Diary of the Teenage Dead - Part One
I'm Dead - I think!
Note from Anthony: Although this article is confronting, I feel it needs to be. It reflects the truth in the only way all truths can be seen... hard to read, hear or see.
This is the first installment of a 3 part series on Diary of the Teenage Dead...
Arguably, teenage suicide is the hardest of all deaths to cope with. When a young person takes his or her own life, a bomb drops on family and friends. Dreams are shattered, relationships are torn apart and emotions are blown sky high. Initially, feelings of disbelief, guilt, anger, and regret rain down on family, friends and relatives. Then ever so slowly, an emotional and mental fog closes in. The future, the way forward vanishes from sight. Some families take years to recover. Some never do. Some never manage to glue the shattered pieces of their lives back together again. A piece will always be missing.
For those of you still grieving the loss of a young person due to suicide please keep reading. I know each word makes you relive some of your pain, but within these words you may find some comfort.
At every seminar Anthony holds, one or two young teenage spirit energies invariably make their way through. Their mission is to reach out to their loved-ones in the audience and pass on a message via Anthony. While the circumstances that cause a young person to take his or her life vary greatly, a common thread runs through the messages passed on. That is, “It was not your fault. There is nothing more you could have done for me. I take responsibility for my actions.”
For any parent currently raising a teenager the statement, “I take responsibility for my own actions” is short of a miracle in itself. But to hear it from a teenager lost to suicide, a cathartic healing takes place on both sides.
What you’re going to read next is the first entry made in a fictitious diary Anthony and I have called “Diary of the Teenage Dead”. If you find the title confronting, it’s meant to be. Anthony and I have had many long discussions asking ourselves, “How can we help grieving families and friends understand suicide? How can we show suicide from the other side (Heaven, the Divine Universe; the Light or whatever term rests with you comfortably) At the same time, we asked ourselves, “How can we make young people understand suicide is not the easy way out?” As you read this month’s diary entry, keep in mind the source material has come from the many connections Anthony has made with young teenage spirits that suicided and information from his own spirit guides. Over the next three months, the diary entries will give you incite as to how it is in Heaven and on earth for Zak, a young 17 year old boy who suicided.
Diary of the Teenage Dead - Part One
I’m Dead – I think
That’s funny… when I went to write the date. There wasn’t… isn’t one. There is no time here. Time has no meaning.
I can remember seeing my family gathered in our lounge room. My Uncle and Aunt were there. Someone had made tea, but no one was drinking it, nor were they eating the biscuits. Not even my little brother. Mum wasn’t just crying, she was howling. I’d never seen her so upset. Dad was standing next to her like a robot. His movements were stiff and numb. My, 'I-know-everything' thirteen year old sister was hysterical. And my baby brother was wandering from person to person inconsolable. He didn’t know what was going on, but he could feel the sadness in the room. He just kept asking where I was. That was the strange part. I was there in the room with them. I tried to kiss mum on the forehead. I used to do that to tease her. It was our joke that I’d grown taller than her. Now I could ruffle her hair. I tried to give dad a bear hug but he was as stiff as a statue. I stroked my sister’s hair - just like I used to when she was nine. She just looked straight through me. I tried to take my baby brother’s hand but he didn’t respond. Mum was almost incoherent when she said, “I can feel him touching my face.” Of course you can mum; I’m right in front of you. Why couldn’t she see me? My sister screamed, “I can feel him stroking my hair.” Of course she could. I was. What had happened? What tragedy had taken over our lives? Why was the doctor there? Why was he telling dad that mum had to be sedated to cope? Cope with what? Why couldn’t anyone see me? What was going on?
From nowhere Zute appeared. “Zute old boy,” I remember saying, roughing him behind the ears. That was something he loved me doing right up until the day he died. At that moment time froze. Zute died when I was ten, I can remember thinking. Then, in instant replay, it all came flooding back to me. The drugs, alcohol, and finally the car crash.
I’d lost my job earlier that day. I’d been caught doing a line of speed in my car at lunch time. I told the boss to f___ off. Anger was surging through my veins. I stormed away from work. I burst through the kitchen door. Mum took one look at me and said, “You’re high.” I told her where to go too. I stormed out of the house. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the pub.
I was very drunk by the time I staggered into the kitchen around 7 p.m. that night. Both mum and dad were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me. Even before I had slammed the door behind me, they started at me. “The drugs are messing with your head.” “Look at you; you’re on a constant emotional roller coaster ride.” They kept at me. Nag, nag, nag. I stormed off to my bedroom. I was very angry. I did another line of speed. I hated the World and everyone in it. The speed charged me up. I jumped into my car. Drunk and drugged out of my mind, I hit the open highway. I’d never felt so angry. I screamed with rage. I remember my knuckles turned white I was gripping the steering wheel so hard. I kept pushing the accelerator down. One-twenty, one-forty until finally, the speedometer needle hit 180 kilometres per hour. At that moment I swerved. I smashed head on into a huge tree. I felt comforted by the fact that when I woke up my worries would be gone. Imagine that, I actually thought I’d wake up.
Had Zute not come bounding up to me, I may never have realised I was dead. The moment I thought, “Oh God, I am dead” white light streamed in around me. The scene of mum and dad crying in our lounge room began to fade out. I tried hard to hang on. I didn’t want to leave them, but the light was too strong. I knew I had to follow Zute where ever it was he was taking me. For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace. The white light was warm and welcoming. It made me smile.
Next month, we’ll travel with Zak as he crosses over into the Light. Zak’s journey is just beginning, as his family enters their dark nights of the soul.
Note from Anthony: Although this article is confronting, I feel it needs to be. It reflects the truth in the only way all truths can be seen... hard to read, hear or see.
This is the first installment of a 3 part series on Diary of the Teenage Dead...
Arguably, teenage suicide is the hardest of all deaths to cope with. When a young person takes his or her own life, a bomb drops on family and friends. Dreams are shattered, relationships are torn apart and emotions are blown sky high. Initially, feelings of disbelief, guilt, anger, and regret rain down on family, friends and relatives. Then ever so slowly, an emotional and mental fog closes in. The future, the way forward vanishes from sight. Some families take years to recover. Some never do. Some never manage to glue the shattered pieces of their lives back together again. A piece will always be missing.
For those of you still grieving the loss of a young person due to suicide please keep reading. I know each word makes you relive some of your pain, but within these words you may find some comfort.
At every seminar Anthony holds, one or two young teenage spirit energies invariably make their way through. Their mission is to reach out to their loved-ones in the audience and pass on a message via Anthony. While the circumstances that cause a young person to take his or her life vary greatly, a common thread runs through the messages passed on. That is, “It was not your fault. There is nothing more you could have done for me. I take responsibility for my actions.”
For any parent currently raising a teenager the statement, “I take responsibility for my own actions” is short of a miracle in itself. But to hear it from a teenager lost to suicide, a cathartic healing takes place on both sides.
What you’re going to read next is the first entry made in a fictitious diary Anthony and I have called “Diary of the Teenage Dead”. If you find the title confronting, it’s meant to be. Anthony and I have had many long discussions asking ourselves, “How can we help grieving families and friends understand suicide? How can we show suicide from the other side (Heaven, the Divine Universe; the Light or whatever term rests with you comfortably) At the same time, we asked ourselves, “How can we make young people understand suicide is not the easy way out?” As you read this month’s diary entry, keep in mind the source material has come from the many connections Anthony has made with young teenage spirits that suicided and information from his own spirit guides. Over the next three months, the diary entries will give you incite as to how it is in Heaven and on earth for Zak, a young 17 year old boy who suicided.
Diary of the Teenage Dead - Part One
I’m Dead – I think
That’s funny… when I went to write the date. There wasn’t… isn’t one. There is no time here. Time has no meaning.
I can remember seeing my family gathered in our lounge room. My Uncle and Aunt were there. Someone had made tea, but no one was drinking it, nor were they eating the biscuits. Not even my little brother. Mum wasn’t just crying, she was howling. I’d never seen her so upset. Dad was standing next to her like a robot. His movements were stiff and numb. My, 'I-know-everything' thirteen year old sister was hysterical. And my baby brother was wandering from person to person inconsolable. He didn’t know what was going on, but he could feel the sadness in the room. He just kept asking where I was. That was the strange part. I was there in the room with them. I tried to kiss mum on the forehead. I used to do that to tease her. It was our joke that I’d grown taller than her. Now I could ruffle her hair. I tried to give dad a bear hug but he was as stiff as a statue. I stroked my sister’s hair - just like I used to when she was nine. She just looked straight through me. I tried to take my baby brother’s hand but he didn’t respond. Mum was almost incoherent when she said, “I can feel him touching my face.” Of course you can mum; I’m right in front of you. Why couldn’t she see me? My sister screamed, “I can feel him stroking my hair.” Of course she could. I was. What had happened? What tragedy had taken over our lives? Why was the doctor there? Why was he telling dad that mum had to be sedated to cope? Cope with what? Why couldn’t anyone see me? What was going on?
From nowhere Zute appeared. “Zute old boy,” I remember saying, roughing him behind the ears. That was something he loved me doing right up until the day he died. At that moment time froze. Zute died when I was ten, I can remember thinking. Then, in instant replay, it all came flooding back to me. The drugs, alcohol, and finally the car crash.
I’d lost my job earlier that day. I’d been caught doing a line of speed in my car at lunch time. I told the boss to f___ off. Anger was surging through my veins. I stormed away from work. I burst through the kitchen door. Mum took one look at me and said, “You’re high.” I told her where to go too. I stormed out of the house. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the pub.
I was very drunk by the time I staggered into the kitchen around 7 p.m. that night. Both mum and dad were sitting at the kitchen table waiting for me. Even before I had slammed the door behind me, they started at me. “The drugs are messing with your head.” “Look at you; you’re on a constant emotional roller coaster ride.” They kept at me. Nag, nag, nag. I stormed off to my bedroom. I was very angry. I did another line of speed. I hated the World and everyone in it. The speed charged me up. I jumped into my car. Drunk and drugged out of my mind, I hit the open highway. I’d never felt so angry. I screamed with rage. I remember my knuckles turned white I was gripping the steering wheel so hard. I kept pushing the accelerator down. One-twenty, one-forty until finally, the speedometer needle hit 180 kilometres per hour. At that moment I swerved. I smashed head on into a huge tree. I felt comforted by the fact that when I woke up my worries would be gone. Imagine that, I actually thought I’d wake up.
Had Zute not come bounding up to me, I may never have realised I was dead. The moment I thought, “Oh God, I am dead” white light streamed in around me. The scene of mum and dad crying in our lounge room began to fade out. I tried hard to hang on. I didn’t want to leave them, but the light was too strong. I knew I had to follow Zute where ever it was he was taking me. For the first time in a long time, I felt at peace. The white light was warm and welcoming. It made me smile.
Next month, we’ll travel with Zak as he crosses over into the Light. Zak’s journey is just beginning, as his family enters their dark nights of the soul.
Diary of the Teenage Dead - Part Two
This is the second instalment of a 3 part series on Diary of the Teenage Dead...
Last month (May) we featured Part One of the three part series ‘Diary of the Teenage Dead’. Just in case you missed reading Part One, or you’re new to our newsletter, let me recap on events for you.
Arguably, teenage suicide is the hardest of all deaths to cope with. When a young person takes his or her own life, it shatters the lives of those closest to them. ‘Diary of the Teenage Dead’ is a fictitious diary created to tell the story of suicide from the Afterlife or Heaven. It’s our intention to help young people understand suicide is not a way out. At the same time, it is our hope that the diary offers healing to those who have lost a loved-one in this way.
While the diary follows the story of Zak, a 17-year-old boy who intentionally killed himself in a car accident, the research that enabled us to write so vividly about Zak’s journey into the Afterlife comes from Anthony’s many connections with teenage spirits.
In last month’s diary entry, we read Zak’s last living memory was seconds before he ploughed his car head-on into a tree. The car was travelling in excess of 180 kilometres per hour. Ironically, Zak expected to wake up. Instead, he stood amidst his grieving family, confused. ‘What the hell happened? Why is everyone so sad?’
It wasn’t until several days after the accident that Zak put two and two together. ‘Oh my God! I am dead.’ At that point, white light streamed in around him and everything on the earth plain began to fade. Zak tried hard to hang on to his mum and dad, but the light was too strong. He knew he must follow it.
Diary of the Teenage Dead - Part Tw0
I’m in Heaven – I think
‘I’m in Heaven’. That’s what I thought when I kissed my first girlfriend. I mean really kissed her. Well that Heaven is not like this Heaven - this Heaven is weird. When I think about my family I can see down into their world. It reminds me of a glass bottom boat - like the ones used at the Great Barrier Reef. You know the ones – they’re packed with people who can’t swim, snorkel, scuba dive or were a cat in their past life and are afraid of water.
In my case, I don’t see bright coloured fish darting around a coral reef. Instead, I see my family and friends racing here there and everywhere, stressed, angry and sad. Mum suffers the most. She is trying to organise my funeral under a cloud of confusion, grief and pain. I can feel how broken her heart is. It makes me feel sick. Dad has dropped the ball. He’s no help to anyone. He just cries. I had never seen him cry until now. He thinks my death was his fault. It wasn’t. I wish I could tell him that. I can feel his love. That really does my head in. It is so strong, it reaches me up here. I wish I could have felt that love when I was alive. It was there for me but I didn’t know how to connect with it. I know that now.
When I look in on my friends, they’re in a whirlpool of confusion. Some are hiding their pain by taking more drugs. I hear their thoughts. I want to tell them drugs never hide the pain. I should know. I used them to dull all the crap that was making my life a misery. The truth is my life wasn’t the misery I thought it was. I ended up killing myself for no good reason. I wish I could explain that to my friends. I wish I could help them understand.
My boss is trying to locate a new apprentice fitter. He wants one as good as me. Fancy that. All the time I was alive I thought he hated me. I thought I was no good. I thought I was a klutz. If only I’d been able to see past my own self doubt. I was okay. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. My boss feels bad because he never told me I was doing okay. He kept getting up me about the things I wasn’t doing right. He thought that would make me tougher. I’d like to tell him its okay. I understand, now.
My sister is refusing to eat. She is wasting away. I want to tell her I’m with her, but I don’t know how. I haven’t learnt to connect with the living yet. My baby brother is acting out. He trashes things around the house to get attention. He doesn’t understand why I left him, but no one knows that is what is going on inside his head except me. I feel so guilty. I’ve done that to all of them. I just want to tell them all, “I did this. It was not your fault. Please be happy again – for my sake.”
Sometimes I have no choice. I find myself a reluctant passenger in Heaven’s glass bottom boat. Don’t worry. I’m not alone. Others sit with me in the glass bottom boat. They say they are my guides. Thank God they’re not like some of the teachers I had at school. I probably would have jumped overboard and taken my chances swimming amongst the clouds.
Each say, my guides sit with me and patiently sift through my life. I remember that on my first ‘glass bottom’ boat ride I got to see what was. That wasn’t so bad. I learnt a lot about myself – the person I was when I was a living soul.
Lately, I’ve have had to face what would have been had I not taken myself out of the picture. That was hard. Killing myself was like removing all the red threads out of a tapestry. Parts of other people’s lives could no longer be completed because of me.
I talk to other young spirits like me. Talk is the wrong word really. We telepathically communicate using energy vibrations. We don’t communicate in words. We talk in complete thoughts. It’s a bit like looking at the cover of a DVD and seeing the entire movie in a split second of a thought. It’s freaky really.
Talking in complete thoughts isn’t the only freaky thing I have to get used to. When I first began my glass bottom boat journey I used to think, ‘I better not put my feet on the glass. I might fall through.’ Can you image the reaction if I crashed in on my family like a cricket ball through a pane of glass? Only now am I beginning to understand that I am pure energy. I have no physical body. I don’t seem to get angry or upset anymore, especially when my ‘glass bottom’ guides correct parts of my life. (They don’t like me calling them that, by the way.)
My ’glass bottom’ guides say that eventually I will learn to use my energy vibration to connect with my family and friends, but only if they’re willing. Eventually my job will be to help them and others heal. Knowing what I know now, I’d choose life over death anytime. My journey is not over yet. There is no escaping the lessons that still lay ahead of me.
Next month, we’ll travel with Zak as he learns to use his energy vibration to connect with his family and heal the living
This is the second instalment of a 3 part series on Diary of the Teenage Dead...
Last month (May) we featured Part One of the three part series ‘Diary of the Teenage Dead’. Just in case you missed reading Part One, or you’re new to our newsletter, let me recap on events for you.
Arguably, teenage suicide is the hardest of all deaths to cope with. When a young person takes his or her own life, it shatters the lives of those closest to them. ‘Diary of the Teenage Dead’ is a fictitious diary created to tell the story of suicide from the Afterlife or Heaven. It’s our intention to help young people understand suicide is not a way out. At the same time, it is our hope that the diary offers healing to those who have lost a loved-one in this way.
While the diary follows the story of Zak, a 17-year-old boy who intentionally killed himself in a car accident, the research that enabled us to write so vividly about Zak’s journey into the Afterlife comes from Anthony’s many connections with teenage spirits.
In last month’s diary entry, we read Zak’s last living memory was seconds before he ploughed his car head-on into a tree. The car was travelling in excess of 180 kilometres per hour. Ironically, Zak expected to wake up. Instead, he stood amidst his grieving family, confused. ‘What the hell happened? Why is everyone so sad?’
It wasn’t until several days after the accident that Zak put two and two together. ‘Oh my God! I am dead.’ At that point, white light streamed in around him and everything on the earth plain began to fade. Zak tried hard to hang on to his mum and dad, but the light was too strong. He knew he must follow it.
Diary of the Teenage Dead - Part Tw0
I’m in Heaven – I think
‘I’m in Heaven’. That’s what I thought when I kissed my first girlfriend. I mean really kissed her. Well that Heaven is not like this Heaven - this Heaven is weird. When I think about my family I can see down into their world. It reminds me of a glass bottom boat - like the ones used at the Great Barrier Reef. You know the ones – they’re packed with people who can’t swim, snorkel, scuba dive or were a cat in their past life and are afraid of water.
In my case, I don’t see bright coloured fish darting around a coral reef. Instead, I see my family and friends racing here there and everywhere, stressed, angry and sad. Mum suffers the most. She is trying to organise my funeral under a cloud of confusion, grief and pain. I can feel how broken her heart is. It makes me feel sick. Dad has dropped the ball. He’s no help to anyone. He just cries. I had never seen him cry until now. He thinks my death was his fault. It wasn’t. I wish I could tell him that. I can feel his love. That really does my head in. It is so strong, it reaches me up here. I wish I could have felt that love when I was alive. It was there for me but I didn’t know how to connect with it. I know that now.
When I look in on my friends, they’re in a whirlpool of confusion. Some are hiding their pain by taking more drugs. I hear their thoughts. I want to tell them drugs never hide the pain. I should know. I used them to dull all the crap that was making my life a misery. The truth is my life wasn’t the misery I thought it was. I ended up killing myself for no good reason. I wish I could explain that to my friends. I wish I could help them understand.
My boss is trying to locate a new apprentice fitter. He wants one as good as me. Fancy that. All the time I was alive I thought he hated me. I thought I was no good. I thought I was a klutz. If only I’d been able to see past my own self doubt. I was okay. It wasn’t as bad as I thought. My boss feels bad because he never told me I was doing okay. He kept getting up me about the things I wasn’t doing right. He thought that would make me tougher. I’d like to tell him its okay. I understand, now.
My sister is refusing to eat. She is wasting away. I want to tell her I’m with her, but I don’t know how. I haven’t learnt to connect with the living yet. My baby brother is acting out. He trashes things around the house to get attention. He doesn’t understand why I left him, but no one knows that is what is going on inside his head except me. I feel so guilty. I’ve done that to all of them. I just want to tell them all, “I did this. It was not your fault. Please be happy again – for my sake.”
Sometimes I have no choice. I find myself a reluctant passenger in Heaven’s glass bottom boat. Don’t worry. I’m not alone. Others sit with me in the glass bottom boat. They say they are my guides. Thank God they’re not like some of the teachers I had at school. I probably would have jumped overboard and taken my chances swimming amongst the clouds.
Each say, my guides sit with me and patiently sift through my life. I remember that on my first ‘glass bottom’ boat ride I got to see what was. That wasn’t so bad. I learnt a lot about myself – the person I was when I was a living soul.
Lately, I’ve have had to face what would have been had I not taken myself out of the picture. That was hard. Killing myself was like removing all the red threads out of a tapestry. Parts of other people’s lives could no longer be completed because of me.
I talk to other young spirits like me. Talk is the wrong word really. We telepathically communicate using energy vibrations. We don’t communicate in words. We talk in complete thoughts. It’s a bit like looking at the cover of a DVD and seeing the entire movie in a split second of a thought. It’s freaky really.
Talking in complete thoughts isn’t the only freaky thing I have to get used to. When I first began my glass bottom boat journey I used to think, ‘I better not put my feet on the glass. I might fall through.’ Can you image the reaction if I crashed in on my family like a cricket ball through a pane of glass? Only now am I beginning to understand that I am pure energy. I have no physical body. I don’t seem to get angry or upset anymore, especially when my ‘glass bottom’ guides correct parts of my life. (They don’t like me calling them that, by the way.)
My ’glass bottom’ guides say that eventually I will learn to use my energy vibration to connect with my family and friends, but only if they’re willing. Eventually my job will be to help them and others heal. Knowing what I know now, I’d choose life over death anytime. My journey is not over yet. There is no escaping the lessons that still lay ahead of me.
Next month, we’ll travel with Zak as he learns to use his energy vibration to connect with his family and heal the living
Diary of the Teenage Dead - Part Three
This is not Heaven!
Yesterday I sat thinking about Heaven. I was beginning to wonder what the word Heaven meant. If this was Heaven, truly Heaven, it would be where my grandfather lives and where our dog Zute plays all day. My grandfather would show me how to fix things. Zute would drop a tennis ball dripping with dog slobber at my feet. If this was Heaven I would feel only joy and not be made to travel in a glass bottom boat and witness the grief and suffering my suicide has caused. Then a voice I hadn’t heard before said, ‘You can have that, ‘plenty of teenagers do.’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked. ‘I’m Leanne. I suicided just like you.’ ‘So what makes you the expert in Heaven?’ ‘I’ve been in spirit longer than you.’ ‘How is it that I’ve never seen you on the glass bottom boat before?’ ‘It hasn’t been the right time.’ ‘And it is now?’ ‘Yes, Zak. I’m here to help you.’ ‘You mean I get to go back!’
I felt stupid for saying that, but it was what I wanted more than anything. I wanted to undo the pain and suffering my death was causing my family. I wanted to start again. I wanted to go back with what I know now. Dad and I could have so much fun. I would make mum laugh. I’d tell my sister I love her and I’d spend more time playing with my baby brother.
‘No Zak you don’t get to go back. You are dead,’ said the female spirit named Leanne. ‘I want out of the boat.’ I couldn’t help it. Finally I had someone at my own age to talk to. I felt over loaded. My soul wanted to explode. I knew it was experiencing what my ‘glass bottom’ guides called and eruption of human emotion. Even though I was in spirit, my human emotions were still a part of me. ‘Think of them as your markers’ said one of my guides. ‘Until you find them all, you won’t be able to fully develop spiritually, nor will you be able to connect with the living. ’I’m still not sure what my guide meant by that.
Leanne tried to tell me I couldn’t get out of the boat just yet. I didn’t believe her. I climbed up and over the side of the boat and stood on nothing. ‘Getting out of the boat isn’t as easy as you think,’ she said. ‘You have to stop desiring forgiveness from the living just to ease your guilt.’ ‘I what?’ Leanne had a strange way of talking sometimes.‘You have to stop needing your family and concentrate on transmitting pure unconditional love,’ she explained.‘I still don’t get it.’ ‘You have to stop investing your energy in the vacuum left by your loss. You have to stop wondering whether everyone left on earth will forgive you,’ she explained. ‘You make me sound so selfish.’ ‘Only then will you be free. Only then will heaven transform into joy. And only then can you begin to heal others.’ It all seems impossible to me.
Heaven is hard work. When my spirit guides get too heavy with me, I look through the glass bottom boat and transport myself back into my room.
It’s been six months since my death and my room is still as it was the night I stormed out of the house, never to return. Unofficially my room has become a family shrine. It is a sacred site. Nothing has been disturbed. The door is never opened. Everything has been left just as it was. It is as if my family are all holding onto the belief that one day I will return. In a way they are right. I do return, but they just don’t know it.
Last week my baby brother was the first to trespass into my bedroom. He’s grown tall enough to reach the door handle. I was in there when he inched open the door and peeped into the darkness. I was reliving the gloom and drug haze that surrounded me when I was alive. I was glad of his interruption. I willed my baby brother to open the curtains and let in the light, but he was too little. ‘Under the bed,’ I tried to tell him. ‘Look under the bed.’ My baby brother giggled and ran to the bed. He stopped short to look around and then said, ‘Zaky where are you?’ It was at that moment I took the first step out of my humanness. I saw out of the vacuum of my own loss. I concentrated all my thought vibrations and channelled them at my baby brother until it hurt. ‘Soccer ball; under the bed.’ My baby brother dropped to his knees and crawled under my bed. Seconds later he squealed with delight. I watched him wriggle out backwards with his prize. He stood up with the soccer ball; the one I’d hidden from him and said I knew nothing about. He hugged the ball tightly. ‘Ta Zaky,’ he said looking around my room. My baby brother’s unconditional love struck me like a thunderbolt. I was instantly infused with an overwhelming feeling of bliss. It was as if he was hugging me and not the soccer ball. My heart melted, I forgot my own feeling of loss and channelled all my love and energy back toward him. I felt alive.
My mother was the second family member to trespass the sacred grounds of my room. As she inched the door open, the gloom of my room struck me once again. I concentrated hard. ‘Open the curtains Mum and let the light in. Let me go. Get on with your life.’ Mum sat on my bed; her mood heavy and her heart broken. She picked my ‘Metallica’ T-shirt up off the floor. She buried her face into it and inhaled deeply. I was surprised she didn’t pass out. Instead, she cried and cried and cried.I can’t reach her, I thought. ‘No,’ said Leanne. ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked, surprised by her presence. ‘Long enough.’ ‘Mum can’t sense me.’ ‘Understandably so. She is grieving. Her energy vibration is very low. You’ll find it hard to connect with her.’ ‘How come my baby brother heard me so easily?’ ‘His energy vibration is high despite the fact he’s missing you.’ ‘How does that work?’ ‘Because your brother is only four years old, he’s not lost in the vacuum of your loss in the same way the rest of your family are.’ ‘Can I help the rest of my family like I did my baby brother?’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘Maybe?!’ ‘You need to learn to channel unconditional love. That means letting go of your human emotions and needs.’ ‘But I’m in spirit. I don’t have human emotions.’ ‘Yes you do and you will continue to do so for quite some time. You suicided and that in itself means you have a lot to learn and a lot of guilt, anger, sadness, and regret to let go of. It’s going to take time.’ ‘And then can I help my family?’ ‘That depends.’ ‘On what?’ ‘Their grief and the type of help they need.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Your mum, for example, is unable to sense you because her grief has lowered her energy vibration.’ ‘She’s not exactly going to dance and sing over my grave is she?’ ‘Of course she isn’t. She needs to grieve, but that doesn’t mean she can’t raise her energy vibration.’ ‘How is she supposed to do that? That’s like asking her to be happy and sad in the same instant.’ ‘Not at all. It means your mum has to have faith that you’re in Heaven and let go of her need to love you in the physical form and transcend her love into a spiritual form.’ ‘How is she supposed to do that?’ ‘Seek counselling for her grief and meditate or pray.’ ‘And then what?’ ‘Ask for validation that you can hear her.’ ‘What?!’ ‘You’ve already done it once. What do you think helping your little brother to find his soccer ball was?’ ‘You can come to the living in their dreams or by using incidences in their day to guide them. But you can only do this if they are open to receiving guidance and their energy vibration is high.’ ‘How long will that take the rest of my family to raise their energy vibration?’ ‘However long is needed.’
As each day passes I’m learning to step outside the vacuum of my own loss and channel my unconditional love toward my family. I frequently connect with my baby brother. He talks to me while he plays with the soccer ball in our back yard. At the moment I’m another voice in his head that isn’t his own. Perhaps he’ll call me his intuition when he grows up. Maybe he won’t. That will be for him to decide.
My sister wears my wrist watch. She sees me in her dreams but she won’t let me come forward to talk to her. Outwardly, my dad is moving on with his life. Emotionally, he has shut down completely. I stand by his side constantly, yet he cannot feel me. Mum is in the darkest nights of her soul. She feels alone and abandoned. I have asked more experienced guides to help her. My time to connect with mum is yet to come.
My death was not their fault. I’m truly sorry for the pain my death has caused them all.
This is not Heaven!
Yesterday I sat thinking about Heaven. I was beginning to wonder what the word Heaven meant. If this was Heaven, truly Heaven, it would be where my grandfather lives and where our dog Zute plays all day. My grandfather would show me how to fix things. Zute would drop a tennis ball dripping with dog slobber at my feet. If this was Heaven I would feel only joy and not be made to travel in a glass bottom boat and witness the grief and suffering my suicide has caused. Then a voice I hadn’t heard before said, ‘You can have that, ‘plenty of teenagers do.’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked. ‘I’m Leanne. I suicided just like you.’ ‘So what makes you the expert in Heaven?’ ‘I’ve been in spirit longer than you.’ ‘How is it that I’ve never seen you on the glass bottom boat before?’ ‘It hasn’t been the right time.’ ‘And it is now?’ ‘Yes, Zak. I’m here to help you.’ ‘You mean I get to go back!’
I felt stupid for saying that, but it was what I wanted more than anything. I wanted to undo the pain and suffering my death was causing my family. I wanted to start again. I wanted to go back with what I know now. Dad and I could have so much fun. I would make mum laugh. I’d tell my sister I love her and I’d spend more time playing with my baby brother.
‘No Zak you don’t get to go back. You are dead,’ said the female spirit named Leanne. ‘I want out of the boat.’ I couldn’t help it. Finally I had someone at my own age to talk to. I felt over loaded. My soul wanted to explode. I knew it was experiencing what my ‘glass bottom’ guides called and eruption of human emotion. Even though I was in spirit, my human emotions were still a part of me. ‘Think of them as your markers’ said one of my guides. ‘Until you find them all, you won’t be able to fully develop spiritually, nor will you be able to connect with the living. ’I’m still not sure what my guide meant by that.
Leanne tried to tell me I couldn’t get out of the boat just yet. I didn’t believe her. I climbed up and over the side of the boat and stood on nothing. ‘Getting out of the boat isn’t as easy as you think,’ she said. ‘You have to stop desiring forgiveness from the living just to ease your guilt.’ ‘I what?’ Leanne had a strange way of talking sometimes.‘You have to stop needing your family and concentrate on transmitting pure unconditional love,’ she explained.‘I still don’t get it.’ ‘You have to stop investing your energy in the vacuum left by your loss. You have to stop wondering whether everyone left on earth will forgive you,’ she explained. ‘You make me sound so selfish.’ ‘Only then will you be free. Only then will heaven transform into joy. And only then can you begin to heal others.’ It all seems impossible to me.
Heaven is hard work. When my spirit guides get too heavy with me, I look through the glass bottom boat and transport myself back into my room.
It’s been six months since my death and my room is still as it was the night I stormed out of the house, never to return. Unofficially my room has become a family shrine. It is a sacred site. Nothing has been disturbed. The door is never opened. Everything has been left just as it was. It is as if my family are all holding onto the belief that one day I will return. In a way they are right. I do return, but they just don’t know it.
Last week my baby brother was the first to trespass into my bedroom. He’s grown tall enough to reach the door handle. I was in there when he inched open the door and peeped into the darkness. I was reliving the gloom and drug haze that surrounded me when I was alive. I was glad of his interruption. I willed my baby brother to open the curtains and let in the light, but he was too little. ‘Under the bed,’ I tried to tell him. ‘Look under the bed.’ My baby brother giggled and ran to the bed. He stopped short to look around and then said, ‘Zaky where are you?’ It was at that moment I took the first step out of my humanness. I saw out of the vacuum of my own loss. I concentrated all my thought vibrations and channelled them at my baby brother until it hurt. ‘Soccer ball; under the bed.’ My baby brother dropped to his knees and crawled under my bed. Seconds later he squealed with delight. I watched him wriggle out backwards with his prize. He stood up with the soccer ball; the one I’d hidden from him and said I knew nothing about. He hugged the ball tightly. ‘Ta Zaky,’ he said looking around my room. My baby brother’s unconditional love struck me like a thunderbolt. I was instantly infused with an overwhelming feeling of bliss. It was as if he was hugging me and not the soccer ball. My heart melted, I forgot my own feeling of loss and channelled all my love and energy back toward him. I felt alive.
My mother was the second family member to trespass the sacred grounds of my room. As she inched the door open, the gloom of my room struck me once again. I concentrated hard. ‘Open the curtains Mum and let the light in. Let me go. Get on with your life.’ Mum sat on my bed; her mood heavy and her heart broken. She picked my ‘Metallica’ T-shirt up off the floor. She buried her face into it and inhaled deeply. I was surprised she didn’t pass out. Instead, she cried and cried and cried.I can’t reach her, I thought. ‘No,’ said Leanne. ‘How long have you been here?’ I asked, surprised by her presence. ‘Long enough.’ ‘Mum can’t sense me.’ ‘Understandably so. She is grieving. Her energy vibration is very low. You’ll find it hard to connect with her.’ ‘How come my baby brother heard me so easily?’ ‘His energy vibration is high despite the fact he’s missing you.’ ‘How does that work?’ ‘Because your brother is only four years old, he’s not lost in the vacuum of your loss in the same way the rest of your family are.’ ‘Can I help the rest of my family like I did my baby brother?’ ‘Maybe.’ ‘Maybe?!’ ‘You need to learn to channel unconditional love. That means letting go of your human emotions and needs.’ ‘But I’m in spirit. I don’t have human emotions.’ ‘Yes you do and you will continue to do so for quite some time. You suicided and that in itself means you have a lot to learn and a lot of guilt, anger, sadness, and regret to let go of. It’s going to take time.’ ‘And then can I help my family?’ ‘That depends.’ ‘On what?’ ‘Their grief and the type of help they need.’ ‘What do you mean?’ ‘Your mum, for example, is unable to sense you because her grief has lowered her energy vibration.’ ‘She’s not exactly going to dance and sing over my grave is she?’ ‘Of course she isn’t. She needs to grieve, but that doesn’t mean she can’t raise her energy vibration.’ ‘How is she supposed to do that? That’s like asking her to be happy and sad in the same instant.’ ‘Not at all. It means your mum has to have faith that you’re in Heaven and let go of her need to love you in the physical form and transcend her love into a spiritual form.’ ‘How is she supposed to do that?’ ‘Seek counselling for her grief and meditate or pray.’ ‘And then what?’ ‘Ask for validation that you can hear her.’ ‘What?!’ ‘You’ve already done it once. What do you think helping your little brother to find his soccer ball was?’ ‘You can come to the living in their dreams or by using incidences in their day to guide them. But you can only do this if they are open to receiving guidance and their energy vibration is high.’ ‘How long will that take the rest of my family to raise their energy vibration?’ ‘However long is needed.’
As each day passes I’m learning to step outside the vacuum of my own loss and channel my unconditional love toward my family. I frequently connect with my baby brother. He talks to me while he plays with the soccer ball in our back yard. At the moment I’m another voice in his head that isn’t his own. Perhaps he’ll call me his intuition when he grows up. Maybe he won’t. That will be for him to decide.
My sister wears my wrist watch. She sees me in her dreams but she won’t let me come forward to talk to her. Outwardly, my dad is moving on with his life. Emotionally, he has shut down completely. I stand by his side constantly, yet he cannot feel me. Mum is in the darkest nights of her soul. She feels alone and abandoned. I have asked more experienced guides to help her. My time to connect with mum is yet to come.
My death was not their fault. I’m truly sorry for the pain my death has caused them all.