Wednesday, May 1, 2013

Only Fools Believe (page 51 of Pieces of Me)

Only Fools Believe
Trust in the Lord with all your heart; and don't lean on your own understanding. In all things acknowledge him, and he shall direct your way.”--Proverbs 3:5,6
            It sounds crazy to want to see a psychic. All that phony-bologna stuff. They aren’t real. They steal your money and give you false hope. They are evil. They take advantage of the innocent. Only fools believe.
I’ve heard it all. Yet, I found myself sitting on the edge of my seat as my hairstylist spoke of a psychic she met at a party she recently attended. She listened as the psychic told a stranger a story of his grandfather who had passed. She watched the man cry, along with everyone else at the table. They were mesmerized by this woman’s words.
I had heard of a local psychic, Teresa. She was friends with a few of my girlfriends. I met her once. I thought of speaking with her many times. I just couldn’t get the nerve to ask.
I missed my mom. I missed her just as much as the day she passed, June 18, 2001. They say it gets easier. They say with time…
What I say is, “You never fully get over it. Life will never be the same.”
Does life go on? Yes, of course. Do I laugh? Yes, of course. But there is not one happy occasion, holiday, or accomplishment achieved that isn’t a little less grand because she isn’t here to share it with me.
I used to run through her front door shouting out whatever good news I had.
She would run up to me, throw her arms around me, and say, “That’s my girl!”
She had a way of making everything in life a little better.
            I thought, if I could just talk to my mom. If I could just have a few moments with her I would know she was OK. I would know she was up in heaven. I would know she was safe. One day, I will see her again. One day, I will hear her voice again.
I popped out of my own internal thoughts when my hairstylist said, “Yeah, her name was Teresa.”
“Teresa!” I shouted. “I can’t believe that’s who you saw! I know her.”
Could it be I was being pulled toward her? What are the odds? I fought internally for weeks. You are a fool. But, what if? You are crazy. But, what if? The coincidence was too great.
Next thing I knew, I was sitting on Teresa’s couch.
I felt the nerves and emotions rise as I sat quietly looking around her home. My hands started to shake and my heart race. I wondered if she could tell I was scared. I felt the tears welling up before she even spoke. I looked at this beautiful woman as she slowly closed her eyes. She rubbed her hands as if she was putting lotion on them. Quietly, she started to pray. She opened her eyes looking deep into mine.
“How is your sciatic?” she asked.
“Oh my gosh, that’s crazy!” I shouted out. “It’s bad. I am getting a shot in my back on Thursday. How did you…?”
“I’ve got an uncle figure here. He is an artist. A painter. Known for his unusual brush strokes. Very unusual. They kind of run together,” she said.
“This is crazy! Crazy! That’s my Uncle Frank. I have one of his paintings in my living room,” I said.
“He’s here. He’s here with an Uncle Tony.”
“Oh my gosh, that’s his brother. I can’t believe this,”
I couldn’t think. I couldn’t clear my head. I was just looking at her, looking for words. How could she have known?
We spent the next two-and-a-half hours talking about my family members who had passed. We talked about my future. We talked about my dreams. Things she never would have known. Things even I didn’t know about my own family. I was overwhelmed with the information she had given me. I was thrilled with my new discoveries but still a little disappointed that my mom didn’t come through.
She asked if I had any questions. I wanted to shout out, “What about my mom?” But I just couldn’t make myself do it.
“No, no…I don’t think so,” I said.
She looked at me and said, “Who’s Joyce?”
“My mom.”
To hear the rest of this story and many others check out my book. Pieces of Me at

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