; my Nanny and my Pop; George (whom I used to call Georgey as he is my step-Grandad), who I loved immensely; he was my favourite. It was such a beautiful memorable occasion; one I will never forget.
It was so nice that you got to have that chance, Destiny. That makes me happy.
Well if it wasn’t for you, it wouldn’t have happened. So thank you again, Michael.
You’re welcome! 🙂
My Mum and sister commune with me occasionally, which is explained in my Journal.