“...and so the hero approaches the bookshelves.” I was floating just above and slightly to the left of the actor who looked like me. “He’s going along the shelves; looking for books to stop the hurt…he’s reading one.” Of course ‘floating me’ knew what ‘grounded me’ was doing and even what he was about to do next, but I stayed outside of ‘grounded me’ until I saw him start to read about spirits making contact through electronic equipment such as radios, TV’s and ¹telephones. Even then I was a little wary of what the actor was reading, but after a while, curiosity got the better of me. So I went and sat inside ‘grounded me’s’ head and looked out through his eyes…

Later that evening I was standing quite still, as there was nothing else I wanted to do, when my friend Debbie knocked on the front door. The kitchen was our favourite place to talk, so she joined me there while I made some tea. I remember Debbie remarking how tense and strange she felt. This was understandable, as Debbie had gone through the ordeal of my mother being taken ill, while I was rehearsing a show in Bristol and had been with her until she passed away nearly three hours later. I arrived about ten minutes after she died and although I regretted it at the time, in hindsight I think it was for the better and perhaps even planned. I have heard that people often ‘pass on’ when their loved ones are out of the way, in order to spare them the ordeal.

We were standing by the sink, when the house phone rang. Debbie went to answer it; “They’ve rung off” she called from the living room. A few moments later, Debbie spoke again “It was your mother!” Debbie had dialled 1471 to identify the caller and the number recorded was my mother’s mobile telephone.

Although I considered myself something of a believer in the afterlife, mine was a ‘fair-weather’ belief. Faced with the reality of Christina’s death, I knew in my heart that I really considered that death was the final oblivion. I did not really believe that there was anything beyond that moment. I did not really consider that belief in the afterlife was anything more than a cushion to soften the harsh reality of inevitable death. I therefore felt a strange excitement as I went into the dining room to find her mobile phone. It was a glimmer of hope, especially as I had been reading about it during the afternoon. If the telephone call was a genuine contact with my mother – then it must follow that there really was an afterlife. (story continued overleaf)...