experience”—a phrase he coined in the late seventies. The best-selling author of eleven books including Life After Life—which has sold over thirteen million copies worldwide—he continues to capture enormous public interest and generate controversy with his ground-breaking work on the near-death experience and what happens when we die. He has appeared on Oprah as well as hundreds of other local and nationally syndicated programs such as MSNBC, Grief Recovery, NBC Today, ABC's Turning Point, Geraldo, and others. For more information, please visit www.lifeafterlife.com.
Christina
New Jersey
At this time in my life I had two toddlers, ages two and four, running around and a newborn. While I could count on Gabriella to sleep peacefully, Anthony and Gianna were constantly getting into some kind of mischief and especially loved playing with my husband John's wedding ring. Although I warned him several times, John would always leave it on his nightstand which, of course, was an easy target for the kids.
Soon the ring was lost, and I turned the house upside down in search of it. But it was nowhere to be found. I had no idea what my little angels had done with the ring and was anxious to find it. My husband, a police officer, was about to be promoted to sergeant, and I wanted him to have his wedding ring. I had no idea where else to look. In my room is a “Lazy Boy” recliner which belonged to my father before he passed. My father loved that chair. I thought that perhaps the kids might have dropped the ring in the chair and literally turned it upside down in search of the ring. But there was nothing.
Days dragged into weeks. I thought many times of going out and buying John a new ring, but something held me back. Of course, the ring was very sentimental to me. But it was also as if my intuition was telling me to wait. Two days before my husband's promotion ceremony, I thought of making a last minute trip to a local jeweler and buying him a ring. But that night I had a dream. My father came to me and said, “Chris, look in the chair. The ring is in the chair.” It all seemed so real.
When I woke up the next morning, I didn't go and look in the chair right away. In my mind I had already looked there. I had turned it upside down so I thought I'd be wasting my time. But later that day I thought of my dream and my father's chair once again. I grabbed a flashlight and decided to give it another try. I had nothing to lose. Without knowing why, I pulled back the fabric on the back of the chair and there sitting peacefully on the wood frame shining up at me was my husband's ring. I couldn't believe my eyes. I would never have looked in my father's chair again had it not been for my dream.
The following day my husband was promoted. On his finger was a well-missed wedding ring—a special gift and a heavenly hello from my father.
Reverend Juliet Nightingale
I've been a natural medium all of my life, so it's never been “odd” or uncommon for me to see discarnate entities at any given moment. Often I could see one individual or many, and it would occur quite spontaneously.
A very good example of this occurred while I was in the quaint old town of Franklin, Tennessee. I had a loft in the Factory at Franklin—a lovely artisans mall that used to be the Dortch Stove Works and Magic Chef Factory in bygone years. To say that this place was teaming with discarnate entities would be an understatement! My loft was located in Building 8. I'd walk through the breezeway to enter into Building 12 and take the long trek up through Building 11 where the main entrance was located. As I entered Building 12, I could see a whole group of former factory workers just standing round nattering back and forth (as they must have done when they were alive and working there), and they would actually greet me.
Then I saw a short white man in his factory clothes, but what was odd about him was the fact that he was a hunchback! However, he was so clear—with every little detail—and very present, so I was sure that this was a valid sighting. Thus, I went to the front desk and asked Alex about this character—asking him specifically about whether there had been a hunchbacked factory worker. “Come here, Juliet!” Alex called out as he motioned me to follow him. He took me to the column of letter boxes that were located just behind the front desk where a bunch of old black-and-white factory photos crowned them from above. “Look there,” he exclaimed as he pointed to a large photo. (I must interject here that I am very visually impaired, so I cannot see something that's far away and especially black-and-white photos that lack color and contrast.) I got my monocular and looked up at the photo. Lo and behold, there was the hunchbacked factory worker but viewed from the back. I gasped! “That's him!” I exclaimed with delight, and he looked exactly as I had seen him—even his clothing—although I'd seen him from the front. So if you go to the Factory at Franklin and head back round the right of the front desk and look up at the photos above the letter boxes, you'll see the hunchbacked man in clear view.
Another interesting thing occurred one evening as I was sitting in my loft in Building 8 and speaking with a good friend back in England. What's interesting is that we were talking about her mother, who'd recently crossed over, and I just happened to turn and look up to the right. As I did so, I beheld a tall and stocky black man just standing there facing me. He had a very gentle demeanor and also seemed rather melancholy.
Suddenly, I was having two conversations at once—one with my friend Paula in the UK and one with the tall stranger in my midst. With sadness I said, “You died here on the job, didn't you?” and he replied, “Yes, Ma'am,” with his strong southern drawl and a gentle nod. I felt such sweetness about this man, and I could tell that he'd been a very hard and dedicated worker and one who loved his family deeply. Bear in mind that a lot of these workers' whole lives revolved round working in the factory and that's all they knew. So I was left with the distinct impression that this man felt disappointed in himself for having died “before his time” leaving his family and the factory behind.
I also kept getting the name “Stewart,” but I don't know how it was spelled: Stewart or Stuart, or if it was his first name or surname. I saw him a few times, and then I was even able to tap in to his family. He had an older daughter and a younger son—both in their teens when he crossed—and his wife whom he dearly loved. I was moved to tears, but I was also extremely curious about this man—since he was already impacting me so deeply.
This time, since I was just too curious about this story and Alex wasn't at work yet, I went to the office that was situated upstairs. I spoke with Becky and asked her about “Stewart.” “Do you know if there was a large, gentle black man who died on the job here?” I asked pointedly. Becky told me straight away that indeed a black man had died on the job by falling into a vat of molten steel! I shuddered when she told me this. “Where did that take place?” I continued.
