Your
True Tales
March 2006 – Page
4
Communication
with the Dead
by Pat
Pfeffer
I seem to have some kind of a connection there, but one of the strangest episodes is as follows:
My good friend and real estate customer was a medical doctor, recently divorced, who was a total golf nut. I was assisting him in his search for a home at the edge of a golf course, but only five minutes from his office. A tough order to fill. He also happened to be bipolar, which only his family and closest friends knew. He was dating with the idea of remarrying, and after a year of living in the house, we found for him. He decided to move in with a gal who, he confided, he did not like when he first dated her. In addition, she lived 45 minutes from his office. I handled the leasing of his home and he made the move. He later confided that he'd moved in with her because his brother told him she was the "one" for him, and his older brother was his "father figure."
It was a Wednesday when I was impressed to call his office hoping to meet with him on his lunch break. The office was in turmoil. He had not shown up nor had he called in. No one knew where he was. He was to fly to Hawaii the following Saturday with the gal friend, and the scuttlebutt was that a marriage was in the offing.
Instead, on Saturday I attended his funeral. He had committed suicide Wednesday morning. His sister found him in his car, parked in a lot in another town, with motor still running... Who knows how she found him? Immediately after the funeral I tuned into a PGA golf tournament held at Firestone Country Club and just sat down to have a snack when I was suddenly told that Greg Norman would win... and this while he was playing the 4th hole. I was told he'd win at 2 under par on the 18th hole. You sure would not have bet on that from where he stood in the scoring at that point. I had no choice but to watch the play to the end. Sure enough, Greg Norman won it in a three-way sudden death playoff on the 18th hole with 2 under par. I leaped from my seat and scolded, "If you're going to give me information like that, then please give me the name of a good bookie."
I could have made a fortune on that had I bet on it. It had to be the doctor. I knew no other golf nuts, and if there was any way he could hang around for these events he would have. Obviously, he found a way he could do it, for the following Saturday was a reprise. This time it was a doubles tournament. Not nearly as exciting, but he told me the names of the couple who would win, and he was right on the button again. The folks that pass over seem to hang around their familiar haunts for 10 days to 2 weeks before they make their permanent transition. Apparently, they are able to communicate with receptive minds while they are still close by, as well as later.
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