I’ve worked in a few hospitals, and as you might imagine, they are just full of the spirits of the deceased. People pass suddenly, people pass silently, and people pass into spirit surrounded by their loved ones at the end of life. Some move on right away, but some stick around for a while.
One night I went off to take my break. Since all the other break/sleeping spots were full of napping co-workers, I chose an empty room and stretched out on one of the beds. Not something I normally did, nor something I repeated after this night.
He rose up out of the floor as soon as my head hit the pillow.
“That’s my bed.” He hissed, crouched at the foot. His hands reached and clutched at the covers, but he stayed hunched down on the floor. I could only see half his face, long and grey, with wispy, flyaway hair. His eyes were incredibly sad.
“That’s my bed.” He repeated, with more conviction now. “Get out of my bed. It’s mine.” He seemed to be struggling weakly, and with this odd doubling of my vision, I was suddenly seeing two scenes. The darkened room as it was, with the covers still neatly tucked and pulled tight, and overlaid on that, a vision of a rumpled bed. With exposed sheets pulled down over the end of the bed, and my hissing friend on the ground, tangled in them. His legs were so wound up in them that he couldn’t get up. I tried reasoning with him; it had worked before with other spirits.
“Look, I just want to rest here for a bit. I won’t bother you, and I’ll be gone soon.”
“No, it’s my bed!” He was adamant, and now looked petulant. “I want to get back in it!”
I sighed, and got up, wandering off down the hall. “Fine, it’s your bed. I’ll leave it to you.” I told him. But as I walked off, he looked frankly puzzled. A few minutes later I was back in the room, there wasn’t another place to go rest and take my break. I dragged a chair over to the window so I could prop my feet up. I slouched down and told the spirit curled on the floor, “Okay, it’s your bed, but I need to rest and this place is it. So, I’d appreciate it if you’d be quiet and keep to your bed. I’m going to nap!” So help me, he shut up, still with that puzzled look on his face. The rest of my break passed uneventfully.
I didn’t talk with my co-workers about my encounter in the room at the end of the hall, but one night the discussion of ‘worst death you’ve ever seen’ came up. Yeah, late night talk brings up some morbid subjects, but I was so new I had nothing to contribute. Not so my fellow late-nighters. One described finding a patient on the floor, tangled in bedding. She pointed and said, “It was in that room at the end of the hall.” Of course it was.
A few nights later, my new friend found me, as I was trying to nap in one of the break rooms.
“You saw me, you talked with me. No one does that.”
There would be no sleeping this night; grumpy spirit had turned into chatty Kathy. He wanted to know how, and he wanted to know why. He would find me most nights that I worked, even if it was just to pop in and say ‘hi.’ He told me he found talking to me “comforting.”
Several times I told him, “You know you’re dead, right? You are stuck here in this hospital, and you don’t have to be. You can go into the light, move on; you can go home.” He refused. At one point, I asked him, why not? Then, he did something completely unexpected. I was lying down on a couch, and he moved so that he was standing at my head. Very gently, he placed both his hands on the crown of my head. It went instantly cold.
“You’re the only light I see.” He sounded a little sad when he said it.
It was a very odd moment for me. He wasn’t trying to harm me, he wasn’t trying to do anything at all, but I could sense he’d become fond of me. In that odd instantaneous communication that sometimes happens between a spirit and myself I saw what he meant.
He couldn’t see the light; he didn’t know which direction was home. I was the one bright spot in his afterlife because I was the only one who acknowledged his continued existence. Any other living person ignored him, either willfully or because they just didn’t see him. I knew then, that it was incredibly lonely for him, and it broke my heart.
“I am not the light you are seeking, I’m just someone who knows you’re still a person and is not afraid to talk with you.” I told him. “It is your choice to go, or to stay here, but you do not need to be this lonely and sad. You can go home, you can go into the light and be with your loved ones again. But you have to turn and look for it. Your loved ones will be there to help you find your way.” We had this discussion a few times over the course of the months I worked there. He was afraid, initially, to look around. Being stuck on a hospital floor was boring and lonely, but it was at least an existence, of sorts. To try and search out the ‘light’ and ‘home’ that I spoke of was an unknown, and scary.
The reasons a person gets stuck on the Earth plane are as varied as human existence. While it is true that everyone has spirit guides, it is also true that conditions here in the physical realm can cause them to lose sight of you. Any number of mental or physical conditions (drug abuse, depression, are just a couple I can think of) can make it difficult for those in spirit to find or connect with those they love who are still incarnate here on Earth. In an ideal world, when a person’s body dies, their guides and loved ones in spirit are right there to help them with the transition. But, as we all know, death (and life!) situations are not always ‘ideal’ and a spirit becomes Earthbound.
That’s where I come in; as a psychopomp, it’s my ‘job’ to help get the Earthbound unstuck. Working closely with my guides, once I’ve established contact with a spirit I can reconnect the Earthbound spirit with his or her own guides and loved ones. The best way I can think of to describe this is, I ‘light them up’ energetically. This energy goes out like a beacon that draws in helpful spirits and guides. I should emphasize that this is always at the Earthbound’s choice, and I have some very powerful guides and allies who ensure that everyone plays nice.
My night-shift friend did eventually find his way into the light, he waved happily as he crossed over. The love and light he projected in thanks was beautiful.
Have you ever feared or dreaded something, only to find once you were on the other side of it, it wasn’t frightening at all? What used to scare you, that now is dear, or familiar?