Mediumship Little Boy Loss

By: Annie Larson, Medium, Reiki Master Teacher & Author

Contact to book a reading: www.MediumAnnieLarson.com

Based on actual events. Names have been changed to protect their privacy.

On a cold gray day in January, I was on the phone with the building manager to fix the heat in our office. “I can almost see my breath!” I exclaimed to the manager who promised me that someone would be out soon to fix it.

The building was over 40 years old, and rent was cheap which was good for our office of three mental health therapists. I left the comfort of my space heater, and went back to the make-shift kitchen, which consisted of mostly a fridge, microwave and a large industrial sink, to make tea in the microwave.

The phone rang and I ran back to the front desk to answer. “Hello, Westwood Therapists, this is Annie. Can I help you?” I said. A gentleman with a slight South Indian accent asked if he could get a session with a therapist. His voice cracked as he explained that he and his wife had recently lost a child and they both were sad, but most especially his wife who was despondent.

“I am so sorry for your loss. Unfortunately, all our clinicians are booked but I’d be happy to put you on our waitlist,” I offered earnestly. I had the sense of a child in spirit next to me.

“Oh,” he said sorrowfully, “Yes my name is Raja Verma.” I wrote his name and phone number down on the long waitlist. “OK, we’ll call you if we have any openings,” I responded.

As I hung up, I heard laughter. A young male child in spirit stood next to me and told me that he was 9 years old and had died. His parents were very sad and that Rhonda, the owner of the therapy group, could help his family. He implored me to help him. I could feel the profound sorrow of his mother’s grief.

I became very anxious, which was a common way for me to feel back then when a spirit approached. The young boy was looking for help and knew that we could help his family. “Ugh, Rhonda is going to kill me for doing this,” I told spirit. “And how am I going to explain this to her?”

Rhonda was the therapist who opened the practice. She was a petite woman who wore her long brown hair in a ponytail and carried herself like a man. She wore mostly baggy pants and shirts that hid her well-shaped muscular figure. She had warm, compassionate hazel eyes that squinted slightly when she listened to someone share sad thoughts. We clicked immediately when I interviewed for the open position that would support her office of three clinicians. The pay was meager, but it gave me a sense of direction and purpose as my children were older and no longer needed me as much. I’d help grow the practice to seven therapists before leaving to reconnect to my spiritual path as a medium.

Rhonda discovered my skills as a psychic and a medium shortly after I began working there. I could not stop psychic images and information from flowing as I encountered clients. Like the couple who came for marriage counseling that argued all the time, that I knew would--and did--eventually divorce. Or the female client who regularly endured physical altercations with her spouse and brought the energy of her awful husband with her to the office that I would have to sage and clear after each of her sessions. Or the very religious Mom who brought her child to weekly sessions to be “fixed.” Little did Mom know that her precious daughter wanted to be a boy and was not depressed but simply transgender.

One afternoon after I had been working with this great team of therapists for a couple of months, the mom of a regular teenage client called to let me know that her son’s best friend died suddenly, and she wanted to get him into the office right away. I informed his regular therapist, Kathy, who made plans to see Cliff, the son, at three o’clock.

Just before three, Cliff entered the office suite and walked directly back to Kathy’s office as he was instructed to do without having to check in. As Cliff walked past the front desk, a teenage boy in spirit followed him who had just died; and I had the sense he didn’t know it. Filled with emotions, I began to cry. I was sad he was so young and that he had no idea he was dead.

I told the travelling spirit companion that he was no longer of this earth. I begged him not to stay too long and to say his goodbyes and leave. I warned him about overstaying. He in turn shared his name and details about what had happened to him. He was confused so he clung to his friend and followed him throughout the day.

When Cliff left his appointment, Kathy saw him out. She turned to me with sad eyes. “His dead friend came into the office with him,” I told Kathy. Her blue eyes grew bigger. “Well, what did he look like because I have a picture of him and know what he looks like,” she scoffed in her faded southern accent.

Kathy, who was ever the consummate lady, in dress and in manner, did counseling based on faith. She wore richly woven skirts that fell just below her knees, accompanied by light cotton blouses; all manner of modest clothing to cover her middle age bulge. Her hair, dyed light brown to hide early graying hair, was neatly coifed and curled above her neckline. Her makeup was always perfect, and I doubt I ever saw the color of her natural lips underneath perfectly applied rose colored lipstick.

I didn’t want to like Kathy when I met her because of my preconceived notions that she would judge anyone who wasn’t religious--like me. I was wrong. Really wrong. I felt like deep down she was a free spirit like me. She was more open to things outside of her religion than anyone else that I had encountered who was “born again.” She was calculating and cautious when she spoke, measuring every word. As time went on and we talked about deep philosophical ideas and ideals, we were more alike than we both wished to admit. She confided in me things that she probably never shared with anyone else. I too confided in her and felt totally accepted and seen.

By this time Rhonda was done with her session and the two therapists gathered around the front desk. Kathy explained to Rhonda what happened with her client and that apparently I saw the dead friend.

“Oh, I did more than see him. He told me that he was named after an apostle. I believe James or Andrew,” I shared. Kathy looked at Rhonda with big inquiring eyes. “On second thought, I know he’s named James, like the name of one of Jesus’s brothers,” I continued.

“And what did he look like?” Kathy wanted to know as both clinicians were now intently studying me. “He had sandy colored hair parted on the side. He was fair with freckles on his nose and cheeks. He had a lanky teenage build--on the thinner side. He was wearing white shoes--that were no longer white--like cleats with socks that look like baseball or other sport shoes. The socks had red lines at the top. It looked like he was wearing a sports uniform. The bottoms were bright yellow with a green stripe and his shirt was a very pale yellow like a manila file folder.”

Kathy pursed her lips together and confirmed my description of the dead boy and verified his name was James. She could not give confirmation about the uniform.

“He told me that he fell asleep in his uniform. I felt intense pressure in the right side of my head and a darkness like the color of blood washed over my eyes and I was gone,” I shared.

The only details that were shared in local newspapers was that James had a “catastrophic medical event” and that he was “unresponsive” when his mother tried to wake him. James had baseball tryouts earlier in the day and had made the varsity team as a sophomore.

Later we would learn from a friend of Kathy's that used to umpire local baseball games that James was a baseball prodigy and made the varsity team as a freshman. The former umpire heard that James was found deceased in his baseball practice uniform and confirmed the colors (yellow and green pants with pale yellow t-shirt).

What I shared from James with Rhonda and Kathy was overwhelming for them. The incident shook both to their core beliefs. Rhonda reached out to her pastor and began attending church again. Through her beliefs she tried to make sense of it all. How could I know so many details about the fallen boy had I not spoken to him directly? Kathy was less shaken and over the course of my time working there, slowly revealed her own connections to spirit and things that had happened to her, including the haunted house she lived in.

I felt comfortable sharing more of my abilities and felt accepted in a safe space at work. My sharing didn’t last long, and I suspect it’s because I was a little too accurate.

“You have to stop sharing what you’re getting from clients,” Rhonda admonished me several months after the paranormal experience with James. “It’s equivalent to me looking at their social media which we can’t do. We have to allow them to tell us what’s going on in their lives.” Although the clinicians would never tell me a thing about a client because of HIPPA and professional ethics, I knew what I shared hit home. I respected Rhonda’s position and stopped sharing and kept things to myself.

The young boy spirit presented a problem for me because how was I going to tell Rhonda that I just hijacked her last weekly available time that she had set aside for emergencies and planning time because a spirit asked me to and asked for her by name. Rhonda was a well-known therapist with vast experience and a doctorate in Counseling.

“Hello Raja, this is Annie from Westwood Therapists. I’m going to squeeze you in on Monday at one thirty. Come fifteen minutes early for your first session to fill out paperwork. Whatever you do, don’t be late.” The little boy spirit smiled as I hung up the phone. “Tell your dad not to be late,” I smiled and told the boy.

“I don’t know! I don’t know! I don’t know!” I exclaimed to Rhonda for taking her last time slot. “The dad sounded so sad. And I was sad. Before I knew it, I put him on your schedule.”

I couldn’t tell her that the dad's dead son was there next to me as I spoke to Raja. That it was the son who advocated for his family to see Rhonda. I knew she would believe me, but then I’d be sharing things I’m not supposed to share.

“You have another client that is moving soon and I promise I won’t fill that slot,” I crossed my heart with my right hand then held my arm akimbo with two fingers up like I was taking an oath or a pledge. “I promise.”

Raja and his wife, Lakshmi and 3-year-old child, Chris, came to the first session 20 minutes late. “Raja, I told you to be on time,” I implored. “Take the input documents with you and fill them out later. Dr. Borden is waiting for you.”

I ushered them all to Rhonda’s big office in the back, intake paperwork in hand. “Hey, Dr. Borden, your one thirty is here.” I made the introductions and was walking back to the front desk when Rhonda asked me to put Chris in the playroom.

I turned on the lights in the playroom, that was directly behind the front desk area, and escorted Chris inside. “Here you go, sport” I said. “Let’s see. There are puzzles and action figures and zoo animals. What do you like to play with?”

I tried to remember what my son liked when he was three but that was decades ago, and I was long out of practice entertaining a child. I pulled out fabric bins from child size bookcases and placed them on the floor for Chris to explore. I left the room with the door open and returned to the front desk.

Chris began to play and laugh. I was dumfounded how one 3-year-old could make so much noise. Next, I heard the laughter of two children with distinctly different tones. I got up from the desk and turned the corner to the playroom where Chris looked up and smiled and laughed. The room was a mess with almost every toy from every bin dumped on the floor. “I gotta go potty,” he said.

“I don’t get paid enough for this,” I said under my breath, as I put out my hand to lead him to the lady’s room.

And so regular sessions began throughout the winter. The heat was fixed in the office as winter gave way to the warmer seasons. Chris, with his big brown eyes and sweet baby face, came to most sessions early on. The playroom entertained Chris and his big brother in spirit whose name I would learn on the last session was Nitin.

By October, Lakshmi, who rarely ever talked to me, was showing. She looked about eight months pregnant. Chris had stopped coming to sessions in the spring and I no longer sensed Nitin’s spirit. I smiled at her belly when they checked in. Rhonda greeted them warmly as they proceeded back to her office. This time I sensed an overjoyed Nitin and had the feeling he was celebrating a birthday. “I’m 10,” he shared.

After the session, Lakshmi left the front entrance to use the restroom. Raja followed her out but hesitated at the door. He turned to me and said, “Today was our last session. I just want to thank you for all your help over the past year. It was a difficult time for our family because our child died.”

I had butterflies in my stomach as I wanted to shout out “Yes, yes I know about your son! He came to me. He played in the playroom with Chris. He’s been happy and joyous, and told me that today is his birthday!” but I could not utter a word of it.

Raja continued, “Nitin, our son, would be 10 today,” he paused to gather his composure as tears welled up in his big brown eyes that look like adult versions of Chris’s eyes.

“I am so sorry for your loss. How did he die?” I asked without thinking that this might be too prying.

Raja cleared his throat and told me that Nitin became ill suddenly on his birthday and passed within a day. There was nothing the doctors could do.

Lakshmi appeared in the doorway and took Raja’s arm to motion him away. Raja tenderly looked at his wife and turned back to me and said, “Well, thank you again. Many blessings to you. We are in a much better place now. Take care.”

I bowed my head and thanked Raja. Nitin smiled at me and departed with his parents.

“Happy Birthday, Nitin,” I quietly whispered.