believe that Donna’s mother not only put the thought into her head that she should be cautious, but she also put the word ‘Stop!’ into her husband’s mouth. She wasn’t taking any chances with the safety of her beloved family.
Father Knows Best
In this instance a woman called Margaret, who lives in Cumbria, was saved from a horrible accident by her father.
It was a bitterly cold day in March and I was walking my two young sons to school. We were wrapped up warmly but still the driving sleet stung our faces. We stopped at a newsagent’s and I picked up a newspaper while the boys got a packet of crisps each. It was a relief to reach the warmth of the school, but then I faced the prospect of the journey home again. I decided to catch a bus back but I waited and waited at the stop without any sign of one so eventually I realised I would have to walk again.
There were some tiny lambs in the field opposite the newsagent’s so I thought I would go and have a look, worried about how they were coping with the freezing weather. I was about to step off the pavement when I heard my father’s voice just by my right ear: ‘Go and buy a paper.’ Dad had died twelve years earlier. I shook my head. It was silly. I already had a paper that I’d bought earlier. Disregarding the voice, I stepped into the road to cross over.
The voice was angry now. ‘Do as you’re bloody well told. Go and buy a paper!’
I’d never argued with my father when he was alive and I wasn’t about to start now he was dead, so I turned and went back to the newsagent’s. I’d just bent down to pick up a Daily Mail when there was a screech of brakes outside and then an almighty clattering sound.
The newsagent and I rushed out to find that a lorry had skidded and a huge pile of girders strapped on the back had come loose and fallen off onto the pavement at exactly the spot where I had been planning to stand and watch the lambs. I was so shaken, I sat down on the kerb, sleet or no sleet. Dad had saved my life.
Once my heart had stopped racing, I went back inside to pay for my Daily Mail. When I got home and opened it, between the pages there was a white feather and I felt instinctively that was a sign from Dad telling me he’d been there.
Finding a tiny white feather after an angel visitation is quite common. It’s like a little calling card from the other side. I’ll explain more about this on page 98.
The Smell of Smoke
Some people report smelling a scent similar to one worn by their relative, such as the lavender eau de parfum of a favourite granny, or a flower that your mother was especially fond of. A lady called Jane told me the following story about the way her father let her know he was still around:
I had just split up with my husband and moved into a place of my own, so it was a very difficult time. One Sunday afternoon I was tidying up when all of a sudden I smelled a familiar smell of cigar smoke. It was exactly the same as the cigar my father used to smoke after lunch on a Sunday—but he had been dead for three years.
I sat down and sniffed, and the smell just got stronger and stronger. Suddenly I knew that Dad was there with me, in the room. I cried a little bit, and then I started talking to him, telling him what was happening in my life. I knew instinctively that I didn’t need to talk out loud—I could tell him things in my head. It was a huge comfort to feel his presence and it really lifted my spirits.
As the smell began to fade, I said ‘Dad, please keep coming back. Come as often as you can.’
From then on, I started to smell his cigar smoke every Sunday afternoon, around the same time, and I would sit down and have a chat with him in my head. It helped me a lot in that difficult period, and one day I mentioned it to a girlfriend of mine.
‘Why don’t I come over to your flat and see if I can smell it?’ she asked, and I agreed.
The following Sunday she came, along with another friend. One of them said straight away, ‘Oh my goodness, I can certainly smell it.’
The other looked doubtful. ‘I think I can,’ she said, screwing up her nose. Then, all of a sudden, she cried out. ‘Oh my! I think he just blew a cloud of cigar smoke in my face!’
I knew that he was giving me absolute proof that he was there with me. I never smelled cigar smoke on any other day of the week, but every Sunday afternoon it was there. I asked him questions about anything I wanted to discuss and I could hear his answers in my head and in my heart.
I think it is very touching that her father chose to make his presence known in a period of Jane’s life when she really needed support. He helped her to get through difficult times and start to enjoy life again.
An Angel Set Me Free
We expect our parents to die before us. It’s the logical way of things, and it feels wrong, as if the universe has been turned upside down, if one of your children dies before you. Many clients have first come to me when they are struggling to understand why this can happen, and why it should have happened to them, and I am able to give them comfort by explaining what I know and contacting their lost child for them.
After such a shocking event as a child’s death, it’s human nature to look for someone or something to blame: a drunk driver, an over-tired doctor, faulty electrics, or whatever. But imagine what it is like if a child of yours takes their own life? Who do you have to blame? In Stella’s case, she blamed herself.
Josh was twenty-three years old when he committed suicide by jumping off a tall building. I knew he was upset about breaking up with his girlfriend but I had absolutely no idea how distressed he was. Why didn’t he come to me? Why didn’t I know? As a mother, surely I should have realised instinctively that he needed help? I tortured myself with thoughts of what his last moments must have been like, and as the weeks and months passed I sank into a depression so deep that I didn’t think I would ever recover. It was like being in a dark, enclosed prison cell. I couldn’t bring myself to get up in the mornings and I don’t think I would have carried on living myself if it hadn’t been for my other son, Callum. I couldn’t put him through another loss.
One day I was sitting on the edge of my bed in my pyjamas trying to will myself to get up. I hadn’t had a shower or washed my hair for about two weeks. My clothes were all dirty. The room was dusty. Everything was falling apart. Suddenly I heard a voice.
‘It’s about time you got yourself a life.’
It sounded like Josh’s voice but when I looked around the room I couldn’t see anyone. ‘Who said that? Is that you, Josh?’
‘’Course it’s me, Mum.’
My heart leapt. ‘Are you OK? Where are you?’ There was no answer to my question but somehow I felt he was still there. I got up and made a cup of tea then I decided to have a shower. As I stood under the hot water, soaping my hair, I heard music playing. I stuck my head out and realised it was Josh’s music, and it was coming from his room.
I got out of the shower, dried myself and wandered through, and somehow his CD player had been switched on and was playing one of his favourite CDs. But there was no one else in the house apart from me. I didn’t feel scared, though. I knew it was Josh, and it made me smile.
Down in the kitchen, over lunch, I kept trying to talk to him
