Thursday was a sick day over here at YMIS. E spiked a fever of 103.7 in the early hours of Wednesday morning.
She'd been a little congested off and on, but I checked her before bed, and she was fine. She woke up at 2am, shivering to the point that it looked like she was having convulsions. We called the after-hours number for the doctor, and he recommended bundling her, continuing to take her temperature, and bringing her to the ER if it spiked over 103. It hadn't yet. Later, when it did, we got it back down with a warm bath and happily avoided an ER trip. By morning, she was back to her normal self with no fever. Ours and the doctor's best guess was a "final farewell" from this congestion-inducing virus.
While her fever hovered in the 101-range, I held her close to me, trying to will more warmth into her tiny, shaky body. I had Mark get me another blanket, and I wrapped it quickly around her. I tried to keep her talking, asking her how she was feeling. She mumbled to me about being cold. She asked what Daddy was doing in the kitchen. He had rattled some dishes.
Then she said, "What's that little boy doing?"
"What little boy?" I asked.
"He's playing with my toys!" she insisted.
"What does he look like?"
"He has brown hair."
She went on to say that she didn't always like it when he played with her toys. I thought maybe she was dreaming, half asleep, but she's talked about the little boy before. In fact, he's usually the reason that she won't play in her room by herself. He "makes lights" and "plays with toys," she says.
The other day she told us that, before she was with me and Mark, she was a baby in my belly and that a little girl touched her and held her until I got to her.
Maybe it's just an active imagination, but I still wonder about my first pregnancy. I was so sure it was a boy, even though I was only about 12-weeks along at the time. It got me thinking about the time I finally was brave enough to go to a medium. I looked up my old blog post about it and realized that it was exactly this time last year that I went. I'll post it here for you to read.
Let me know what you think? Do your children have imaginary friends or mysterious visitors?
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I've been wanting to see a medium since I first saw John Edward's TV show, Crossing Over, about 10 years ago. As I've mentioned before, I've had my doubts about it but still can't deny how some mediums seem to know some very specific details about people's lives having never met them. I want so badly to believe, but I really needed to have my own experience.
So, I scheduled an appointment with Psychic Medium, Michele Nappi, of Moonlight Gifts in Milton, Vermont. The price was reasonable ($35 for the first 15 minutes and $2/min. after). I planned on spending an hour with her, but she told me that readings rarely take longer than a half hour. I appreciated her honesty and felt that, for the price, it was worth it -- even if the only thing I took away was a final realization that I didn't entirely believe in the experience.
When I walked into Michele's shop, she greeted me warmly. I got a very motherly feeling from her. I told her that I was a little early, and she said that was fine and led me to the back of the shop, where she had an open but cozy room for doing readings. She handed me a pen and piece of paper to take notes, and had me sit down
Though I had an open-minded approach to this, the more skeptical side of me had made some deals with "the other side," as part of my own, private experiment. I'll share them with you, so you can experience it from my perspective:
First, I wanted to hear from some specific people. My uncle, Harley, passed away when I was 14. His children, my cousins, were teenagers at the time too. It was a devastating death in our family, as he passed quickly and unexpectedly from a heart attack. I always had this feeling that he was "first." I wasn't sure why, but I felt that he would lead a reading.
I also felt a recent connection with my great-grandmother on my mom's side, Pearl, who died while giving birth to my grandmother. I always thought it was so heartbreaking that she never got to hold her daughter, and I used to remind myself that I was blessed to hold my daughter, even on nights when she refused to sleep for hours at a time.
My grandparents (my father's father and step-mother) passed away last spring, and I hoped to hear from one of them. Also, my other grandfather (my dad's step-father) passed away rather suddenly last month, and I was feeling a strong connection to him. I thought I felt his presence with me multiple times after his death.
I was most curious about a pregnancy I lost before having my daughter. Though we never found out the sex, I always felt it was a boy. All we found out from the ultrasound was that his heart had either stopped beating or that it had never started beating. The biggest piece of evidence I asked for was from him. Before the reading, I proceeded to make a deal with my son. If all this was real, I wanted him to come forward and tell me something specific -- to mention the dream I had about him. It was a strange dream, because he looked older than I thought he would be, so I always doubted the validity of it. He was about 18-20 years old. He met me under an overpass. He was brought there by a round, grandmotherly-type woman (who I dream about frequently now). He gave me a big hug and told me, "You don't have to worry about me any more."
That phrase meant so much to me. It wasn't just "Don't worry," or "I'm okay." I always felt that he was giving me permission to let go, after I held on for so long. I still feel him close to me sometimes, and I have such a hard time letting go of those moments.
So, now I'm sitting in the chair, ready for my reading. I was open to hearing anything Michele was willing to tell me. She asked me to write down the time: 1:50. I did, then she asked me if I had any specific questions. I told her I wanted to focus on my family.
She simply closed her eyes and said, "I see your uncle." She went on to describe a strong man, a leader, who was taking charge of the group and bringing people through to speak with me. She said he passed from a heart-attack and that his name had "Lee" in it. That would fit Harley. I responded briefly, with yes or no answers, and an occasional, "Yes, that makes sense," trying not to give away my surprise. Then she said that he had something with his front teeth. She pointed to her front tooth and mentioned that he had a fake tooth. I thought that was a definite miss, as Uncle Harley had a great smile and seemingly perfect teeth. (Later, when I got home and shared the experience with my father, he shocked me by saying that Harley had fake front teeth. Only close family would have known this, as even I didn't.)
Ok, so I had to ask myself after the fact: Is it common for most women my age to have a connection to an uncle who has passed (I only have one), also one I expected to first hear from, one who was relatively young when he passed (39) yet still had fake teeth and passed from a heart attack? It felt so real to me. I could very clearly visualize what she was saying.
She went on to mention a great-grandmother figure who would sit with her arms folded over her belly. My grandmother (Pearl's daughter) always sits that way. Though, possibly a typical grandmotherly trait, I had to wonder if this was Pearl who I connected with over my daughter, and if maybe the "belly" connection was a sign about the pregnancy.
She then mentioned the name "Carol" in relation to a grandmother figure. That gave me chills. Carol just isn't a common name. I've never known another Carol in my life. This was my grandmother who passed last spring, my father's step-mother. Michele said that she had gotten a vision of Carol Burnett, and she was pulling on her ear, and she thought that it was also a sign of her sending love to us, as Carol Burnett would use that action as a sign to her mother that she was thinking about her/sending love to her.
Michele closed her eyes again and said that Carol was talking about my daughter, that she said she has beautiful eyes, that she looks like me. Then she stopped and concentrated for a minute. She said, "I'm aware of the girl, but where's the boy? Did you lose a pregnancy before you had your daughter? I see Carol holding the baby." I said, "Yes," and she handed me a box of tissues. She said that he wasn't really a baby any more, that he was about 2 or 3 (that would make sense). She went on to describe him in detail. I got caught up in the moment. She said he had a lot of energy, that she saw him playing happily. She saw him winking, which she thought held some significance. She also told me that he had problems with his heart, that it wasn't formed correctly, and that I hadn't eaten anything that caused the miscarriage.
Though this was a more general comment, it meant a lot to me. I wasn't drinking alcohol at all when we were trying to get pregnant. I didn't have any physical trauma that caused the loss of the pregnancy. The only thing I could blame myself for was eating something I shouldn't have. I got so upset about it that I developed an eating disorder during my second pregnancy -- not that I wouldn't eat, I just became overly obsessive about what I put in my body to the point that it was affecting my life in unhealthy ways by causing anxiety and obsessive-compulsive behavior. To hear that I hadn't eaten anything that hurt the baby was extremely validating to me.
She hadn't mentioned my grandfather who recently passed, my dad's step-father. So, when she asked me if I had any questions, I asked about him. She said, "The one with the big belly?" I had to chuckle. That was a defining feature of his body type. She said that he had been around me, that I had felt him frequently, which is true. She said he had a funny sense of humor. That's one way to put it... He had the "grumpy old man" complex, but he did have a great sense of humor. She told me that his "counterpart" was still living, and spoke of a "P" name in another state. She thought the P was tied to Pennsylvania. I thought it might be my grandmother, but the information didn't fit perfectly.
Again, she asked if I had any questions before we ended, and I went back to my son. I told her that I didn't want to let go of him, this feeling of a connection with him. She told me that, he frequently felt that -- me not wanting to let go, but that it was okay. She was just about to wrap up the session, then she stopped and said, "Wait, did you have a dream about him?" I had been writing furiously this entire time, even through my tears. I stopped, looked up at her, holding my breath. I nodded. She said, "He looked different than you expected, but he wants you to know that it was him." I started crying and said to her, "That's what I needed to hear..."
She said, "Oh good, write it down."
I said, "I don't need to. I will remember this moment for the rest of my life."
I can't think of any better way to sum up my experience. I'll share all my notes from the reading soon, but everything Michele said (general and specific) rang true with me. Her approach was caring yet objective. It was just what I needed. I can't wait until the next opportunity to try one of her meditation sessions or development classes.
For more information, about Michele Nappi's shop and services, visit her Facebook page at: https://www.facebook.com/moonlightforspirit.
So, I know I've been missing for a few days. E and I are fighting Mommy-Daughter colds/viruses. It's been quite an adventure spending two straight days inside with a cranky two-year-old who both wants me and hates me at the same time. My Facebook post from this morning sums up our current sick status: 
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