"His Story"... as told by "us"...

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I know it’s been awhile since I’ve updated, but again, it’s not for a lack of events, it’s quite the opposite… a lack of quiet time to sit and process it all. So now that I’ve found myself with just such a time, let me tell you “Michael's Story” (as I experienced it).

When news broke of Michael Jackson’s death, I was sitting out on the deck, flipping channels on our portable TV. As I happened upon one channel, I saw an aerial view of some estate, and a bunch of black cars, but didn’t really understand what had happened, until I read the headline that ran across the top of the screen: “Michael Jackson found dead”. Before I could even process that in my mind, I saw an image slowly forming to my left, and turned to see him standing there, arms crossed, as if he was hugging himself, watching the TV with me. He appeared very much like he did at the time of his death, awkward, tragic. He was very distressed and at first I thought (or perhaps assumed) that it was because his death was a shock and he hadn’t had time to process it for himself yet, (as is often the case with most of the spirits I work with). But he clarified for me when he turned, looked me in the eye and said “I don’t want them to know…” Naturally, I asked “who” and he answered without really speaking, but more giving me the words "my fans", along with a very powerful sense of love and gratitude. I then got a hint of drug addiction/dependency and felt very sad and lonely. Then, just as quickly as he appeared, he was gone, (although I had inkling I had not seen the last of him).

Next time I saw him, he seemed a bit more relaxed, although his appearance hadn’t changed much. He still expressed some remorse about what had happened, but told me he held no one at fault ~ he assumed full responsibility for what happened to him (even though the police and media appeared hell-bent on proving otherwise). He told me that he wasn’t honest with “Dr. Murray”… that he had not told him about other medication he had taken the night he was injected with the fatal dose of “sleep medicine” or “sleepy juice” (as he referred to it). He seemed less concerned with the legalities of the case and very concerned with public opinion… and I don’t say that as a typical "Hollywood-type" person might say it… he sincerely felt (and projected that same feeling onto me) that his fans were the love of his life…his whole reason for living and being, and he didn’t want to be a disappointment to them. In that moment, I had such a flood of emotion I’m not sure I can even articulate it… love, sorrow, joy, fear, guilt, shame.... But mostly I felt such compassion and a startling sense of honor and respect because the man who stood before me projected an overwhelming and unconditional love for, what were to him, complete strangers. He was truly one with all humanity.

Although I didn’t ask about the child abuse allegations, he did offer up his perspective on his cash settlements. He told me that he was only trying to save the children from any pain. He didn’t want them to suffer through a trial and be subjected to all the media hype and scrutiny that he was so painfully familiar with. He simply wanted to spare them a childhood not unlike his own… thrust into the spotlight that, at times, felt more like the torches of an angry lynch mob. And after all, it was “just money”, which made me smile at the irony of his statement... as I realized that the more of it you have? The less you value it. Maybe that’s why Michael valued love above all else….because, ironically, that was something he felt deprived of.

As the days passed and he started transitioning, he gradually appeared to me as younger and younger. One evening he was feeling quite playful and was smiling and laughing with me as I got ready for bed. He felt like a best friend, someone I felt comfortable with (unlike some spirits who, although they don’t register a human response to my nakedness, make me uncomfortable nonetheless). He presented as more like his “Thriller” days (maybe early 20’s) and I remember commenting that he really WAS like Peter Pan… an eternal boy…young and playful. That comment got him quite excited and he jumped on the bed exclaiming “Oh, but I AM Peter and you can be Tinkerbell... oh, wait… you’re too “heavy” to be Tinkerbell… You can be Wendy...” I turned to him, wry smile on my face, and said “Did you just call me “FAT”? (Knowing full well that he meant my human energy was heavy, but I wasn’t about to let the remark go unnoticed). He covered his mouth, giggling, and dropped, crossed legged on the bed. I crawled in next to him and gave him a virtual punch in the arm. He feigned pain and fell over backward giggling as I said “you’re lucky you’re dead… cuz that one would’ve hurt!” We giggled and laughed as the night went on and as I drifted off to sleep, he stayed by my side, smile on his face, light reflected in his eyes…

As the days progressed Michael stopped visiting as frequently. I was wondering if he had fully reconciled his own life and had crossed silently without saying goodbye. I watched his memorial on television with my daughter as we made doughnuts in the kitchen. We both cried throughout but Paris’ speech made us both weep openly and I knew that what she was trying to tell the world was that her dad was a man so full of a love so big that it knew no boundaries…not race, not color, not even blood. She knew it and that was all that mattered. I somewhat expected to see him around the time of his funeral but still...no sign of Michael.

A week or so later, on a sunny afternoon, I was gazing out my window at the trees and the sunshine wondering how to spend the day when I saw a figure walking toward me out of the light. I immediately recognized his energy and thought it was befitting that it appeared as if there was a brilliant “spotlight” behind him. I smiled to know that he was where he belonged, and prepared to welcome him as he came to assure me he had, indeed crossed over. Nothing could have prepared me for the surprise he had in store for me….

I was born 6 weeks premature, was put in an incubator for 2 months while my mother recovered from a post-partum infection. I was told that my grandmother took care of me because my mother was still sick in hospital although I was fit to be released. I had a stronger bond to my grandmother than any other human being on the planet. She loved me unconditionally and always held me on her lap, whispering words of love… even at the age of 24 (when I thought I was surely too old to sit on my grandma’s lap). Every magical and wonder-filled experience I had in life I shared with her. She died when I was 28 and although I saw her spirit at her service, I longed to have some reassurance that her “heaven” was all that she thought it would be. Sadly, no psychic could verify her presence for me and I always felt a void.

As Michael walked toward me out of the light, I saw him lean over and whisper to someone whom he was walking with, arm in arm, and as he drew even nearer, I saw his face… smiling brightly, eyes glistening and playful. Then I noticed who it was he was walking with – it was my grandmother! The two of them walked up to me and I stood, unable to speak, tears streaming down my face as my grandmother and I embraced. The experience was so incredibly real and vivid… I could feel her soft warmth against my skin, could smell her perfume and hear her whispering words of love (although I couldn’t make them out, the familiarity was unmistakable). Speechless, I just “mouthed” a hoarse “thank you” as Michael smiled, bowed and stepped back, allowing me to fully savor the moment.

There was an exchange of energy with my grandmother that defies human experience. I stood motionless, save the tears of joy streaming down my face. I felt as if we had crammed an entire eternity into that single moment and as our embrace parted, we looked deep into each other’s eyes…and I finally KNEW, that my grandmother was more than “ok”, more than "at peace"… she had found her “heaven”.