Healing through Direct Afterlife Connections

Just a few days after my son Brandon’s passing, I sat meditating quietly in a darkened room. In the past I had experienced feelings that proved to be accurate, but rarely anything graphic. Now I saw an image of Brandon’s face, which I felt was surrounded by something indescribable but which gave the sensation of warmth and joy. I can best describe this feeling as a simultaneous melding of different sensory input. After the vision of Brandon’s face, I saw a symbol, a cross with an oval loop at the top. I was not familiar with this particular image so I later searched on the Internet. The cross proved to be an “ankh,” an ancient Egyptian symbol that predates the cross of the crucifixion. The lower portion of the symbol represents physical life, while the oval loop portion at the top symbolizes eternal life. I took this visionary message as a symbolic way to confirm that Brandon was indeed alive and well.[i]

These experiences were not limited to me, but came to my family members and friends as well. My son Steven also began meditating after Brandon died. About a week into the process and two weeks after the passing, Steven had a vivid dream that both he and I believe was an astral experience.

Astrals, commonly referred to as “Out-of-Body Experiences,” are different from everyday dreams. During astrals, our senses are astonishingly lucid, and surroundings seem exceptionally real. While in this state, our physical body remains asleep while our soul or “spiritual body” apparently travels in other realms or “planes.”

While sleeping, Steven heard music emanating from our living room. Walking toward that room, he saw Brandon playing the bass guitar. He immediately ran to his brother and gave him a hug. He later noted that the embrace was so real he actually felt the threads of fabric on Brandon’s shirt.

Steven then asked his brother, “What’s it like?”

Brandon replied, “At first it was so weird, but now it feels incredible. Why don’t you come visit me more often?”

The scene was amazing for its ordinariness and obvious supernatural aspects, and it also suggested that Brandon had entered a different zone of space-time because it seemed too soon to ask this poignant question.

After the encounter with his brother, while still physically asleep, Steven hovered above his body and observed the time on a clock in his room. As he awoke, Steven opened his eyes and looked at the clock, finding that the time was exactly the same as what he had just seen in his “dream” without the aid of his physical senses . . . his grandfather’s son, for sure. So, it seems that the incident with the clock was a validation.

While lying in bed on Saturday, February 17, 2004, I was thinking about Brandon and strongly sensed his presence. In my mind I thought, “Brandon, I know that you are here—please just give me a sign.” Within a millisecond, I heard a very loud rap in the bedroom and, since the sound originated from the room’s interior, it was clear that no external force could have caused it.

A few nights later, in my dream, I saw a young version of Brandon playing in the back of a minivan that we used to own. For some odd reason, I couldn’t seem to stay in a dream state and started to wake up. As this occurred, I noticed a pronounced rattling coming from the area around our sliding glass door. I then realized that the chain used to open the vertical blinds was banging. There was no draft in the room at the time, nor was there any physical explanation for this phenomenon.[ii]

About two weeks after Brandon’s passing, I made contact with James Linton and Eadie Ostlund. These two people had been following Brandon’s group on the mountain on the day he died and they were the first to arrive on the scene in an effort to provide assistance.

The couple noted that they’d been hiking in the McDowell Mountains that day with friends and followed Brandon’s group for about three hours. Eadie was strangely drawn to Brandon and his friends and felt the need to stay near the boys. Eadie recalled experiencing mixed emotions, ranging from delight upon seeing the teenagers laughing and joking, to an inexplicable sense of anxiety. She did not understand these feelings, yet they persisted all day. What was it, I wondered, that drew Eadie to Brandon’s group? Was she an unwitting aide in a cosmic process, beyond her immediate surface awareness? Brandon and his friends moved at a fast clip, creating separation from James and Eadie’s group. As Eadie noted, “We saw the boys throughout the day, on a pace that was typically about twenty to thirty minutes ahead of us. I continued to keep an eye out for them and remembered that one boy’s red shirt was particularly easy to spot. [Stuart Garney was wearing the red shirt.] Mike, one of the men in our group, wanted to venture around the back of the mountain through a wash, but I was reluctant because I wanted to stay close to the boys. I just kept thinking about the possibility of an emergency. “For about an hour, I had this anxious feeling and wanted to get to the top in order to see the other group again.”

As James and Eadie reached the summit, they saw one of the boys waving for help in the distance. As Eadie shared, “When we made it to the top I saw a boy waving his arms, jumping up and down. [This proved to be Stuart.] At first I thought he was saying ‘hello’ but soon realized that he was calling for help. At this point I knew something was seriously wrong and immediately called 911. Mike ran ahead to meet the boys, while I stayed put in an effort to retain my cell phone signal. Despite these efforts, my call dropped about halfway through the conversation and I was forced to call back two more times. The person I spoke to failed to grasp the extreme urgency of the situation, as I had to repeatedly stress our need for immediate help. Jim, Laurie, and I started moving toward the boys, following Mike’s path. Mike arrived at the spot where Stu and Brandon were located about ten to fifteen minutes after leaving our group. Upon his arrival, Mike yelled back, ‘He’s not breathing—call 911 again to send a chopper!’ At this point I knew that someone in their group had died.”

When Jim, Eadie, and Laurie approached the group of boys, they saw Brandon lying on his back, pale white. It was obvious to the adults that he had already passed away, but they didn’t know how to share this with the boys, who seemed to be in a state of confusion and perhaps denial.

Stuart Garney, Brandon’s best friend, and another friend, Chris, had been working vigilantly, performing CPR for over thirty minutes in an effort to resuscitate him. Eadie encouraged the boys to head back down the mountain and most of them did, but Stuart refused to leave Brandon’s side. The EMTs arrived soon thereafter and tried to revive Brandon, but it was too late.

Eadie continued, noting, “I remembered feeling bad for the family, knowing that the parents would soon hear from the authorities about their son. I also remember feeling terrible for those young men and what they had to go through that day, losing their friend and not being able to save him. I had this feeling of guilt inside for not paying attention to my sense of anxiety and worry. Could we have intervened and helped prevent this or at least provided CPR sooner?”

James said that the area where they found Brandon’s body seemed hallowed, and that he sensed his spirit “hovering above.” I then shared my uncle’s earlier affirmation, where he noted that my father had met Brandon upon his passing.

In response James said, “Not only was your father there with Brandon, but a host of angels as well.” Continuing, James noted, “As I stepped away from Brandon and allowed the EMTs to work on him, I first sensed him hovering. I didn’t see a person in the flesh per se but had a vision in my mind’s eye, where the sky opened up and a host of angels was there to welcome him.”

James and Eadie sensed a positive spiritual energy all around them. James shared, “To me, the feeling was almost like being on camera; you know that a lot of people are watching but you can’t see them. I knew something tragic was happening, yet I felt as if there was an invisible arm around each of us, letting us know ‘It’s going to be alright.’ In fact, I was drawn to a boy [Stuart] whom I hugged. I then remember saying, ‘It’s going to be alright, it’s going to be alright’ even though I knew he [Brandon] was gone. I felt calm and comfort in the midst of chaos. Stu had noted seeing multiple points of strange lights in front of him as he hiked back down the mountain. When I asked him to describe these lights, he said that they were like “auras” or “small colorful orbs.” Other friends at the base of the mountain, including Stephen Varns, also noted seeing some “strange twinkling lights” in the area where Brandon died.

Six months after Brandon’s passing, my wife and I took a vacation cruise with our son Steven and the boys’ friend Stuart Garney. On the evening we returned home my wife, while sitting at the foot of our bed, felt Brandon’s presence and then saw him to the right as a “shadowy figure,” discernable through her peripheral vision. Susie felt a sense of warmth and comfort.

On the following morning, we received a call from our new musician friend James Linton, who had been alone all week while Eadie visited relatives in Michigan. During this period, James spent most of his time composing and recording music, and strongly sensed the presence or energy of another. He felt pushed to modify a particular song, which would later become “The Other Side.” As James sat down he saw a “shadowy figure” out of his peripheral vision in much the same manner as Susie had, and also (later in his songwriting session) flashes of white light—in fact, multiple points of rapidly moving light that produced something akin to “a vapor trail.”

James had experienced accurate precognitive dreams before, but nothing like this. Wondering if he was losing his mind, he kept trying to regroup and snap out of this mental state, but there was no escaping this odd sensation. After accepting the apparent reality of what was taking place, he finally gave in. At this point, James found himself asking the following question out loud: “Okay, Brandon, what do you want me to do?” After this bold affirmation, everything started to flow.

James was guided to modify two main parts of the song, the bass line and lyrics. James’ initial bass track was basic by design to feature the guitar. Additionally, he did not own a bass guitar so I had loaned him Brandon’s instrument, which presented another complication. Since James is left-handed and Brandon was right-handed, James had to play the bass upside down. Initially, this seemed to be a limiting factor. As he began to revise the bass track, however, something very unusual took place. James started playing an entirely new and more complex line and said, “It felt as if someone else took over while I was playing.” The new track resembled Brandon’s style of playing.

After finishing the bass track James felt instructed to “listen to the music without the words.” His original lyrics and music were now completely different—this was entirely new material. The new lyrics, which came to James rapidly, were captured and recorded almost immediately.

After finishing the project James told us that “The Other Side” was the best song he’d ever written, but that he didn’t write it. James explained that the song was a gift from Brandon to us, his family.[iii]

In late fall of 2005, my son Steven and a friend had independent experiences that seemed to correlate to one another, followed a short time later by the most enjoyable and exhilarating connection experience I’ve ever had.

On September 28, 2005, my son Steven had an intensely vivid dream involving his brother that we both assumed was astral projection or out of-body experience. The event was so real and tangible that Steven woke up depressed upon realizing that his brother Brandon was not physically with him. On his drive to work that morning, Steven noted feeling his brother’s presence just as if he were riding along in the car next to him. The visitation was bittersweet for Steven, comforting on one hand yet painful on the other.

Later that morning Steven received a phone call from a friend, David Friedman. David, who had been close with both Steven and Brandon, described a similar dream encounter, which occurred on the same night as Steven’s episode. Before this event David had not experienced a single dream involving Brandon since his passing—a period of one year and nine months. In recalling his encounter, David described a conversation in which he asked Brandon to share his thoughts about dying at such a young age. In response, Brandon told David that he had “no regrets” and shared his perspective that “death is part of life.” Brandon went on to explain that he now enjoys tremendous freedom, which allows him to be wherever he wishes with just a thought. David was then able to experience a sampling of Brandon’s world, sensing a lack of restrictions as he “sailed over mountaintops with an indescribable feeling of joy and freedom.”

In the afterlife, perhaps there is no need for “real mountains” in order to facilitate such an adventure—maybe one just has to think it to live it. When you consider how we perceive such things—through senses that are subject to distortion, merely relaying interpretations of what seems to be out there—who is to say which experience is more real? Then again, the next realm could conceivably be just as real and solid as this one. It seems a matter of the arrangement or architecture of energy.

Ultimately the tandem nature of Steven’s and David’s encounters point to something outside chance, beyond coincidence, especially knowing that this was David’s first such “dream” involving Brandon, and both boys’ experiences took place the same night.

Two months later, I experienced my own profound episode involving Brandon. Just before going to sleep one particular night, I made a prayer request for a visit from my son and asked to be able to remember everything afterward. This appeal was answered beyond my wildest hopes, in that I experienced one of the most profound and enjoyable occurrences in my life —a visit with my son.

The first thing I must say is that the experience was incredibly lucid, feeling every bit as vivid as a personal interaction with someone while wide awake. In fact, I truly thought I was awake and knew with certainty that the encounter was absolutely real. The two of us were alone in a stark room that was “self-illuminated” in white light. There was no furniture or light fixture of any kind; it was just an empty white room with three walls. It was amazing to note that where the fourth wall should have been existed was a deep void, which I assumed to be the rest of the universe. . . infinity. It appeared that our small room was but an island or sanctuary, a place for the two of us to meet in the midst of all eternity. Despite the surrealistic nature of our surroundings, it truly seemed that we were both in physical form, fully awake and totally conscious, as mentioned before. Brandon sat in a wall cutout, about counter height, suspended about three to four feet above the ground with his legs dangling but not touching the floor. Dressed in his standard garb, Brandon appeared in a tee shirt and jeans and wore his favorite skater-style sneakers.

Excitedly, I looked at my son and said, “Brandon, you’re back, I can’t believe it!” I then looked around for someone else to tell, calling out for Steven, Susie, and Stu Garney, but none were nearby. I then told Brandon, “I’ve missed you so much since you died” and he responded with a statement that puzzled me greatly, saying, “I didn’t die, my father died.”

I pondered Brandon’s statement for days, wondering why he would refer to me, his father, in this manner. Then I thought about whether he might have been referring to God or someone else with him now who might represent a father persona. After repeated attempts to decipher the meaning of Brandon’s statement, it came to me intuitively. Two nights later I was explaining my experience to Stu, when the meaning came in a flash.

Brandon was simply trying to tell me that there is in fact no death. There is but a transition from this physical realm to the next one, like walking through a doorway, perhaps akin to the missing wall in the white room. So in this respect, Brandon “did not die.” In saying that his “father died,” Brandon was referring to the pain I suffered in “losing” him, which made me feel as if a part of me had died. In hindsight, I believe that the message was delivered in a veiled way so that I would be forced to contemplate the deeper meaning and ponder the significance of his statement. But it could also have been simply that meanings are different in that other world and this was the only way in which he could speak, or more precisely, the only way in which I could understand what he was saying because he wasn’t actually speaking in the embodied sense (mouth, tongue, and pharynx). In fact, this “disconnect” ultimately served as a point of greater validation to me. Had this episode merely been the creation of my mind, seeking to provide a sense of comfort, a different and more predictable set of circumstances surely would have resulted. In such a scenario, I would have expected my son to say exactly what I’d hoped for in a literal way I would have understood. I would have also been satisfied to hear and see him in a manner far less vivid that what I actually experienced. Instead, I encountered something beyond anything I could have requested or had even imagined possible. I was like one of Plato’s cave dwellers suddenly come into the light.

As a footnote, I also came to view the statement about my “dying” in an added way. I understood that a spiritual rebirth had taken place in me, which might never have occurred if not for this painful catalyst.[iv]

I later experienced two impactful dreams involving Brandon in the same week. Each of these events occurred at the end of my sleep, while lying in what was likely a deep REM state. While these episodes were not as vivid as an “astral” experience I had in 2005, which was as clear and tangible as waking reality—in which I believe I went “out of body”—they still bore the stamp of an authentic encounter with my son.

Brandon was younger in these dreams—about ten years old rather than eighteen as he was at the time of his passing. And while these particular experiences were not as lucid as the earlier event, my interaction with Brandon felt completely real and I could sense the love between us. Our talk was relaxed, and Brandon demonstrated the dry sense of humor I’d grown to love. We even hugged.

If the spiritual realm is an alternate dimension of reality, it seems reasonable to think that communication between such divergent spheres would be challenging. I also suspect that the type of manifestation may correlate to our emotional readiness for such a meeting. Further, the validity of the encounter should not be measured solely on the basis of the visual clarity, but equally or perhaps even more on the feeling of connection. Assuming that this sort of contact is telepathic in nature, perhaps the mind receives the equivalent of raw data and converts it into a meaningful message or experience, with consideration for our degree of understanding. When you think about it, such a premise is not so different from waking-state “reality,” where our eyes and ears pass along information to our brain, which interprets the “sights” and “sounds” comprising a significant portion of a personal experience.

In the few days following these experiences with Brandon, I asked myself if they were real encounters or just comforting dreams. It wasn’t until another dream a few days later that my question was answered for me.

Just before waking one morning, I dreamed that I was holding an open container of milk that smelled sour. This odor lingered even after I awoke. I wondered if the milk really had gone bad—the carton was less than a week old. I walked into the kitchen, reached into the refrigerator, and grabbed the carton. The milk was sour. It became clear that I should trust the information I received, whether dreaming or awake.[v]

In the summer of 2006 I took part in a healing workshop facilitated by my father’s friend and former assistant minister, Lin Martin—a man I respected greatly.

During the workshop, I was instructed to complete a “chakra balancing” exercise with a woman named Lyndsey. In this process, one person lies down while the other stands over them and administers healing. Through visualization and intuitive feel, the healer seeks to balance energy evenly among the body’s seven chakras. (The concept of the chakra is tied to Eastern/Hindu philosophy and refers to seven energy centers where the physical body is said to be linked to the soul, spiritual body, or higher self, depending on your terminology preference.)

When I finished administering Lyndsey’s healing, she started crying. I must have had a puzzled expression on my face because she looked up and was compelled to explain what had taken place. Lyndsey said that Larkin [her deceased husband] had visited her during the exercise. She sensed his presence very strongly and felt his large face next to hers but was frustrated that she couldn’t hear him. Then, telepathically, she attempted to tell Larkin, “I can’t hear you, try something else.” A short time later, while my hands were above her second chakra, located near the lower abdomen, Lyndsey suddenly heard Larkin for the first time since his death. Later, in our group debrief, Lyndsey told everyone that this was the most compelling and exhilarating event she had experienced in the four years that had transpired since receiving a startlingly specific and pertinent message from a complete stranger at Larkin’s funeral service. In this case, Lyndsey divulged that her husband had apologized for an unresolved issue during the healing and also told her, “You are so precious.” Lyndsey responded to Larkin with a sense of deep forgiveness and felt as if a major burden had been lifted.

Next it was my turn to experience a chakra balancing. I climbed onto the table, stretched out, and relaxed, hoping to achieve a meditative state. While lying there well into the exercise I started thinking, “This is nice but nothing much is happening.” The very next moment I received a mental impression that seemed to reflect my father’s energy and sense of humor, conveying the message, “You’re not done yet. We’ve got something else in store for you.”

The next thing I knew, the Eastern meditation music being played seemed to morph into “How Great Thou Art,” one of my dad’s favorites and also a selection at Brandon’s service. Moments later my body was flooded with what felt like a strong electrical current running from my head to my toes. This sensation was different from anything I’d ever experienced. I felt as if I were connected to two ends of a high-tension wire—one attached to my feet and the other attached to my head. Along with this electrical sensation, I felt a strong spiritual presence, which I assumed to be my father and possibly Brandon. It felt as if they had poured themselves into me for this brief period, which seemed to last about fifteen seconds.

Just as I was coming out of this state of consciousness, I felt someone touch my nose quite firmly. I initially suspected that Lyndsey did this to stir me, but when I opened my eyes I found her hands nowhere near my face. I then asked if she had touched my nose. She hadn’t and there was no one else near us. This process impacted me deeply, and I surprised myself by breaking down when it concluded. What ran through me felt so loving, joyful, and lighthearted that I was brought to tears. It’s very hard to capture the essence of these feelings in words, other than to say it was a hallowed experience.[vi]

Not long after this experience, another interesting connection took place involving this workshop group.

In early December 2006, I received an email from the medium Jamie Clark, who shared the message, “Brandon says ‘Merry Christmas.’ He wants you to know that he is going to give you a present.” Jamie then asked me to let him know when I received the gift. Christmas came and went and nothing unusual seemed to come my way that would fit the description of a gift from my deceased son. Then a few days after Christmas something rather remarkable happened that seemed to match up with Jamie’s prediction.

I was attending one of Lin Martin’s seminars on December 30, 2006, when another participant named Wendy Hill told me that she had a gift for me. When she handed me the present I noticed that the wrapping paper bore the word “Believe!” Wendy explained that she had been inspired to craft a hand-made wind chime for me, featuring a silver metal frame and stained glass inserts. She noted that the gift was ready before Christmas and she planned to give it to me then, but she missed the prior session due to illness.

I thanked Wendy for the kind gesture but expressed my confusion over what had stirred her to do this. I couldn’t see why I’d been singled out for such a gift when there were many other deserving people in our group. Wendy then told me that she’d been inspired and felt strongly compelled to craft this gift for me. She initially assumed that the inspiration was coming from my sister Robin, who had recently succumbed to cancer, but something else didn’t seem to fit with that idea. Wendy explained that she had begun working on a specific piece when “a strong male energy” told her to try again with the design she had selected initially. Resistant to the unsolicited directive, Wendy continued to work with the piece she’d already picked, but the metal frame somehow broke in the process. She soldered the damaged spot but it immediately broke again. Resolute, Wendy soldered the spot one more time, yet it broke again! She had never experienced anything like this in many years of working with these materials. Submitting to the request she was feeling, Wendy said, “I give up—what is it that you want me to do?”

At this point, Wendy felt guided to start working on a different piece. She had been “told” that she must place a green bead in the center. This seemed to provide a clue as to who was doing the nudging; Brandon’s favorite color was green, and the color had come to symbolize our son to us in many ways. Wendy also felt a sense of insistence that pushed her to wrap the item, although she initially intended to provide the gift unwrapped. Wendy’s experience of being guided in this way sounded remarkably similar to the account provided by James Linton in relation to the composition and recording of the song “The Other Side.”[vii]

[i] Soul Shift, pages 50-51

[ii] Soul Shift, pages 51-52

[iii] Soul Shift, pages 56-62

[iv] Soul Shift, pages 188-190

[v] Messages from the Afterlife, pages 135-136

[vi] Messages from the Afterlife, pages 141-142

[vii] Messages from the Afterlife, pages 142-143