I talk to my dead husband regularly | Jamie Turndorf

When I was a young girl, I received a detailed premonition of the man I would one day marry. So I contented myself with waiting for him to appear. And he showed up on the first day of my freshman year at Vassar College. I had been excluded from all introductory sociology courses and was told to ask Jean Pin, the department chair, if he could find me a place in one of the closed courses. I never believed in love at first sight…until I walked into his office. Jean was the most beautiful man I had ever seen, and not just physically. He radiated such inner beauty, kindness and gentleness.

Without warning, I felt my soul shooting at high speed through a tunnel to the end of my life. I received the message that I had to remember every aspect of our meeting because one day he would be everything to me. I soon learned that Jean had been one of the most famous Jesuit priests in history for most of his life. A religious pioneer who taught at the Vatican, he gained international fame when he publicly opposed attempts by the Pope and the Catholic Church to block the legalization of divorce. His fight led to the legalization of divorce. Soon after, the Pope granted him a dispensation of his vows, he left the Jesuit order and the priesthood and was recruited by Vassar.

Four years after our fateful meeting, I needed help with the statistics portion of my thesis, and my supervisor didn’t know much about statistics. Although I was not his advisor, Jean was happy to give me his time. Over the past few weeks we have fallen madly in love. Despite our huge age difference and our different cultural backgrounds and religions (I was raised by two Jewish atheists who taught me not to believe in God or the afterlife. And the only religion they practiced was mutual religious hatred) , we were completely compatible. Twins separated at birth. Soulmates.

We loved the same activities, music, books and hobbies. We wrote books together, ran businesses together, restored and decorated houses together, and enjoyed every moment we spent together. We were inseparable. He remained by my side, my loyal and beloved supporter in every moment of our 27 years together. Whenever I was on the floor, he would take me in his arms and listen to me patiently, gently and acceptingly. I once asked him, “How can you give me so much?” and he said, “I just love you, Jamie.” In the last year of his life, we began to suspect that he would die in an accident. We just didn’t know when or where.

On the day we left for our last summer vacation in Italy, lightning struck and destroyed our rose arbor. Then at least 50 crows appeared in the yard. I shook off the omens and we traveled to Sperlonga, Italy, as planned. High on rocky cliffs, the whitewashed ramparts of this ancient Roman resort towered majestically over the endless blue blanket of the bay below. Whitecaps fluttered like strips of lace, bobbing in the unusually choppy water. After days of rain the sky finally cleared and we made our way to the beach. As we talked, I noticed that Jean had raised his left hand above his head as if to block the sun’s rays. Suddenly a bee flew down and stung his left palm.

“We have to go to the hospital,” he managed. “I can’t breathe.” I could hear him gasping for air. Fluid rattled in his lungs, rising like a flood that threatened to drown him. I raced down the street, murmuring something, anything that might calm him down. That could calm me down. “You got what babies get,” I babbled. “It’s like the croup. Do not worry. The hospital will help you.” I looked at him askance. “I love you,” I said with all the conviction my heart could contain. He said, “I love you.” Those were the last words he ever spoke to me. I never got to kiss him or say goodbye to him before he passed out and his heart stopped.

Back in the hotel room, I collapsed onto the bed. The sound of him choking rang in my head like an endless stutter. The image of my sweet lover’s beautiful scarlet face was burned into my brain. The pain in my heart burned in my chest. My ears felt like they would burst from the sound of my pounding heart. I was sure I was going to die of a heart attack or a broken heart. As I lay on the side of the bed crying and shaking with fear, I felt as if I had fallen into an abyss of grief and despair. Suddenly I felt a gentle caress stretching the entire length of my spine. I looked over my shoulder. Nothing. Nobody was there. But he was there; He’s been with me ever since.

Jean has asked me to tell our story and share his miraculous and enduring spiritual manifestations (often in front of witnesses) to let the world know, to let you know, that we do not die and our relationships do not end in death. As a result of my experiences, encouragement from friends and patients, and Hay House, I have written a book: Love never dies, where I introduce my new grief therapy method, which is very different from the Western approach that tells people to grieve, let go and move on. This leaves those left behind with an even greater loss.

Love never dies leads you to say “hello,” not “goodbye.” How to create a state of receptivity and recognize the signs of spiritual presence so that you can restore your relationships with your loved ones in spirit without the help of a medium. There is more. I can’t imagine a living soul who doesn’t have unfinished business with someone who has passed away. While traditional Western grief therapy does not offer us a solution, my technique “Dialogue with the Deceased”, as I talk to my dead husband, offers you a real opportunity to make peace with the deceased. I am pleased to report that the healing and peace experienced by those who have died is remarkable and very gratifying.

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