An Amazing Reading with Michael and Marti Parry
By Marley Gibson
I was attending GhoStock 6 in Savannah, Georgia, in May of 2008, mainly to do research on my upcoming young adult teen fiction series, GHOST HUNTRESS, that comes out in May 2009 from Houghton Mifflin’s Graphia line. I've been to several conferences and many ghost investigations, but I’d never had a “reading” of any kind done. This would be great experience for my book.
I had seen Michael and Marti Parry first-hand when they had a session at the Darkness Radio event at The Stanley Hotel in March of this year and had been blown away by what the did. You see, Michael jumps in quickly, seeing relatives, friends, and associates of audience members. He identifies them not with the vague “I see a ‘J’ name in this section of the room.” No, he says things like, “Third row on the right, there’s an older man in a police uniform and he’s smoking a cigar.” Lo and behold, a woman raises her hand and says, “That’s my father.” All the while Michael is making contact with the spirits, Marti has her own focus. She’s seeing images of the deceased, and with her amazing artistic talent, she’s able to draw them in exquisite detail. Not only that, but every one of her drawings are claimed by audience members as relatives or acquaintances who have passed.
Imagine my curiosity at having the opportunity to sit with them one-on-one (or rather two-on-one) and see what kind of reading they could get for me. Now, to start with, I didn't think I had lost that many people in my life...my four grandparents, some pets, a cousin here or there, so I wasn't sure we’d be able to fill up the entire half hour.
After Marti convinced the hotel construction workers to please, please, please take a break from their demolition of the floor above us, the reading started. Michael began by sliding the box of tissues across the table at me. He had no idea why he’d done that and said he hadn't done it before during his other readings. I’m not exactly a boo-hoo’er (as Michael called it), so I waited to see what he’d say.
Of course, when you come into anything like this, you hope to connect with those people you’ve lost who were especially close to you...but you never know who’ll show up to wave a cosmic “hello.”
Michael started off with, “there’s a cat here” and immediately my tears began. I’d been hoping that my kitty might step forward. And she did. Michael said she walked across the table like she owned the place and flopped down in front of me. He saw a multi-colored cat, one who liked her stomach rubbed, but was a nipper when you did it. He pegged that we used to feed her chopped tuna from the can and cut up shrimp tails. Yep. That was my Puddy Tat. She’s been gone for eleven years now, but a day doesn't go by that we don’t think of her.
After I dabbed my eyes from the emotional surge I’d felt, I sat back and listened and took notes. Michael had an A.G. name that was coming through. We couldn't understand who this was. Certainly not anyone I could put my finger on...until he realized it wasn't a name that started with AG, but two names, perhaps? Well, sure...my great-grandmother: Ada Glovenia. That was it. She brought through with her, my maternal grandmother, a proper, red-headed woman, and my paternal grandmother, a woman who didn't wait to be asked to be seated, but made herself at home. In fact, Michael even discerned who I called “Grandmother” and who I called “Grandma.” Very cool.
Next were a slew of random cousins that I’d totally forgotten about who were all connected to Ada Glovenia. First was a mention of my cousin Ralph, who I grew up around. He’d always bring candy to me at choir practice. His granddaughter, Claudine, came through, as well. Michael said he felt someone connected to Ralph who had died in an accident by their own hand. That was quite accurate. My cousin had been expelled from school for cheating, went home and called the principal at her school, threatening to kill herself. When he came over to her house, she was poised with a shot gun to take a pop at him, but the bullet ricocheted off the top of the door, and the ceiling and shot her in the back of the head, killing her instantly. A very tragic ending for a fourteen-year-old.
Next, was a reference to Ralph’s sister, Sara, who is still on earth. Only, Michael spelled her name “Sahra,” which is how, I was told, it was spelled on her birth certificate, although she never spelled it that way. Michael told me about automatic writing and how sometimes he’d switch hands and write with totally different styles from one word to the next.
He knew that my mother and father were both still alive and that my father’s side of the family was of Germanic decent.
Still, Michael was unsure as to who was telling him all of this – who was this narrator who was bringing all of these people through to me? He had “a real fun energy with this lot” and was enjoying himself. So much that he ran over my agreed-upon half hour time slot.
He was picking up something about breast cancer and wondered if anyone in the family died from it. No, not that I knew of. Well...Michael was picking up something about breast cancer and another Sarah name in the family. I told him that I had an Aunt Sarah who was married to my Uncle David. He was a radiologist who specialized in breast cancer and had diagnosed literally hundreds of cases. And, he is Ada Glovenia’s grandson.
Michael finally figured out who was speaking to him about all of these people. An older man who said to reference “Bob.” My dad has a brother named Bob and immediately, Michael said, “It’s your Grandpa.”
Again, by distinguishing the speaker as “Grandpa,” I knew Michael was right because I had a Grandpa and a Granddaddy. This was clearly Grandpa because he referenced the children that he and Grandma had lost before my dad was born. Three still-born, full-term babies. This was definitely my Grandpa.
He showed Michael that he’d had a stroke on the right side of his face and upper body. My Grandpa had suffered from many mini strokes in his later years. However, Michael assured me that he wasn't in pain now or experiencing anything like that. He was young again and perfectly healthy. Oh, and he told Michael that he thought I was delightful. Awww...
Then, Michael said that Grandpa had a dog with him. He thought it was a German Shepard, but most importantly, it was a police dog. I explained that my father had a German Shepard when he was a little boy, but that he had a police dog before I left for college. In fact, Sheba, the dog, and Grandpa were great friends. Michael said Grandpa wanted to let us know that he had Sheba with him and in fact, he may have the German Shepard, Bama, as well.
There was more family banter about what a tease and story teller Grandpa was and he referenced my dad’s “cheffing” abilities as nothing more than cooking up spaghetti. Michael also saw Grandpa with a big cigar, which mirrors a picture of him that I have at home of him sitting back in a chair with a big stogie as while he was working on one of the Broadway shows he was master carpenter of during his days in New York.
Michael saw Grandpa at a place near the ocean. He and Grandma did, indeed, move to St. Petersburg, Florida in their later years. That’s where Grandma died. I was able to ask the question if she suffered and could we have saved her because Grandpa was so far away from her in the house when she had her heart attack. Also, his hearing was really bad and he refused to wear a hearing aid. Grandma said, “That idiot didn't hear me.” Michael correctly pinpointed that she had her attack in the bathroom and had crawled to help before succumbing. Grandma told Michael that she and Grandpa were fine now. “Oh well...everything’s good.”
In addition to all of this, Michael knew that I had bought a new car...an SUV...a black one. Yes, yes, and yes. He asked me what happened to the Chevy? That’s what we traded in for the new car. He said, “It had a black roof?” Yes...a black soft top. Michael laughed and said that we got a better deal for the Chevy than we’d expected. That was an understatement. The car’s air conditioner, power steering and stereo were all shot, yet we got a good deal above the blue book value. Michael snickered and said that Grandpa may have had a hand in that.
After the long reading was finished, Marti showed me the picture she’d sketched. I admit that I was disappointed not to recognize the face. I had hoped for one of my grandparents, or at least my Puddy Tat. Instead, I got this pleasant, round-faced, older gentleman. I had to tell them I didn't know who it was. However, Michael said it wasn't for me. The picture was for my dad. The man was an old Navy buddy of his from WWII. His name was Gary or Cary or something to that effect. I took the photo to my father several weeks later to show him. He didn't recognize the man off the bat, but said there was “sincere familiarity” to the picture. Then, he told me of a WWII shipmate of his who had just died and he had visited with the widow recently to share pictures of when they were on their ship together. The man’s name was Harry. Since Dad hadn't seen him since they were eighteen years old, he couldn't identify him, but he had a feeling. In the least, Dad thought the picture might be Eisenhower! I asked, “Did you know Eisenhower?” Dad said, “Not personally.” Well, Dad, that’s not how it works!
All in all, it was a wonderful reading with Michael and Marti. I’m astounded by their connection to the other side and the way they work together. They are definitely the real deal. Their readings are not vague or guessing in nature, nor are they applicable to just anyone. The information is specific and detailed. I recommend to anyone, if you have the chance to sit and get a reading, nab it. You won’t regret it.