My Call from Heaven 📱

It was an ordinary evening, and I was lying in bed, working on my computer. The familiar hum of the laptop and the soft glow of the screen filled the room. My phone rested flat on the bed to my left, untouched and silent—until it rang.

The sound startled me, pulling my attention away from my work. Reflexively, I glanced over to see who was calling. What I saw made my breath catch and my heart stutter. The name displayed on the screen was one I hadn’t expected to see. It was Spencer. My son.

For a moment, my mind couldn’t fully process what was happening. Spencer’s phone had been turned off for some time now, carefully placed in my desk drawer—a small, sacred relic of his life. Despite the phone being turned off, I’ve continued to pay for its service plan, preserving it like a lifeline to his memory.

Yet, there it was—his name glowing on the screen as if he were calling me, as if time and the veil between worlds had folded in on themselves.

With a sense of disbelief, I hesitated, debating whether or not to answer. How could this be happening? Was it a glitch, a coincidence, or something beyond explanation? Despite my reluctance, I pressed the green button to accept the call.

The other end of the line greeted me with silence. Not the kind of silence you expect from a technical error, but a deep, profound stillness that felt alive with meaning. There were no voices, no static, only quiet—a space pregnant with possibilites.

My mind raced, but my heart knew. I had no expectations, no demands. I simply sat there, holding the phone to my ear, and allowed myself to feel the moment.

With a heavy heart, I found the courage to speak. “Spencer,” I began, my voice barely above a whisper. “I love you. I miss you so much.”

Tears welled in my eyes, and a wave of emotion surged through me. It felt as though my words traveled through the silence, reaching not just empty air but somewhere else entirely—somewhere he could hear me. I didn’t know if he would respond or if I would hear his voice again, but that wasn’t the point.

For that brief, extraordinary moment, it felt as though he was near, closer than he had been in so long. And though the call eventually ended, leaving me once again in the quiet of my room, my heart was left with a sense of connection that transcended explanation.

But this wasn’t the end of my conversations with him. Before the call I spoke to Spencer frequently, asking him  for signs to let me know he was still there.“Spencer, show me a sign that you are here.”

There are moments when his dog, a faithful companion we both loved, will sit up suddenly on my bed, ears alert, staring at the door. It’s the same door Spencer used to walk through when he was alive. There’s no logical explanation—no one is there, no sound to prompt the reaction—but I know. In my heart, I know. It’s Spencer.

The dog’s unwavering focus on the door feels like a bridge between the visible and the invisible. And in these moments, I’m reminded that the paranormal is not something “otherworldly” but a natural extension of existence. It’s a realm where love, energy, and presence operate in ways that defy linear explanations.

This is what the paranormal looks like—a place where the invisible operates, whether we believe in it or not. It’s not confined by the laws of physics or the logic of our everyday lives. It exists quietly in the background, making its presence known to those willing to see, to feel, to listen.

The call from Spencer wasn’t just a technological anomaly or a glitch. It was an invitation to stay connected, to keep the lines of communication open, and to trust that love is a force that transcends time, space, and death itself.

You may also be interested in reading Paranormal Activity with Deceased Loved Ones: My Journey with Signs from the Other Side.

Join my free YouTube Station and get a mini reading.These videos are not time sensitive. Pick the type of Oracle reading you want from a multitude of decks.

To book a reading, you can do so here.