Word of the Day: Psychic (si’-kik) “a person who is sensitive to influences or forces of a nonphysical or supernatural nature.”
It is still hard for me to grasp, but my father has been dead almost 34 years now. He was a WW II vet, a dreamer, and like so many of his generation, the Greatest Generation, a cigarette smoker. Back in those days, the Army actually provided each GI with a carton a week. It was those cigarettes that ultimately resulted in his early death at age 63.
About six months before we learned about my Dad’s lung cancer and were still living in a state of unaware happiness, I had a reading done by a psychic who was a friend of a friend. This guy, I don’t even recall his name today, accepted no money for his readings. He said he didn’t feel it was right to take money for a gift that he had been given. He used a deck of cards in his readings, not tarot cards or anything esoteric like that, just plain old playing cards. He said the cards just helped him to focus. He did suggest that I take notes on what he said as he often didn’t recall the details after the reading. I still have those notes. I’m not usually a “keeper,” but I have held on to those pages of notes.
The information he passed on to me from whatever source made no coherent sense, but nonetheless, I carefully wrote down all he revealed to me. He told me that he saw a serious illness in someone close to me. I have always heard that responsible psychics are very, very careful about how they convey bad news or death, and he was certainly circumspect in what he said. He told me he saw a forest with no trees, a pond with ducks swimming, and kept seeing the number 7 over and over again. Then to add another seemingly disjointed component, he said he saw circus scenes and a sad clown holding a bunch of balloons. Now, that is certainly an unrelated and seemingly meaningless bunch of items! I thought, “How strange,” and tucked my notes away in my desk. There didn’t seem to be anything in his comments that pertained to me. I never talked to the psychic again and certainly never gave him any feedback on his rather unusual litany of items.
That reading took place in the fall of 1979. In the spring of 1980 I received a distraught call from my parents. During a routine annual physical, a chest x-ray revealed a highly suspicious black spot on one of my Dad’s lungs. Surgery was scheduled for a week or so later. I flew home to Dallas to be with my Mother for the upcoming surgery. The day of my Dad’s surgery has to be one of the darkest days of my life! As a an ICU nurse, a Critical Care Instructor, and at that time a Director of Nursing at a large hospital in Louisville, Kentucky, I knew so well the poor prognosis for lung cancer. When the surgeon walked out to the waiting room where my Mother and I sat anxiously waiting, I knew from his face what he was going to say before he even began to address us.
My Dad was what is often referred to as an open and shut case. The cancer in the lung was extensive and had already metastasized to the surrounding lymph nodes, bone, and pericardium. There was no point in removing the lung at this point. It was no longer an if; life was now a when. We stayed at the hospital long enough to see my Dad safely ensconced into ICU, then headed back to my parents’ house. We were both in shock and grief. A few days later we attended a support group meeting for newly diagnosed cancer patients and their families. This meeting was held on the Oncology Unit, where my Dad was transferred after a few days in ICU.
Now, you are probably wondering, so what does this have to do with the psychic’s visions? The hospital was Medical City Dallas, opened in 1974. The hospital’s location is 7777 Forest Lane– a forest without trees. In those days, before the extensive development of today surrounding the area, there was a pond alongside the drive up to the hospital, with ducks swimming in it, and then there were all of the 7’s. The address of the hospital was 7777, the Oncology Unit was on the 7th floor of the hospital, and the cancer had spread to the 7th rib. Coincidence? I don’t know. When we went to that support group session in one of the conference rooms on the Oncology Unit, it was decorated with large framed prints of circus scenes, one of which was a sad-faced clown holding, you guessed it, a bunch of balloons!
That night, back at the house, I shared these strange revelations with my Mother. Neither of us knew what to make of this information, and I still don’t. Several years ago I had occasion to go back to Medical City Dallas on business. The hospital looked much the same as I remembered it, but the surrounding area had greatly increased development and congestion. It gave me an eerie and uncomfortable feeling to be back at the scene of so much pain and sorrow. My Dad lived another 18 months after that diagnosis and surgery, which is a long survival time for lung cancer. To this day I don’t know what to make of this information. Are some people able to tap into different or higher levels of knowledge than the rest of us? Are these guaranteed outcomes or just possibilities?
©2015, Home Again, A spiritual Journey
Next week let me introduce you to some of our menagerie on Willow Brook Road. See you then!
