He was my soulmate and he never left me.
When I was a young girl, I received a detailed premonition of the man that I would one day marry. So I was content to wait for him to appear.
And he did appear on the first day of my freshman year at Vassar College. I had been shut out of all the introductory sociology classes and I was told to ask Jean Pin, the department chair, if he could find a spot for me in one of the closed classes.
I never believed in love at first sight . . . till I walked into his office. Jean was the most beautiful man I'd ever seen, not just physically. He radiated such inner beauty, kindness and gentleness.
Without warning, I felt my soul shooting at high speed through a tunnel to the end of my life. I received the message that I must remember every aspect of our meeting, because he would be everything to me one day.
I soon learned that, for most of his life, Jean had been one of the most famous Jesuit priests in history. A religious pioneer who taught at the Vatican, he launched to international fame when he publicly opposed the Pope and the Catholic church's attempts to block the legalization of divorce. His fight resulted in the legalization of divorce. Soon after, the Pope granted him the dispensation of his vows and he left the Jesuit order and the priesthood and was recruited by Vassar.
Four years after our fated meeting, I needed help with the statistical portion of my senior thesis and my advisor didn't know statistics. Even though I wasn't his advisee, Jean cheerfully gave me his time.
In the weeks that passed, we fell madly in love. Despite our vast age difference and different cultural backgrounds and religions (I was actually raised by two Jewish atheists who taught me to not believe in God or the afterlife. And the only religion they practiced was religiously hating each other) we were completely compatible. Twins separated at birth. Soul mates. We loved the same activities, music, books and hobbies. We wrote books together, ran businesses together, restored and decorated houses together, and rejoiced in every moment that we spent together. We were inseparable. He remained by my side, my loyal and beloved supporter at every moment of our 27 years together. Whenever I was down, he wrapped me in his arms and really listened to me with such patience, gentleness, and acceptance. I asked him once, "How can you give me so much?" and he said, "I just love you, Jamie."
In the last year of his life, we began having premonitions that he was going to die of an accident. We just didn't know when or where.
On the day we departed for our last summer vacation in Italy, lightning struck our rose arbor and destroyed it. Then, at least 50 crows appeared in the yard. I shook off the omens, and we traveled to Sperlonga Italy as planned. Perched high upon rocky cliffs, the whitewashed fortified walls of this ancient Roman resort town towered majestically above the endless blue blanket of the bay below. Whitecaps fluttered like strips of lace bobbing up and down in the unusually choppy water.
After days of rain, the sky finally cleared, and we headed to the beach. As we were talking, I noticed that Jean had raised his left hand above his head, as if to block the rays of the sun. Suddenly, a bee swooped down and stung his left palm.
"We have to get to the hospital," he managed. "I can't breathe."
I could hear him struggling for air. Fluid was rattling in his lungs, rising like a deluge that threatened to drown him. I sped along the road mumbling something, anything that might reassure him. That might reassure me.
"You have what babies get," I babbled. "It's like the croup. Don't worry. The hospital will help you." I looked askance at him. "I love you," I said, with all the conviction my heart could hold.
He said, "I love you." These were the last words he ever spoke to me. I never got to kiss him or tell him good-bye before he slipped into unconsciousness and his heart stopped.
Back in the hotel room, I collapsed onto the bed. The sound of his suffocating droned in my head like an endless stutter. Etched into my brain was the image of my sweet love's beautiful face turned scarlet.
The pain in my heart seared my chest. My ears felt as if they would rupture from the sound of my pounding heart. I was sure I was dying of a heart attack or of a heart broken. As I lay on my side of the bed, crying and trembling in terror, I felt as though I'd free-fallen into an abyss of grief and despair.
Suddenly I felt a gentle caress that extended the length of my spine. I glanced over my shoulder. Nothing. No one was there. But he was there; he's been with me ever since.
Jean has asked me to tell our story and share his miraculous and ongoing spirit manifestations (often in front witnesses) to let the world know, to let you know, that we don't die and our relationships don't end in death.
As a result of my experiences, and encouragement from friends and patients, and Hay House, I've written a book, Love Never Dies, where I present my new grief therapy method that vastly diverges from the Western approach that tells people to grieve, let go and move on. This leaves the bereaved at an even greater loss.
Love Never Dies guides you to say hello, not good-bye. How to create a state of receptivity and how to recognize the signs of spirit presence, so that you can re-establish your relationships with loved ones in spirit without the assistance of a medium.
I can't think of a soul alive who doesn't harbor unfinished business with someone who's passed. While traditional Western grief therapy offers us no solution, my Dialoguing with the Departed technique offers you a real way to make peace with the deceased. I am thrilled to report that the healing and peace that the deceased have been experiencing is remarkable and very gratifying.
I am so excited to share Love Never Dies with you so you reconnect and transform your grief to joy.
Order Love Never Dies today and claim your free video of Dr. Turndorf's riveting Bigger Game Expo talk when her husband's spirit manifestation was caught on film! Send proof of purchase to email@example.com to claim your gift.
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