Channeling Erik
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  • April15th

    Understanding Erik

    Posted in: Death, Death of a Child, Grief, Grieving, Life, Love, Struggles, Suicide

    Erik was often misunderstood by so many. He sometimes came across as intense and disheveled. He was tormented by tics and an addiction for cigarettes. But behind all that was a diamond in the rough. Few were kinder. Few were more loving. Few were as understanding. Few were as willing to sacrifice for others.

    Sometimes I felt like the only one in the world who saw the real soul that Erik was. This was a lonely feeling. That changed when I received this email from one of his friends:

    Dear Dr Medhus,

    It is with much respect and condolences that I accepted your invitation to be on your friend list for face book. I have thought about your son Erik and your family often, praying that you find any comfort possible in your egregious loss of his untimely death.

    My last memory of Erik was at Starbucks. I have been employed there for 3 years, and this is how I have come to befriend Erik.

    He truly was one of my favorite Memorial students, which actually says alot. I did not have patience (sometimes still don’t) for many of their adolescent behaviors and attitudes. Erik was different than most of the students and I was always happy to see him. He was always ready to offer a smile, or help to keep the peace on the porch when I had to ask them to behave. We chatted often at the bar or on the patio.

    It was very close to his death when he came into the store seeming withdrawn, not his usual self (at least with me)

    I gave him a drink on the house and we chatted some. I was a little concerned, embarrassed to say that I chalked it up to a bad day or a bad week…he’ll get over it.

    He asked me if I would be his friend on facebook and I was happy to say yes. He added me that day.

    It was only a few short days later before I got the news of his suicide.

    I wish that I would have listened to my instinct and tried to reach out to Erik more. He was a great kid.

    I started reading your blog, and it is inspiring, heart warming to believe that he is still with us on this earthly realm, watching over his friends and family. Though he has peace on the other side, I want you to know I still pray for your family often!

    I wish I could offer much more to you, it is unfortunatley the best I can give right now.

    Please let Erik know that I think of him fondly and miss him too, when you have your next visit with him.

    May you feel his presence often, and may your memories of him be a balm to your breaking heart.

    Respectfully,

    Amber XXXXXX

    When I read this letter, I couldn’t help but sob. My tears were those of gratitude and joy, but also of sorrow that Erik never realized just how worthy of love he was. Here is my response:

    Amber, thank you so much for your note. I’ve felt so alone and sad that no one truly ever understood him except me. He was scruffy and directionless, was plagued by tics and a poor self-esteem, but oh, what a soul. He was so sweet and affectionate. I never heard him say a single bad thing about anyone. He’d get mad at people, but would never hurl personal insults at them. And he loved when people found success. He didn’t have a jealous or petty bone in his body. I thought, until now, that I was the only one who really understood that. Thank you from the bottom of my heart for proving me wrong. Can I post your comments on my blog so others can understand him as well? I will leave any part or all of your name out if you wish.

    Her response:

    You have my blessing to post whatever you like. I am betting there are so many more people than you realize who saw Erik as a sweet soul. I am glad to show you at least I did.

    I hope to receive many such letters in the future. I pray that Erik, with his deeper, broader perception, finally understands how loved he truly was. How bittersweet that some must come to that understanding only after death.

    Lonely but Loved

  • April14th

    Love One, Death Zero

    Posted in: After Death Communication, Bereaved, Channeling, Communication from the dead, Contact with the dead, Death, Grief, Grieving, Love, Struggles, Suicide

    My next series of questions focus on Erik’s big sister, Kristina, who is currently finishing up her second year in medical school. She’s had little or no time to stop and catch her breath since his death, much less go through the full grieving process. His suicide came as such a violent shock to all of us, including her, but she, alone, is caught in the riptide of a merciless medical school curriculum, swept along with no line, no ring buoy, no life raft to rescue and ferry her to a quiet place of respite. As her mother, I am consumed with worry.

    ‘Erik, I’m getting a lot of sadness from Kristina. She’s really stressed out. I get the feeling she’s wondering if she should even continue in medical school. She’s having such a hard time,’ I say.

    “She must continue. She MUST! With “must” spelled in capital letters and underlined,” Erik insists emphatically.

    ‘Well what’s going on?’ I ask.

    “Look, my death took the wind out of her sails. She’s in shock, but doesn’t have time to deal with it. Plus, this is theory. This is theory. She’s going to get excited about the practice. Theory always bore the shit out of her. It’s like she’s in the last quarter mile of a 26-mile marathon. The theory was expected to be freaking boring for her. This shouldn’t be a surprise. But she has to finish cuz it’s a means to an end. There will be an end, a successful conclusion.”

    “Has she thought of psychiatry?” Kim asks me.

    ‘Yes, before she went into medical school, but then she figured it’d be pretty boring,” I explain.

    “Well now, after his passing, Erik says she might give it another look see.”

    ‘Okay, I’ll let her know,’ I promise. ‘Do you think therapy will help her, Erik?’

    “No because what’s gonna happen is she’s going to finish this part of medical school, then she’s going to have a little bit of time to heal. It’ll be like BOOM as if she’s hit bottom emotionally, because then she’ll have time to focus on the healing she needs to do over me dying. That’s ready, it’s waiting for her. Kristina’s not going to stuff anything. She’s going to be able to heal on her own. You’re going to need to channel for her, though, Mom.”

    ‘Oh, okay,’ I say, wondering how I’m going to be able to do that. Don’t know how. Don’t know where to start.

    “She’s going to be pissed, really pissed at me, like ‘why would you do that? Why would you just give up? Why would you do that?’ Because she knows so well about not giving up, keeping at it, and how hard it is but you trudge through it anyway. She’s going to be very angry at me almost like a mother with a son, like ‘How could you do that to us? Why did you…’ So you’re going to be channeling me for her, and she’s going to handle this great. Ooh, is she going to be pissed, and she’s going to have tears, and she’s going to have days and days where she’s just so upset and negative, but she’s going to work through it. She’s going to do a great job,” he says with confidence.

    ‘Good, so when is she going to feel better about her future in the world of Medicine?’ I ask him.

    “When she gets over this theory part. But she’ll feel better about her life in general when she gets over this mourning part. It doesn’t mean she won’t always miss me, but there’s this huge well of sadness and grief and anger and confusion and frustration that she’s going to work through just great. That’s another reason she’s going to think about psychiatry because she’s gonna want to help other people do that. Not everyone has her strength to do this work on their own, the willingness, the ability.”

    Kim interjects with: “I see Erik showing himself kneeling and holding out a pretty bouquet of flowers out in front of him. Tears are streaming from his eyes. Erik, who are these for? Oh, okay. he‘s telling me thery’re for his big sister. He wants to say he’s so sorry for hurting her, and he hopes she will forgive him, and he thinks she will. He’s saying ‘I don’t want her to be pissed at me,’ and he wants to tell her he loves her very much.”

    Tears well up in my own eyes and, choking on my words, I say, ‘She loves you too, Baby. We all do.’

    Death destroys so much. It rips apart faith. It devastates futures. It annihilates joy. It distorts past memories. It enfeebles our sense of security. It robs us of all happiness, at least for a while. What it fails to do, however, is break the bonds of love. Those are the bonds that survive all.

    Snow Buddies

    Couple of Hams

  • April12th

    Past Lives

    Posted in: After Death Communication, Afterlife, Bereaved, Channeling, Communication from the dead, Contact with the dead, Death, Death of a Child, Grief, Grieving, Past lives, Reincarnation, Struggles, Suicide

    I often wondered why Erik was such an enigma. He was brought up in a loving and nurturing environment with endless opportunities to thrive. He was surrounded by so many friends who loved him. He was exposed to wonderful adventures, hobbies and destinations. So, why did he feel so lonely all the time? Why did nothing satisfy him for very long? Why did he avoid any attempt to develop a career? Why did he shirk all responsibility?

    The other side of this riddle of a man was polar opposite to his darker side. He was so loving, so creative, so clever with his hands, so willing to sacrifice for those he loved and even those he barely knew. He was never petty or jealous. In fact, the wins and attainments of others gave him a great deal of happiness. I’ve never heard him say a mean word about anyone. He didn’t have a single judgmental bone in his scrawny little body.

    Now that he’s on the other side with a broader, deeper perspective, I asked him questions that I hoped would solve the mystery that is this wonderful soul.

    ‘What past lives were most significant to the issues you had this last lifetime, Erik? Oh, and which past lives helped develop the strengths and gifts you demonstrated this last lifetime, too?’

    “Okay, two different questions there, right?” asked Kim.

    ‘Yeah,’ I reply.

    “World War II. Concentration camp. I was a Jewish prisoner working in the crematorium.”

    “Oh, boy!” Kim exclaims.

    ‘Ew,’ I utter under my breath.

    “I was from Poland.”

    ‘Okay,’ I say.

    “I was told that my mother and sister and father would live if I worked at the crematorium. That was the incentive for me to work hard there. But I found out later that my family was gassed when they first got there.”

    ‘Oh! That’s horrible, Erik,’ I say sympathetically. ‘So, what negative issues did that cause for you?’

    “Feeling powerless. Feeling manipulated. Feeling like I was treated like an animal. It made me have huge self-worth and self-esteem problems. It also made me have problems completing things. You know, I started things in that lifetime, but I wasn’t able to complete anything,” he says.

    As I think back on Erik’s life, I can see so clearly why he so desperately wanted respect, particularly from his father. He wanted freedom, autonomy, independence, but, as the next lifetime he discusses elucidates, he feared any responsibility that would hand him these things on a silver platter.

    ‘Because completing things were…’ I start.

    “…Denied to me because I was sent by the Nazis to Auschwitz,” he interjects.

    ‘And because you weren’t able to complete your goal of ensuring the survival of your family…’ I add.

    “That too. Exactly, exactly. And there was another lifetime too when I was in the Middle Ages in Eastern Europe. I was in an army fighting against Vlad the Impaler in Transylvania. I was one of the heads of the army. I had been drinking, and I made a foolish choice because I was so hung over. So my army was captured, and they were all impaled on stakes because of me,” he says with a subdued tone.

    ‘Ew!’ I exclaim.

    “Yeah and I had such a horrible regret,” Erik adds.

    ‘What issues did that create for you?’ I ask.

    “Unable to complete my destiny. Addiction.”

    I thought how ironic it all was: just like that past life, Erik was unable to complete his destiny in his most recent one. Sad.

    After a short pause. Kim says, “I’m just listening to him right now, Elisa.”

    Erik continues: “I had lots of opportunities that I pissed away. And I felt the fate of all of my men in such a gruesome, terrible way and to know I was responsible for that, to hear them crying and screaming and dying.”

    What a terrible cross to bear. My poor baby boy. No wonder he created so much pain for himself.

    ‘Did that make you have responsibility issues, Erik?’ I ask.

    “Shit yeah. I was afraid to have any responsibilities. I knew I had fucked up, and I was afraid I would fuck up other people’s lives too. That’s why I felt like I fucked up everything I did  in my last lifetime.”

    Sadly, I remember he always used to say these very words when he was alive. It felt like a dagger in my heart then. It feels like a dagger in my heart now.

    In an effort to lighten the somber mood a bit, Kim prompts Erik to answer the next question: “What about the lifetimes that helped you accrue your gifts, talents, and abilities?”

    “Oh God,” he says proudly. “I’ve been an artist, a carpenter, an architect, a philosopher, an author, a speaker, someone who has worked in government to make the community a better place, to change laws…”

    ‘We know you had so many gifts in your most recent life, Erik. Which of these were products of those lifetimes?’ I ask.

    “Well, you know I was good with my hands and I was creative. And I could be pretty charming. Also my intelligence, my openness, my willingness to listen to other people, my sense of humor, my desire for everyone to have abundance. You know what I’m really most proud of?”

    ‘What, Baby?’ I ask, expectantly.

    “I was not able to feel any kind of envy or jealousy. I was happy when anyone did cool shit, had cool shit, I was always happy about that. There was never any kind of envy inside of me. Boy or boy, I’ve seen that over and over how that fucks people up!”

    ‘Yes, oh, God!’ I agree.

    “And, Mom, it’s funny because usually what they envy is not what they’re supposed to have anyway!”

    ‘Uh, huh!’ I say.

    “You know, that is so true, Erik!” Kim chimes in.

    “That’s interesting!” I add.

    “I’ve had thousands of past lifetimes and those two I talked about are the ones that brought painful issues I needed to work through.”

    These series of questions left me filled with sorrow. No mother wants her child to suffer. In this case, Erik’s suffering had roots in other lives, but he failed to use that adversity, as atrocious as it was, to heal, to resolve those issues that had plagued him for centuries. Again, he denied himself opportunities, he turned his back on his destiny, he cowered in the face of responsibility, and he always felt he couldn’t do anything right. I believe that’s why he chose to shoot himself rather than swallow a bunch of pills. He was afraid to survive a failed overdose as a permanent invalid. Erik was determined to get this one right. Oh, how I wish he had channeled this determination elsewhere. That moment when he held the gun to his temple was not the time to turn over a new leaf. I miss him so.

  • April11th

    The Nature of Souls and Thought

    Posted in: After Death Communication, Channeling, Communication from the dead, Contact with the dead, Energy, Heaven, Life, Love, Quantum Physics of the Soul, The Physics of Consciousness, The Physics of Thought

    My next few questions for Erik mirrored my penchant for understanding the underpinnings of life and reality. Consider me like a devout car enthusiast who spends hours under the hood of a ’57 Mustang marveling at its cylinder arrangement. Whatever, I don’t know enough about auto mechanics to put together a believable sentence here, but I know Mr. Auto Genius Erik is getting a big laugh, and I aim to entertain. Anyway, like the auto enthusiast, I yearn to know all I can about my own passion. Who are we. Why are we? How do we operate? What makes us tick? So I plow ahead with:

    ‘Erik, what are we, really?’

    “I don’t know.”

    Great, all that pent up excitement about uncovering the wonders of the universe and the secrets of the spiritual world is met with a big fat “Access Denied.”

    “But I can get someone else to answer,” he adds, lifting my spirits a bit (no pun intended.)

    Kim channels a soul with all the answers:

    “We’re part of a big field of energy, of consciousness which is made of energy. And we’re individual segments of that consciousness, but we’re also the whole, kind of like a hologram which can be both the whole and parts of the whole at the same time.”

    ‘What is our purpose as parts and wholes of that field of consciousness?’ I ask.

    “We try to seek lower entropy, both as separate units and as part of the whole. We project to the whole what we do individually. We are here to evolve to a higher level,” Mr. Know-It-All replies.

    ‘So what is that, actually? I know lower entropy means lower disorder or chaos, but what does that mean in practical terms? What’s the endpoint?’

    “To remain in Heaven working with others who are still on the earthly plane striving to evolved, themselves.”

    “Okay, I can see that as the endpoint for us as individual souls, but what about the whole? What’s our goal as the entire field of consciousness, as all the souls put together?”

    “We seek love, unconditional love, as individuals and for the universe as a whole for each soul to embrace. That’s the lowest entropy. That’s the endpoint.”

    Wow, that’s going to take some time to digest. I find this whole love equals energy thing fascinating, because when I unconditionally love someone, I feel this strange vibration, a sense that my soul is expanding beyond all limits. It feels electrical and invigorating, like I’m plugged in to some huge, benevolent energy source.

    After a brief pause for reflection, I ask my next mind-bending question:

    ‘How does thought create reality?’

    Erik answers this time, totally redeeming himself: “Though energy. One plus one equals two. So you have thoughts plus energy making a new reality.”

    After an empty pause, I push for details: ‘Can you explain more?’

    “Thoughts are projections of your electrical energy so when you’re thinking you are also channeling. You’re building your store of electrical energy and determining how much of it you can move through your body,” he replies, as though any moron should understand. I, of course, am totally in the dark, but I gather that he means thoughts, projected as intentions, are forms of energy that create matter and therefore reality, in accordance to Einstein’s E=mc2

    ‘Well how do you create realities together with other souls?’ I ask. ‘There must be some sort of cooperation, then, to have many souls living in the same thought-created environment, for example.’

    “We agree to cooperate telepathically” Erik explains. “But there’s a caveat. You can turn into reality only that which dovetails with your destiny. If it doesn’t agree with your destiny, you can’t create it.”

    ‘I can’t imagine that people would want to create something that’s not part of their destiny,’ I say.

    “Oh, a lot of people do!” he exclaims.

    ‘Well why wouldn’t it work? Why can’t you create your reality regardless of your destiny?’

    “When we come to the earthly plane, we have a spiritual blueprint. Our thoughts and our actions must work toward accomplishing what’s on that spiritual blueprint. If we finish that, we can accomplish more. Say, for example, a woman is married to a rich dude and she’s miserable and wants out. But she knows she has to work full time if she divorces him. She might think, ‘I don’t want to. Can’t I just win the lottery?’ That’s not going to happen because no matter how much time, energy and passion she puts toward winning the lottery, she won’t, because it would derail her spiritual forward movement which includes developing independence and empowerment by getting a full time job and letting go of Mr. Sugar Daddy.”

    Okay, I get it. Makes sense. But surely the rules of the game are different in the afterlife. I ask for clarification: ‘What about people who are on the other side, like you, Erik. You can pretty much create whatever reality you want, right?’

    “Yep, no caveat there,” he confirms.

    So now I know who we are, what our purpose is, how we create reality to ensure our spiritual evolution toward love all both individually and as a collective. I’ll sleep better tonight, won’t you? Thanks, Erik and Mr. Smarty Pants.

  • April8th

    Working with Energy

    Posted in: After Death Communication, Afterlife, Astral Projection, Bereaved, Channeling, Communication from the dead, Contact with the dead, Death, Death of a Child, Dreams, Energy, Ghosts and Spirits, Grief, Grieving, Guardian Angel, Heaven, Out of Body Experience, Quantum Physics of the Soul, Spirit visitation, Spirits moving objects, Spiritual presence, The Physics of Consciousness, The Physics of Thought, Visitation

    Since Erik’s death, one of my deepest desires has been to see him, to hold him, to hug him, to kiss him, to hear the sound of his voice and his wonderfully infectious laugh. As you can see from various entries, we’ve been blessed by numerous occasions when he’s been tangible through our senses of smell, sight, sound or touch. My problem, however, lies in my analytical mind. It constantly questions my own sanity with inquiries like, ‘Is this my imagination?’ ‘Am I just dreaming?’ ‘Am I delusional?’ Regardless of how sane and awake and alert and objective I feel, doubts seep in like a noxious fume. Those doubts have become weaker and weaker with each of Erik’s amazing materializations. Nevertheless, I want confirmation and understanding, as these next probing questions, rattled off in machine gun fashion, show.

    ‘How is the practice going working with your energy, Erik? What are you able to do now? Also, how do you practice? Does somebody teach you?’

    He chuckles and says, “Well, there are classes, but you know me! I just like to try something on my own! It’s going really well, Mom! I’ve been materializing at home as balls and beams of light. I’ve been moving material objects. I’ve been sitting next to you while you drive, co-piloting and talking to you. I think it’s going real well. The dog sees me real clearly and so does the baby, Arley. Me and her are getting along so well”

    It doesn’t surprise me that he’s been skipping his “energy manipulation” classes. He never was enamored with the classroom setting.

    Pushing for more details, I continue: ‘Well Erik, how do you practice, exactly?’

    “By doing it. Just like you practice your channeling by doing it, just like you have to practice things on the earthly plane by doing it.”

    I’m still puzzled. I have no idea how we mere humans work with our energy short of plugging in the toaster or filling the car up with gas. So I push harder yet: ‘I can’t imagine how you practice manipulating energy, but I guess once you’re on the other side it becomes more obvious?’

    “Well, Mooommm,” he says in mock exasperation, “you always do it. How do you think you heal people?”

    Um, okay, this doesn’t exactly clarify things. ‘I don’t know. Good question,’ I reply with a hint of sarcasm in my voice.

    “You take your electrical energy, and you put it into other people’s bodies. You manipulate energy all the time!”

    Arrgghhh! I just want step-by-step instructions like “You put your right foot in, you put your right foot out, you put your right foot in and you shake it all about,” but it’s clearly not going to be that simple.

    ‘By imagining it? By thinking about it? How?’ I ask impatiently.

    “By visualizing. When you visualize energy projecting into a material form, it happens.” he says.

    Okay, that answer satisfies me for the moment, so I go on to another question: ‘Did you visit us in Norway by manipulating your energy into a physical form?’

    “Sure, I was there the whole time. Mom. Don’t you remember seeing me in your bedroom?” (See the entry “Erik’s Norwegian Visit,” from March 19, 2010.)

    ‘Well, yes,’ I respond. ‘I felt like I was fully awake, but the skeptic in me wonders if I was in a dream state or imagining things. I have a very analytical mind.’

    “Mom, it’s going to take you another three and a half months before you absolutely, positively, without question feel totally confident that I’m there and how and when I communicate with you. It’ll take another three, three and a half months. There’s going to be another trip to Norway before the end of the year and you’re gong to pick up on me real strongly there, but you’ll pick up on my real strongly everywhere by then. I’m going to be such a tangible presence that you’ll be talking out loud to me and people will be looking, saying ‘Hmm, so who is this woman, who seems to be alone, talking to?’ Also, other people will see me too. They’ll be like, ‘Oh, there are three of you to be seated?’ when there’s only like you and Michelle. I’ll be more and more tangible.”

    ‘Good,’ I say with hopeful enthusiasm. ‘I’m so proud of you, Erik! So how can I work on things from my side? Is there any way I can project my consciousness into the afterlife, into your dimension so I can visit you and hug you? Can I do that while I’m awake?’

    “No, but you can do it while you’re asleep.”

    ‘Even if I practice and get a coach to teach me how?’

    “No, but that doesn’t mean you won’t feel me give you a hug or touch you while you’re awake. It’s more about me while in the wake state. It’s about me building my ability to project my energy around you, Mom.”

    Being the control freak that I am, this does little to satisfy me, so I say, ‘But I’m still going to try to learn how to project my consciousness while I’m awake. It couldn’t hurt!’

    Kim interjects with her own question: “Erik, what can Mom do to visit you at night when she sleeps. How can she be sure that she’s going to have an out of body experience where she can come visit you in Heaven or where you two can work together, play together, spend time together, where you’re soul to soul on the same plane? How can she do that?”

    “I dunno. Ask your guides,” he replies.

    Obediently, Kim asks, “Okay, guides, how can Elisa do that? They say… Oh, I see. I see. They say you only have so much energy as a human being, and you’re using a lot of that energy during the day to channel and to write. So you’re not only using channeling energy when you talk to Erik and your guides but also with your writing as well whether it’s a blog, whether it’s a screenplay, whether it’s a book, no matter what it is. So the key for you is to build as much electrical energy as you can, and you will do that by channeling, practicing your channeling during waking hours.”

    ‘Okay, that’s good. I’ll do that,’ I reply doubtfully. I have a hard time practicing channeling for the same reason I harbor a tiny smidgeon of doubt towards his materializations and other visits–my pesky analytical mind. I know it entails a great deal of energy on my part, because I feel drained after trying to channel Erik for just a couple of minutes. Plus, my mind wanders to silly things like, ‘Did I unplug the coffee pot?’ or ‘It sucks for Pluto that it’s no longer a planet.’ Nevertheless, with clear marching orders in hand, I renew my commitment to work on these fledgling abilities. I’d do anything to be with my son in any way, shape or form possible. After all, the umbilical cord never severs. If may get stretched pretty thin, but the connection survives even death.

  • April7th

    Punked Again!

    Posted in: After Death Communication, Bereaved, Channeling, Communication from the dead, Contact with the dead, Death of a Child, Energy, Ghosts and Spirits, Grief, Grieving, Spirit visitation, Spirits moving objects, Spiritual presence, Suicide

    Let me start by saying I have this thing about being organized. Very organized. I have lists for everything, even lists of my lists. This personality trait probably evolved because of my ADHD as a means of finding order in my own personal chaos. I don’t know if I could have survived medical school otherwise. Throw in 5 kids (six if you count my husband,) and my obsessive compulsion for organization ramps up into high gear. For instance, I keep my daily schedule on my iPhone, but I duplicate the day’s activities on an index card, which, like a newly hatched chick, never strays far from my side.

    Naturally, kids love to pick up on a parent’s flaws for their own entertainment, and I’ve certainly given them lots of material for that. Erik, in particular, used to laugh at my index cards, especially when it had things on it like “open mail,” “bathe kids,” and “make tomorrow’s index card.” He always pulled my leg with comments like, “What? You forgot to write down ‘breathe,’ and ‘chew food!’”

    Now you have the back story. Remember the fortune cookie message from yesterday? Well, it all came true this morning. I took the kids to school as I usually do, and when I returned home, I noticed the index card, which I usually keep in my purse, was missing. I went back out to my car to check the console, but it wasn’t there. So I looked throughout the house: the kids’ bedrooms, the bathrooms, under the sofas, in the trashcans. Nothing. ‘Hmm. That’s weird,’ I thought to myself feeling mildly irritated. Determined to prevail, I went back out to my car, checked under and beside the seats, in the side door pockets, on the ground around and under the car, etc. Nothing. The garage? Nothing. The dog food canister? Nothing. All the trashcans again? Nothing. All of the rooms in the house? Nothing. I even emptied out the contents of my purse, which basically included my wallet, sunglasses, lipstick, cell phone and comb. Nothing.

    Panic started to creep in. I could make another card, but what if I had written something critical down that had not been entered into my iPhone? I looked one more time—everywhere—and came up with a big fat zero once again.

    At that point, I had to reluctantly resign myself to the possibility that my precious index card had vanished into thin air. Begrudgingly, I made another one, straining doggedly not to forget a single reminder. I did so hurriedly, because I had planned to visit with my parents across town and needed to get there long before my father left for the gym for his daily workout. But as I started to grab my purse, I saw a flash of white sticking out about 2 inches. My heart stopped. In my mind’s eye, I say Erik’s face with that classic mischievous smile of his–the smile that says “you’re punked!” I reached inside and pulled out the target of my half-hour long search–the infamous index card. I knew he had pulled a meaningful prank to let me know that he is, indeed, alive and as sneaky as ever. Mind you, I had searched my purse three times, once emptying out its sparse contents. There is NO WAY I would have missed a 4 X 6 white index card in a small black purse! Furthermore, I was the only person in the house, and my cats, lacking an opposable thumb, could not possibly take the rap.

    I’m so thankful that Erik made good on yesterday’s promise, but I’m even more thankful that his endearing personality and wonderfully exuberant spirit has survived his untimely death. Bring in on, buddy! I’ve got some tricks of my own up my sleeve!

    PS: As I finished this post, I got a whiff of that horrible three day sock smell Erik was (in)famous for. Dude, find another means of confirmation!

    The Elusive Card

  • April6th

    Erik and the Fortune Cookie

    Posted in: After Death Communication, Channeling, Communication from the dead, Contact with the dead, Death of a Child, Ghosts and Spirits, Grief, Grieving, Spirit visitation, Spirits moving objects, Spiritual presence, Struggles, Suicide, Visitation

    When I was a kid, fortune cookies were kick ass. (I was fairly easy to please.) Seriously, they pointed you in the right direction, gave clarity to a muddled path, and were just, well, fun! Now, it’s all about moral advice for morons: the early bird gets the worm, people in glass houses, yada, yada, yada. If I want moral advice, the last person I’d look to would be an 8 year-old boy writing crude, grammatically incorrect phrases in a sweatshop in Cambodia. But today, my paradigm has shifted radically, thanks to Erik.

    My daughter, Michelle, her daughter, Arley, and I were eating lunch in a Japanese restaurant around noon today. We talked about many things, but as usual, our conversation eventually drifted to Erik. Michelle asked me how I was doing and I told her the truth: I was feeling down. I haven’t felt Erik’s presence for what seemed like a long time, and I miss him deeply. I long for another visit, whether in the form of his voice, his physical appearance, one of his pranks, or the smell of his stinky socks. Tears followed the sadness, which followed the longing, which followed the loving.

    Before I could fully compose myself, the waitress brought us the check. Three fortune cookies rested on top. I grasped one in my hand and held it to my chest. Then, with my eyes closed as in prayer, I whispered these words: ‘Erik, my darling boy. I miss you so much. I haven’t felt your presence in so long that my heart is beginning to ache. Please bring me a message in this fortune cookie. Send me a message of hope, a message that will soothe my heavy heart.’

    Of course, I realized the disappointment I was setting myself up for, but no pain could possibly compare to that which comes from losing a child. Disappointment, like physical pain and the menial struggles of the day pale in comparison to such tragedy. It therefore becomes a risk worth taking, especially if it offers even the smallest chance for solace.

    After whispering those words, I opened my eyes and broke open the fortune cookie. Here is a picture of the message it contained. Clearly a kind gesture from a caring soul. Thank you, Erik. I’m holding you to your word! I love you.

    Message of Hope

  • April5th

    Busy Guy, Big Projects

    Posted in: After Death Communication, Afterlife, Channeling, Communication from the dead, Contact with the dead, Death of a Child, God, Love, Psychic medium, Struggles, Suicide

    “Where would you like to begin this morning, Elisa?” Kim begins.

    ‘Well first of all I’d like to see if he’s around and if he is, I want to see how he’s doing and tell him I love him,’ I say.

    “Hi Mom!”

    He says that in a “Where else would I be” way, Kim says with a giggle. “He knew you would be expecting him. Erik, you sound kind of long suffering today.”

    He chuckles and says, “I love you, Mom, I love you.”

    ‘Aw, sweet baby!’ I love you too.’

    “He’s showing me something, Elisa. He’s extending his hand and it’s filled with a beautiful spring bouquet of flowers,” Kim exclaims.

    “For your birthday and for early Mother’s Day,” Erik adds.

    ‘Aw, thanks you Erik,’ I reply gratefully.

    Kim interjects, “He says ‘I love you’ and shows himself giving you a great big hug.”

    ‘Big hug back, Erik.’

    “Mom, the book, the book.”

    “Are you working on the book with him, Elisa?” Kim asks.

    ‘Well, I’m working on a couple of things. One is a screenplay for a possible TV series and the other one is a book based on our story. You know, a mom loses her son, writes a blog to help with the healing process and, as a team, the two of them reach out to many grieving people to help bring comfort and understanding to their lives. Erik’s insight really helps those who are suffering from their losses. Maybe that could be a movie eventually. I’d call it “Channeling Erik,”’ I suggest. ‘Erik, what’s your opinion about these ideas? Are you still cool with the idea of you and Michael helping with the screenplay about the kids who kill themselves and, from the afterlife, help their friends and family as well as other teens at a similar crossroads?’

    “Absolutely, Mom,” he exclaims. Kim sees him jumping up and down, clapping his hands. “He is really excited,” she says energetically.

    “Mom, we talk about it everyday!” he says, sounding a bit puzzled by my need to ask that question. “The communication between us has never been better. And I’m not talking about just since I died. I’m talking about ever. Mom, don’t we talk more than we ever have now that I’m dead?”

    ‘Yeah, exactly. And before you died, we really were good about being open with each other about most things, anyway,’ I add.

    “He’s using the word “dead,” but you and I both know he’s alive,” Kim says.

    ‘Oh, I know. Of course! So, Erik, what do you think about writing a book and film called “Channeling Erik?” It’d be about what’s happened since your death and how we’ve both been able to reach out to other people through the blog…’

    Erik interrupts with “I thought that’s what we’ve been working on! I think we’re making great progress. I’m excited no matter how the message gets out there. I’ve brought a couple of friends to advise us on it. One is John Wayne, one is the screenwriter and film director, Preston Sturgess, and the other is Ernest Hemingway!”

    ‘Oh, good!’ I respond incredulously. ‘So we’re in good hands, then!’

    Sometimes Erik’s intense optimism about my writing abilities can be daunting. I feel a bit uncomfortable to be in the company of such star power. After all, I’m just a mom. I don’t know if I can live up to his expectations. But I want to try if it means preventing just one kid from making the same mistake he made.

    “Yep, and they say a TV series would be better than a film.”

    ‘So, Erik, just to be clear, you’re talking about “Channeling Erik,” not the story about the teens who commit suicide, right?’

    “Right. But they want you to know one thing. When this is made into a TV series and kids watch it, there’s going to be a big teenage audience. It’s going to be as popular as the Vampire series. You’re going to wonder if explaining reality as it really is (I know that’s redundant) that kids might think, ‘Oh, whoa, maybe I don’t have to be afraid about wanting to go back to Heaven.’”

    ‘Exactly, and I’ve thought about that,’ I assure him. ‘I’m going to consult with a psychiatrist or psychologist. We’ll have things in there where the teens who commit suicide are like ‘Wow I wish I hadn’t done it.”

    “Yeah, so the kids are going to be very repentant and missing their families,” Erik says in agreement. “What you’ll point out is how they can never come back. So it’ll depict Heaven as a wonderful, wonderful place where they are reunited with their loved ones, but the regret they’re going to feel is going to be so overwhelming that they’re going to need therapy. So you’re not going to have to worry. It’s going to make some kids feel, ‘wow, heaven looks cool but ooh those kids seem really fucked up after they committed suicide. Oooh, boy, maybe I should rethink this, geez!’”

    ‘Exactly, exactly,’ I say with a nod that I’m sure he can see.

    “Also, you’re going to have them look back at the lives they thought were so difficult and so miserable when they were on the earthly plane, and they’re going to look at it in a completely different perspective. So it’s going to have a lot of healing overtones for the kids who watch it. Now the guides like the idea of “Channeling Erik” starting as a book, then becoming a film, not a TV series,” he says.

    ‘Good deal, Erik. I can’t wait continue our work together. A mother and son project!’ I say excitedly. ‘So have you had a chance to meet anyone famous? You know, celebrities like Jimi Hendrix or historical figures like George Washington?’

    “No, I’ve just been asking for help to get information for the book project, and so I met those people I just talked about,” Erik says nonchalantly. Clearly souls are not as mesmerized by fame as us lowly humans.

    “Mom, you and I talk all the time, and we’ve got all this work, so when would I have had any time to meet anybody like that?” He says with a chuckle. Then he goes on, “I know that you sleep, but when you wake up at night you talk to me then, too, and I want to be available to you all the time.”

    ‘Oh, that’s awesome. I like having you around, Baby,’ I reply feeling warmly comforted. ‘So last time we spoke you said you were going to get back to me on the whole “God question.” Have you found out anymore information on who or what God is?’

    “No, Mom,” he answers patiently.

    ‘Too busy?’

    “Yep, but that’s gonna be the next project after we finish these two,” he promises.

    So many crucial projects, and only an eternity to complete them. Who’d have thought I’d be collaborating with Heaven?

  • April2nd

    From the Beginning

    Posted in: After Death Communication, Channeling, Communication from the dead, Contact with the dead, Crossing over, Death, Death of a Child, Grief, Grieving, Orbs, Psychic medium, Struggles, Suicide, Visitation

    Many of you are new to the site, so I’d like to re-post entries from the beginning so that you won’t miss anything that might either interest you, endow you with a new understanding of all things spiritual, or help heal those who have also suffered a tragic loss. Let’s begin with the life and death of Erik, my dear son who I miss so much.

    About Erik

    Erik Rune Medhus, my 20 year old son, took his own life on October 6, 2009. Since that sad and tragic day, an overwhelming sense of grief and despair propelled me into a search for answers. Answers that would provide me and others with comfort and hope. Some of those answers came from the many books I bought, but many came from an unexpected source…Erik, himself. Through dreams, visitations and channeling, he describes what happens during the death process, what the afterlife is like, what he does with his time there, what it feels like to be a free soul, the nature of thought and reality, the meaning of life and the human experience, as well as other matters. If you fear your own mortality, if you grieve over the loss of a loved one, or if you yearn to know the answers to these questions and more, please join me in this journey to enlightenment.

    His Life and Death

    Erik was born on September 21, 1989 at 3:00 in the afternoon. He greeted the world without a whimper. Instead of howls of protest at the bright lights and cool air, he seemed content to take in his surroundings peacefully. Until he was around 12 or 13, he was such a happy boy. He loved all things manly, motorcycles, military paraphernalia, race cars, and guns. He also adored women of all sorts. Even as a four year-old, he would lavish them with admiration and affection. Erik also loved dressing up in “Pappa suits,” and in the months before his death, he would often walk around in a suit and tie for no reason at all.

    Erik had his struggles, though. He suffered from learning difficulties making school an unwelcome and often overwhelming undertaking. Despite our encouragement and understanding, his academic shortfalls ravaged his self-esteem. Peers and even some thoughtless teachers called him “stupid” to his face. To make matters worse, he also suffered from Tourettes, so his odd tics and mannerisms left him vulnerable to unkind remarks. It was during his middle school years that I began to see this happy, charming, affectionate child transform into a stranger. He slowly built a shell of toughness to protect himself from a cruel world. He wore spiked leather bracelets and long pocket chains, smiled less often and was involved in a number of fist fights at school.

    Despite weekly sessions with both a therapist and a psychiatrist, Erik slid into a deep depression. He found solace in drugs and alcohol partly to give credence to that tough exterior, partly to ease the pain. As parents, we did everything we could to help him feel better about himself. As with all of our children, not a day would go by that we didn’t tell him how much we loved him and how grateful we were to have him in our lives.

    After finally being diagnosed with and receiving treatment for Bipolar Disease, Erik seemed to improve somewhat. He stopped the drugs and alcohol and embarked on a career path to becoming a welder. But as happiness seemed to elude him still, he developed an insatiable appetite for material possessions to fill the empty void: a stereo system for his truck, a new welder, equipment for a new sport or hobby, or a new bike. When he ran out of money, he pawned nearly all of his other possessions for the next “fix.” He also had an intense yearning for friendships. Sadly, he was well aware of the fact that many of his “friends” answered his calls only to hang up immediately once they realized it was him. He was regarded as odd and quirky by many and, as a result, he often felt deeply lonely. I find this so ironic, because Erik was so caring toward others whether they were friends, acquaintances or strangers. He wouldn’t hesitate to give anyone the shirt off his back and often brought home troubled strays in need of a home cooked meal and a place to sleep. In all of his twenty years here on Earth, I have never heard him utter a critical or disparaging word about another person. Perhaps because of his struggles, he was one of the most compassionate, nonjudgmental people I have ever known.

    Then came that horrible Tuesday, that deep chasm that tore my life into two parts, the “before” and the “after.” Erik seemed to be stable and happy that day. Those last few months, he had finally found friends he could trust, friends that loved him as he loved them. My sister, Teri, was visiting from her home in California and she, two of my daughters and I planned to go out somewhere for lunch. I asked Erik if he’d like to join us, but he declined, saying he preferred to stay home and “chill.” He asked how long we’d be gone, and I told him we’d return in no more than an hour. Five minutes into the drive I received the worst phone call of my life. Maria, our housekeeper who had helped take care of Erik since he was 16 months old, said she heard a “loud noise” and was scared. Although I had no reason to suspect anything, I instinctively knew. I asked her if it sounded like a gun and she replied, “yes.” I begged her to go upstairs to check on Erik and she did. The bloodcurdling scream I heard moments later will forever be etched in my mind–a scream that marked the beginning of a nightmare from which we would never awaken, a scream that dashed our hopes along with our sense of inviolability. It marked the beginning of our emotional collapse into a car full of hysterical sobs. We were home in a matter of minutes, minutes that seemed more like decades. I was so afraid to go upstairs and confront what I knew to be the tragic truth, but as a physician, I needed to be sure he was truly dead. What if he still had a pulse? Maybe I could administer CPR and save him. But upon seeing my son sitting in his desk chair, eyes opened and lifeless, with an obvious gunshot wound to the head, it was clear he was gone forever and could not be brought back to life. Only days later would I discover that he had pawned other possessions and asked a 21 year-old friend to purchase a handgun. In great despair, I flung myself into his lap, screaming like a wounded mother wolf mourning the loss of her cub. It felt like I was out of my body peering down upon this broken shell of a woman whose hands were bathed in the blood of her own child.

    The moments and months that followed were torture. No mother should have to bury her child, much less hired a crime scene cleanup crew to pull out his carpet and scour the walls. Since that day, every chore seems overwhelming whether going out to get the mail or unloading the dishwasher. But even as early as the next morning, Erik came to comfort us in many ways, as you will see.

    Erik’s First Visits

    After Erik’s death, we were all numb, shaken by a grief so profound it that each minute seemed like an eternity. Making the funeral arrangements, from choosing a casket and burial plot to deciding what clothes he should wear in perpetual sleep, was shear agony. In all the tragic turmoil, however, Erik came to provide us with comfort three times in as many days. The second night after his death, he came to my husband in an uncharacteristically vivid dream. In that dream, they were both standing near Rune’s new Ford F-350, a truck that my son drooled over with great pride. Then Erik said in joyous excitement, “I feel so wonderful! I’m so light and free. It’s an amazing feeling. Here, Pappa, feel.” And when Erik reached out to grab his father’s hands, Rune was overcome with a sense of intense euphoria unlike any sensation he’s had before. It was a feeling of joy, love, comfort, lightness and freedom that truly cannot be describe in our limited language as humans. After a few moments, Erik let go of Rune’s hands and said, “This is what I felt like before.” Rune then felt deep despair and darkness. The world felt heavy and unwelcoming. Rune knew Erik was trying to convey that he was fine, in fact happy for the first time in a long time. The healing for our family had begun.

    Erik’s grandfather had a similar experience. Let me preface this by saying that he has never truly believed in life after death. To him, when the body dies, so does the soul. There is no God. There is no Heaven. There is no immortality. Three days after Erik died, my father called me to say that Erik had come to him in a dream. I could tell by his voice that he was quite shaken. He said Erik appeared to him as a small boy sitting in his lap, snuggled against his chest. My father felt, without a doubt, that Erik’s presence was real. He felt the warm and love as though he were awake. After a few moments, Erik looked up at his grandfather and recited a spanish proverb that essentially translates as “things come in threes.” Dumbfounded by the encounter, my father exclaimed, “Why did this happen to me? What does it all mean? I feel so startled!” Erik’s visit challenged the very foundation of the staunch beliefs he had held for decades.

    The third visit was to a family friend, Kelley. She’s known all of my children since they were small, and our families have vacationed together several times. Shortly after Erik’s death, Kelley recounts this dream: “I say Erik in a beautiful meadow sitting in a hammock with his back to me. Beside him sat a girl with long, light-brown hair.” (This may have been a former girlfriend who, 7 months earlier, suffered an accidental gunshot wound to the head by a drunken idiot who thought he had unloaded his new revolver.) She goes on to say, “People were milling around everywhere. I got the sense that everyone knew and loved each other and that they regarded Erik as some sort of celebrity. He seemed to have a movie star quality about him, like Brad Pitt. I moved closer to him and asked, ‘Why did you kill yourself, Erik? What could have possibly led you to do such a thing?’ Then he turned his head to look up at me with that charming, mischievous grin he was so famous for and began to sing a tune, ‘If you wanna be free, be free. Cuz there’s a million things to be,’ and then he calmly faced forward and hummed the rest of the song.” Kelley woke up with a start, wondering if the tune was indeed an actual song. Eager to verify her suspicions and lend meaning to the dream, she jumped out of bed, turned on her computer and typed the lyrics into the search window. The results stunned her because, although she doesn’t recall ever hearing the song before, it was van actual song composed and sung by Cat Stevens entitled, “If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out.” Days after, the song appeared as a theme in a commercial for T-Mobile. Eventually, we would discover the true meaning behind that song. Click the link below to hear it.

    All of these dream visitations were of great comfort to my family and me, although I wondered, selfishly, why he had not appeared to me, his mother. In retrospect I believe I was too besieged by grief to open my mind and heart to him. But that would soon change.

    If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out

    Click here to catch up with the second entry on. http://www.channelingerik.com/our-first-sightings/

  • April1st

    Erik on the Future and Time

    Posted in: After Death Communication, Afterlife, Bereaved, Channeling, Communication from the dead, Contact with the dead, Death of a Child, Ghosts and Spirits, Grief, Grieving, Guardian Angel, Life, Suicide

    In this part of the channeling session, Erik shares his views on how he and I will work together as a team to help others and the truth behind the concept of time.

    “Mom, do you have any idea how many people on the earthly plane need you to help them heal?”

    Okay, I’m thinking to myself, ‘Me heal others? I’m barely hanging on myself!’

    Kim interjects with, “He’s showing me this book, Elisa, and you’re sitting at this book signing table and there are tons of people there. The lines are huge. You’re at the back of a bookstore and it looks like a Barnes and Noble. You’re sitting there and Erik is standing behind you in spirit. There’s someone sitting next to you. It looks like Annika. She’s helping you. There’s a line all the way out the door, all the way around the block outside the store and they’re all to see you.”

    I feel my head swelling by at least three sizes. This is troubling since I already have a huge one.

    “Mom, you’re going to honor so many spiritual contracts. This is going to be the most productive lifetime you’ve ever ever ever had. It’s good because it’s your last lifetime!” Erik says.

    Wow, that sounds a little sad.

    ‘Okay, so I guess I’ll split the royalties with you, Erik,’ I say.

    Ignoring my comment, he goes on, “You’re going to start a foundation, Mom. The Erik Medhus Foundation. You’re going to do all sorts of things with it. It will be for scholarships; it will be to help homeless women and children; it will be to help certain kids go to the Olympics like for snowboarding competition.”

    “Erik is evidently REALLY into that now!” Kim exclaims. Snowboarding seems to come up a lot in his conversations.

    “It’s going to be to help children who have been uprooted in disasters like the one in Haiti, so you will decide where the money will be spent, Mom, You’ll have fundraisers and you’ll have people sending money frequently for the foundation through the internet and through the mail. You’re going to be known in this lifetime as an activist who is dramatically helping others.”

    ‘Good, I hope so.’ feeling a bit uncomfortable with all this flattery.

    “Mom, we’re going to be helping kids over here, we’re going to be helping parents over there on the earthly plane and kids and older people who are suicidal themselves. Mom, part of the long line of people who come to see you at the book signing will be people who say, ‘I thought about committing suicide I read your book and then I didn’t.’”

    ‘Wow, awesome!’ Again, I feel cautious optimism that Erik’s death might eventually turn out to help others.

    “You know what, Mom?” he adds. “People are going to be waiting a long time to see you because you’re not going to be like ‘Oh, darling, how would you like me to sign your book? Thank you dear, now move on!’ You’ll want to talk to everybody, and everyone is going to look at you as a mom—as their mom. They could be 50 years old and still look at you as mothering and nurturing and they’ll be like, ‘you helped me heal’ and ‘Can I hug you?’ and you’ll be hugging everyone!”

    ‘Oh good, I love hugs.’ It’s true. I’m a big hugger much to the annoyance of my children.

    At this point, I don’t think I (or my head) can tolerate any more complements. I’ve never been comfortable with praise and enjoy a life of humility, devoid of ego. Raising five children is a humbling experience to be sure! So I change the subject abruptly.

    ‘Just a couple of questions more, Erik. The other night, I was sort of in a dream-wake state, and I saw an image of a really old woman in a black dress wearing a black bonnet with white fringe. It looked like she didn’t have any teeth. She was really old and had lots of wrinkles. She had vertical wrinkles where her brows were and she had a very round face. It looked like she was from a long time ago. Is that somebody I’ve known before? Is she one of my ancestors?’

    “Yes, Mom. She’s one of your guides. Her name is Estella.”

    ‘Just popping in to say ‘hi’ I guess?’ I ask.

    “The way she’s showing herself to you is from a lifetime in which she was a gypsy in Eastern Europe,” Kim explains. Then she laughs loudly and says, “Erik is saying that when he first saw her he was like, ‘Holy Jesus!’ No offense to her!”

    ‘Well, I’m going to look like that before long!’ I say.

    “Hey Honey, I’m almost there!” Kim says in agreement.

    ‘Say “Hi” to Denise and Bestemor for me, Erik.’

    “Done and done, Mom.”

    ‘They’re doing okay, I suppose?’

    “Yep.”

    ‘Before we stop, I have one more question. How does time work over there?’

    “It doesn’t. There is no such thing. The only way I’m reminded about time is, well, I’m reminded every day when I’m with you guys there on the earthly plane. Time, because there is no hunger or need for sleep, time is more like an ongoing circle instead of a thread of time where you go, ‘Oh, I’m hungry, it’s lunchtime,’ or ‘Oh, I’m hungry, it’s dinnertime,’ or ‘Oh, I’m tired, it’s must be bedtime.’ I guess it’s the construct or constraints we have to be able to deal with things like that on the earthly plane. I helps us conceptualize changes in state, sequences, and other time-related things that are a necessary part of the human experience.”

    So proud of my little genius.

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