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.
