Nicole Juliann's amazing story

After a very difficult pregnancy, complicated by many things, including a maternal/infant blood incompatibility, I delivered a healthy, very beautiful baby daughter (my fifth)! On April 17, 2000. I went into labor on Palm Sunday and delivered her on Holy Monday. She has a little birthmark beneath her right ear that resembles a hickey, and I've always called it an angel hickey, saying the angels couldn't resist her and that they got her one last time before she came to us! She smiles and chuckles in her sleep constantly, as babies do, and I believe that its the angels telling her inside jokes. Today, she has glistening reddish-blonde hair and indigo eyes and is cherished deeply by everyone who knows her. There were many times we weren't sure she OR I would survive the pregnancy, and when everything turned out fine after all, I sensed divine intervention. We were truly blessed.

Nicole was baptized on Pentecost Sunday when she was eight weeks old. The young priest asked if we would consider having her baptized during (rather than following) mass, even though this was not the way it is normally done at our church, and it would be his first time doing such a mass. It also would be broadcast over the local radio station for the weekly Sunday mass program. He wove the baptismal ceremony into his Pentecostal sermon, creating a very personalized mass for Nicole with an important spiritual message of walking in the Light and being an example for others to follow. She slept peacefully through the entire thing, smiling sweetly when he poured the holy water over her forehead and never stirring when he anointed her head or chest. There was a tremendous and palpable sense of peace surrounding us, even with such a large congregation watching. The priest said it was his first time in the 23 baptisms he'd performed that a baby had slept through the entire ceremony and smiled, no less! It was perfect, and I was pleased that my baby was given such a special mass that was shared with so many. I didn't think it could be any better.

Then.... As the mass came to a close, we were told to turn to song #444. The number 444 is very special to me (and to my best friend Val, who was Nicole's Godmother). Its the number, according to Nick Bunick's book "The Messengers", that angels will show us when they want us to know they are with us. I had given the book to my friend for her birthday, and we both
loved it. When they told us to turn to song #444, Val and I looked at each other knowingly and it brought tears to our eyes. It couldn't have been a more appropriate ending to the mass. Of course the angels would be at Nicole's christening--she has connections in higher places!--and they let us know they were there in a way we would "hear" if we only listened.

Stories of Good-byes

To begin with, my grandparents were responsible for most of my upbringing and we were especially close. When my "Papaw" got extremely ill, my "Mamaw" took him to the hospital. I was very upset because she hadn't called me. I made a comment at the time that if he were to die I would be the last to know. That same night just as I was getting ready to go to sleep I heard Papaw call my name, "Bob," as he always called me that. I told my husband I had just heard him call out to me. This was around 11:15 PM. When my mother showed up at my house about 3:00am I knew exactly what had happened. My Papaw died around 11:00 PM when the nurse came in to give him his meds.

Mamaw live several more years then one day at work I got a message to call my mother. Sure enough, Mamaw was gone. I went to her funeral but was upset that I had not got to tell her good-bye and how much I loved her (and still do). Back home and back to work with the heaviness in my heart. I was working in a nursing home at the time. A day or two after returning I was in a patient's room when her radio came on. There was a song that said don't mourn for me for I have gone home. A chill of joy ran through me. I knew it was Mamaw saying good-bye. By the way, I checked the radio; it had not been turned on nor was the alarm set.

One last tale of good-bye. My uncle died and I was unable to get to his funeral. But, the same night I got the news of his death I heard the same song on the radio I had heard in the nursing home.

My Husband Helps My Mom

My husband passed over nine years ago. He was a medium and very gifted. He has helped me in several instances since his passing. His Mom was a chronic lunger and was on home oxygen two years before she past. I can still remember him telling me, after her funeral, that my Mom would go the same way and soon. I was angry that he would say this because my Mom was healthy and at 71 years old still held a full time job. She had no signs of illness. He said, "Don't worry I'll be there to help you get through it." He passed the next year.

My mother went to the hospital 5 years later with COPD, emphysema, and possible lung cancer. She lived on oxygen for 2 years and passed over. For six months I went to the hospital every night after work and on weekends. I was totally exhausted when she passed. The evening before, I was driving home from the hospital, and knowing how tired I was, I ask my husband to please be there for her and help her over in case I could not make it back in time. I lived an hour away.

Six months after mom's passing she came to me. She thanked me for taking care of her, and told me she would be my mother in the next life. I asked her who was there to help her over. She said her Mom and dad and they were helping her with adjustments she needed to make. I was a little disappointed until she blurted out that my husband was there also and she threw her arms around him and thanked him, and said how very much she loved him. In her earth life she was indifferent to him. Sometimes down right nasty. I know that all Love exists on the Other Side and this confirmed it to me. My Mom said something else that got me thinking. She was widowed during WW2. Her first husband was 21 and the love of her life. She never forgot him and missed him on anniversaries and special times. I asked if she had seen him on the Other Side. She said not yet, but she would be able to later. I asked what the hang up was and she said, "Don't forget he came over a long time before me. He's advanced to a higher level. I will see him later. Makes you think.

Radio Jock gets Shock

My story takes place in Wauchula, Florida in late November, 1973.

My father, Dr. William M. Carlton, died in Athens, Georgia on Tuesday, November 27, 1973. According to his wishes, he was buried in the family plot in the Wauchula City Cemetery several days later.

On the morning of the funeral, I left the Tropicana Motel, where we were staying, to go to Curry-Raley Funeral Home to see if I needed to make any last-minute arrangements or changes. Although my father’s death had been sudden and unexpected, I was somehow maintaining my cool better than my mother was. I was listening to WAUC radio on the way to town. The 11:00 A. M. news was on the air. My father’s obituary was the last item. “And he is survived by his son, William Orten Carlton,” the announcer read. There was only silence afterward: no “that was the news,” no weather, no announcement of any kind. Suddenly a record started. It was “I Got A Name” by Jim Croce. I was flabbergasted. By the time Jim got to the line “and I carry it with me like my Daddy did,” I was crying. I pulled into the funeral home parking lot, amazed, shocked, at what I had just heard. As soon as I was able, I went inside and told someone about the experience. “I’ve got to call the radio station and thank them,” I said.

Soon I was on line with the on-the-air announcer. “That was a request,” I was told. “A man called in and asked me to be sure to play that song right after I read your name. ‘Because he does carry it with him like his Daddy did,’ he said to me. Sounded like he knew you.” I deepened my voice considerably and imitated my father’s manner of speech to the announcer. “That was the voice of the man who called,” he informed me. “You sound just like him. He told me that it was important that I get it on right at that time, so that you would hear it.” It would be totally within my father’s character to have done such a thing. He loved that song, and marvelled that I did, indeed, carry my name like him, but in my own way.

Did he somehow come back from the grave to call in a request? I guess we’ll never know, but the chills still go up and down my spine every time I hear the record to this day, because I do carry my name with me like my Daddy did. I think he knows. And approves.

Respectfully Submitted, William Orten Carlton.
P. S. You’ll find him in the City Cemetery on Stenstrom Road, next to his parents and two of my Grandmother Carlton’s brothers. Go pay him a visit next time you’re there.