Conversations With Max

When Heaven Touches Earth is the latest book Mandy is included in, and WOW does it have some big names in it! These stories will make a wonderful addition to any holiday gift this year. Mandy would like to share with you an excerpt from her latest co-authored book:

Conversations with Max

I’ll never forget the miraculous New Year’s Day when my beloved Max came to me—just nine days after he had died—forever shattering my agnostic tendencies and prior beliefs about death. I’d spent that miserable morning feeling sorry for my dear, sweet husband, taken so young by the ravages of cancer—and also feeling sorry for myself. Though I’d always known it would be hard after Max transitioned, I’d never imagined just how hard it would be. As I wallowed that morning in the memories and images from his funeral, still so fresh in my heart, I was shocked to hear a voice embedded in an unusual buzzing sound, almost as if it were arising from the back of my brain.

Shaken to the core, I let out a shriek. Something or someone was there! I could barely detect words beneath the surreal buzzing, like the sound of white noise. Trying to regain my composure, I turned toward the sound. “What?” I asked. “What are you saying?”

When I still couldn’t decipher the syllables, I mustered the courage to yell, “Louder! I can’t hear you!” I needed to know what those words were!

Then, all at once, like a blast from infinity, the words socks up! seemed to echo off the back of my neck. The masculine tenor was deep and felt close to my head, yet the pitch was strangely high. That’s the best description I’m able to offer to anyone who has never experienced something so odd. It seemed the phrase “socks up” represented the tail end of a sentence I hadn’t been able to fully make out. And although the resonance was higher than any normal sound I’d ever heard, it was still clear to me that the voice was Max’s.

Even as I was flooded with joy at the contact from my deceased husband, my agnostic scientist’s brain wrestled with the idea of white noise coming to me from another dimension. As a statistician for over twenty years, I knew it wasn’t truly white noise at all. White noise has no pattern; yet this communication was definitely from some sort of entity capable of creating a detectable pattern that emerged in the form of a sentence. The unique sibilance of the words and overall familiarity of the tone left no doubt in my mind that it was Max. Or his soul. Or his something-or-other.

I leapt from my chair and stood straight up to signal my willingness to receive. Shaking, I turned in the direction of the voice and asked, “Socks up? What on earth are you trying to tell me, Max?”

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