A young woman named Melinda came to see me for a reading. As she sat quietly across the room from me, there was a full line-up of relatives from the Other-Side stepping forward one by one.
In the background, I was acutely aware of a faint tapping that I was psychically hearing. It wasn’t the familiar tempo of a waltz or even a song that I'd recognize; yet, there it was again—a definite rhythm. It sounded more like: Clackity-clack, clackity-clack, clackity-clack.
Oh my God, heaven was actually tap dancing! I thought to myself. At that moment, a little girl stepped forward and gave me her name. I didn’t hesitate a moment longer, “Melinda, I have a little girl here and she is giving me the name of Jen or Jennifer. Do you understand that?”
“That’s my daughter!” Melinda’s eyes instantly filled with tears. Jennifer was her five-year-old daughter who’d tragically died after a kidney operation. Melinda recalled that day when the hospital staff had begged her and the rest of the family to “go home, relax, and get something to eat”—just for an hour— because nothing would happen. Yet, something awful did happen.