Now that you know I speak with the dead and attended psychic development classes, let me introduce to the first intense contact I had with a beautiful young spirit named Lizzie.
Our classes were conducted under Kate's house on a Wednesday night in a lovely room she used for her readings, classes etc. Kate would always talk about this young girl who would come to visit, sometimes on Wednesday nights when we were there. A few members of the class would see her. I never saw her. I don't really see them. Instead they tell me, describe to me what I need to know. So I can describe a spirit to you no problem if they themselves help me and describe what they are wearing, how tall they are, colour hair etc etc and about themselves. Anyway, this little girl was always a puzzle to Kate and the few others that would catch glimpses of her from time to time. That was until the day she decided to talk to me.
It was a Wednesday night in the middle of winter. Kate's class had gone really well that night, flowed smoothly and many messages had come through for people. I myself had done really well and I was feeling quite happy with myself. After meditation, Kate had mentioned that the little girl with fair curly hair and the white dress had popped her head around the doorway and then just as quickly, disappeared. I have never seen the little girl, I don't think I ever wil. I never "see" as such. Spirit talks to me and I feel their presence, but I can't see them, not like I could see you if you were standing in front of me. I always envy those in class that can.
Time for home. Said all my "goodnights, see you next weeks" and headed over the road where my ute was parked waiting to take me home. GGGrrrrrr it was cold. Hopped in and started old Maxi up (yes my ute has a name) and waited for the engine to warm a bit and the heater to kick in, waved to Lexie as she headed to her car. As I check the rear view mirror before taking off I thought I saw a quick flash of something but wrote it off as just light refecting from Lexie's headlights. But no, not really, I was pretty confident I was driving home with a "guest".
I kept telling myself I was being silly. That I didn't have a silent passenger, it was ony wishful thinking, (as I would LOVE to have a silent passenger). But the message kept coming through over and over "you are not alone"
Roughly 20 minutes later I pull into our garage and shut the engine off and listen to the humming of the garage door as it makes it's slow decent to secure me safely inside my home. Ah home, no place better to be on a chilly night.
David had already gone to bed, so I quietly slipped into my PJ's and snuggled down into the warmth of the blankets. All thoughts of my so called passenger long gone as I drifted off into a peaceful and deep sleep.
"Wake up!" Huh!! Did someone say something. I lazily open an eye and see that David is still fast asleep. Oh good, didn't think so. Roll over and burrow back down in the blankets.
"Wake up, I need to talk to you" "I'm here to tell my story and you're it"
What the hell, who is that, what is the time. I raise my head unwillingly and look at the clock. 6.10am
OMG, why do I keep dreaming and then waking up, it's too early.
"Hello, are you going to listen to me" "I like you, you have the same favourite number as me, number 6, I am 6 years old, I'm going to talk to you"
David gets out of bed and heads to the kitchen to get b'fast before work.
"Go away, I'm just imagining things, no one is talking to me, I'm going back to sleep."
"But I followed you home, I was in your car" "you have to talk to me, I'm just going to keep on talking to you"
And so she did, all morning, non stop chatter.
Her name is Lizzie and she is forever 6 years old. Dear little Lizzie always presents herself in her favourite dress, the only good dress she ever really owned. Her Sunday church dress. White with lace trimmings across the chest with a small blue ribbon woven in amongst it. Curly blond hair, big blue eyes and little lacy white socks and one black shoe................one black shoe. Interesting.
Lizzie lived on a farm with her father back in the early 70's, on the land that Kate's house and many others occupy.
Lizzie is not the full quid, she is a special little girl who is a bit slow, not the brightest and not the quickest at working things out. And this is how she got to be known around the traps as Dizzie Lizzie. "They call me Dizzy Lizzie" she tells me "its because I'm pretty forgetful and I get lost and lose track of the time all the time and I'm forever losing things"
Lizzie's mother died when Lizzie was 2 years old. Her father never wanted kids, it wasn't in the plan. When Lizzie's mum told him she was pregnant he didn't talk to her for a week. Lizzie's Dad was a bit rough, a bit grumpy, bad tempered and not very loving towards anyone. He was a farmer and he was busy and the farm was the most important thing. The farm brought in the money.
So, you can imagine his utter disappointment when a daughter came into the world. Not only did he not want children anyway, but if he was going to have one, a son would come in useful around the farm. But a girl, well that was only trouble.
Lizzie had her mother's complete and utter devotion and love for the first two years of her life. She doted on her daughter and spent all of her time cuddling Lizzie and talking to her, reading her stories and playing outside in the sun on a blanket. And Lizzie adored her mother the way a 2 year old can.
It soon became apparent however that Lizzie was a bit different. She was not developing as fast as other toddlers her age and it became more clear with each passing week that Lizzie was slow and had something not quite right with her. Of course this made her father even more resentful. "She won't be any good to me around the farm either" Lizzie tells me. At this stage, I myself have been doing housework, mopping floors, vacuuming, dusting etc etc, and all the while this little girl has been following me around and nattering on ten to the dozen. I am thinking to myself the whole time "I am going nuts" At one point I did have to ask her to give me a slight break as my head was just spinning with all she was telling me.
Around the age of 2, Lizzie's mother contracted whooping cough about as bad a case as you can get. From this other complications arose and they couldn't afford to keep seeing the doctor. Lizzie's mother passed away one night in her sleep and all of a sudden Lizzie and her father were thrown into unknown territory.
Lizzie's aunt (her mother's sister) came to live with them for about 6 months. During this time she did all she could to help Lizzie and tried to help her father too, but the aunt soon realised exactly the kind of man her sister had been married to for all these years. A very angry, unloving man.
After 6 months, Lizzie's aunt had to move back home to her own family so they had to imploy a housekeeper/babysitter. Lizzie tells me this lady was a very nice woman who used to arrive very early in the mornings, before the sun was up and leave after dark, once supper had been served and everything cleared away. The woman refused to be a live in housekeeper even though she had no family of her own, because she couldn't bear to be around Lizzie's father constantly, so she chose to come and go each day.
As Lizzie grew into a cute little girl, it became more and more clear that she was a simple girl. Her father was thinking it a waste of time to send her to school and an embarrassment, so he kept her at home most of the time, telling his daughter she didn't need school.
During the days, the father was gone from sunrise to sunset, only coming home for lunch and then of course dinner and bed. After dinner, Lizzie's dad would sit in the lounge room and read his books and Lizzie was to remain quietly occupied until it was time for bed. He wanted no chatter, no noise.
The days were filled with Lizzie getting herself into all sorts of trouble apparently. Constantly wandering too far from the farmhouse and getting lost, or just plain forgetting to go home. Falling, trippin over hurting herself or losing everything and anything she decided to take outside to play with.
Her father found her to be a constant nuisance and annoyance. In fact the only time he ever did anything with her or took her anywhere was to church on Sundays. Lizzie loved going to church. It was about the only time she ever left the farm and ever got to see other people. She loved being surrounded by the children in Sunday school, even though they didn't like her and teased her relentlessly. And of course none of the parents wanted their children associating with "that strange little girl".
This is where Lizzie's white dress comes in. Lizzie's aunt bought her the pretty white dress, lace socks and black sandles to wear to church on Sundays. It was the best and prettiest dress Lizzie and owned and she loved it. She wanted to wear it all the time and Hilda the housekeeper had some terrible times chasing Lizzie to get the dress off her before she went outside to play in it and get it all dirty. She was only supposed to wear it Sundays.
The day Lizzie died was a Sunday and after church. As soon as they were home she went racing off into the paddock to pat some of the cows that had come in closer to the house. At first Hilda went to run after her, but Lizzie's father stopped her and said not to worry about her for now and just get lunch organised.
Lizzie spent a wonderful afternoon running around playing in the paddocks, feeding the cows grass and having a bit of a nap. She returned to the house a bit later in the day, dress torn and dirty and missing a shoe. Well Hilda and her Dad both had a bit to say about the mess she came home in and her father told her that she would not be getting a new pair of shoes and that if she ever wanted to return to church on Sundays she would have to find the one she lost.
At the thought of her never getting to go out for her one day of the week again, Lizzie was soon back outside with all the intensions of finding her shoe. At first it was the thought foremost in her mind and she began a desperate search. After awhile though, Lizzie being Lizzie got distracted with one discovery and adventure after another and forgot what she came outside to do in the first place.
Lizzie climbed a tree. A big old tree that she had climbed once or twice before, and become stuck in, once or twice before. She never learnt and never remembered that the last time she climbed something bad happened and she would get in all sorts of trouble with Hilda or her father, whoever found her first.
On this bleak Sunday afternoon Lizzie decided she was going to climb higher than she had ever tried before. She had been thinking abou this for quite some time and had given it a go a few times before but chickened out pretty quickly. But today she was more determined than ever to do it, shoe well and truly forgotten with the new tasks in mind much more exciting.
Unfortunately for Lizzie, trying to get to those higher branches was her downfall and she fell out of the tree, striking her head hard on a large rock at the bottom. She actually tried to show me this, but I refused to look. I told her "you can tell me, but I don't want to see it" It was hard enough seeing that side of her face that she struck as she described the injury in some detail and in my minds eye that was bad enough. Lizzie died pretty much instantly and anything that comes after that she really doesn't remember.
I asked her why she shows up at Kate irregularly, why she just pops her head in and then leaves again, and why she told me her story.
Kate's house is somewhere on the lands that used to belong to Lizzie's family, the whole farm is now convered in modern housing and nothing is left of the life Lizzie knew. But every now and then she remembers that on the day she died she was looking for something................her shoe. When she pops up at Kate's, she is doing exactly that, looking for her shoe. Instead she finds a house and strange people sitting around in a room, she gets scared and disappears, only to return again once she remembers what it is she is looking for.
As for why she picked me. As I said above, one night she heard me say my favourite number was 6 and that is all she needed as 6 was hers too for two reasons, one that was how old she was when she died and it was for her 6th birthday that her aunt bought her the prettiest dress and shoes she ever did see.
After my head had stopped spinning from her constant chatter, I thanked Lizzie for sharing her story with me and I promised that I would tell my Psychic Developement class all about her and why she popped her head in from time to time. I haven't heard from Lizzie again. She departed with a giggle and peace returned to my day. I am honoured that she came to me. I was honoured to hear her story and I have never forgotten it to this day.
Spirit can come and leave you some amazing messages, some short and some, like Lizzie's very long and very detailed. I have a gift, I have visitors, like Lizzie who pop in and tell me there story. I will continue to share some of them with you. Would you like that?
If you have read this story, Lizzie's story, she would be happy about it, she would be happy that I remembered her day with me and that I listened to what she had to say enough to tell it here, to you, today. RIP Lizzie and I hope one day, you find your missing shoe.