Page 10 - July Aug flipbook

Why I Talk to The Dead
by Psychic Medium Jesse Austin
Many people have asked me why I talk to those who have passed on. “What purpose does it serve?”,“Is it just a curiosity?”,“Do they ever tell you anything valuable, like where the family fortune is hidden?”.
In answer to these questions, I like to tell the story of a friend of mine I’ll call Alice.
Alice is seventy. She still talks to her long departed grandmother nearly every day.
When Alice was a preschool kid, she would often see her little grandma in the kitchen.
Even though her grandmother was quite dead, she talked to Alice, took an interest in her new mittens, and if she seemed low, her grandmother shot her a smile of pure warmth and love.
Through Alice’s parents’ divorce, a rare event in the fifties, her father’s imprisonment, and her inappropriate placement, by her mother, in a home for mentally impaired children, her grandmother would often just be there, smiling, encouraging, and loving her in a way no one else would or could.
The dark, dank place where she spent nearly nine years of her youth was called the St Francis Children’s Home. It was located seven miles outside of Albany, Oregon. Her alcoholic mother stuck her in the home when she was seven. She lisped to her that she wasn’t really a crazy nut, but it would be the best place for her. “I’ll come and get you soon,” her mother promised. She died in
a single car accident that next Christmas.
Alice slept in a room with 40 other youngsters in cots. Her grandmother visited
her often. Sometimes Alice would see only her grandmother’s head and shoulders and beautiful hands. Seeing her grandmother in parts never seemed odd to Alice. She felt instantly happy, and would show her grandmother her bed with the neatly folded gray blanket.
When Alice was in her teens it was discovered she was a gifted athlete. At sixteen a foster home was finally arranged. That spring she made the Albany High School soccer team. She played in a mid-season game as a sub for the wing position. In the second, half her head was smashed hard against the ground. It was her grandmother that led her off the field. She chatted with her little grandma and tried to introduce her to the coach.
After the usual years of self-discovery, Alice opened her heart to exploring her gifts to help others. When she was thirty-three, she opened her first office for clients seeking psychic medium services. It was a tiny walkup over a dance studio. One evening she was drawing, her relaxation, when her grandmother patted the back of her hand. Being highly sensitive, she felt it and saw it. Her grandmother told her that Nora had a nice smile, and then she vanished.
“Who?”
In the deli across the street the next day,
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