“I’m dancing in Heaven!”
I love reconnecting people with their loved ones who have crossed over. For me, it’s an honor and a privilege, and for a few minutes I feel as though I’m part of the family I’m helping.
This morning I was doing a session for Tim. Before we started I felt the presence of a woman who wanted me to reassure him that she had shown up as he had asked. When the session started though she held back. I realized later it was because Tim was too emotional, and a bit afraid, to be present to hear what she had to say to him. So his father came through first.
Suddenly, I felt her presence again. “Who are you?” I asked, while I was relaying evidence from Tim’s father.
“I’m his wife.” She said.
“Tim, this woman is telling me she’s your wife. Your wife passed?”
“Yes,” he said. I could hear him starting to sob.
She was right. He wasn’t entirely ready to hear what she had to say, because much of the “evidence” she gave to me to give to him, didn’t make sense right away, but did later. For example, I kept telling him she wanted me to acknowledge “Lisa.” He said he didn’t know who Lisa was. Towards the end of the session he said, “I know who Lisa is! She was my wife’s best friend!”
I kept asking her for her name, but she wouldn’t give it to me, giving me the names of others in Tim’s life instead. She did say he had a nickname for her, but didn’t tell me what it is.
I told him she wanted him to put a rose on her pillow. Tim said he had a rose next to their wedding picture. “She says to put it on her pillow, that way every night when you’re about to go to sleep, you can look at it, think of her, and say, ‘Goodnight baby.’ You called her ‘baby,’ yes?”
“All the time,” Tim.
“Well, no wonder she didn’t answer when I asked her name!” I said. “Your name for her wasn’t the name she was born with. It was ‘Baby!'”
At the end of the session I clearly saw a figurine of a ballerina dancing. “Do you have a figurine of a dancing ballerina?” I asked him. No. “Was your wife a ballerina or a dancer?”
“No, but we danced all the time,” Tim said.
“No,” I said, “that’s not it. She is showing me a figurine of a ballerina dancing.”
“Tell him I’m dancing in Heaven.” I repeated to Tim what I heard.
I could hear him sobbing again. “That has a special significance,” he said. “It’s part of a song we played at her funeral. One of the lines is, ‘I hope you’re dancing in Heaven.'”
Tim gave me permission to share this with you, and I’m so grateful he did. You see, this was for Tim, but the message is for all of us, all well. Our loved ones, your loved ones, want you to know you don’t need to worry about them. They’re dancing in Heaven.
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