My client was a nice fellow, late twenties, articulate but humble. Injured Army Vet. Had a baby and a wife. Good guy. We'll call him Brent.
His mother's house was incredibly abusive and volatile from the time he was an infant, so he would wander around the neighborhood talking to his imaginary friend "Jimmy" who kept him company and explained things to him about the world.
Brent came to me today to see if we could talk to his deceased father Stan, which did happen, and it was lovely. But then another person came through. I described him. Tall, 16, lanky, baseball cap turned around backwards, liked to cuss a little, liked to chew real tobacco, made "Indian whistles" out of thick long blades of grass. He pretended to be kinda tough and liked the idea of having a kid brother to teach about the world.
I thought maybe he was an older brother who had passed. Brent didn't have any older siblings or cousins.
This was Jimmy. The teenage imaginary friend Brent knew from his childhood. Brent's father (the good parent) had grown troubled by Brent's encounters with the imaginary friend and how frequent their conversations had become, but the therapist had said it was a coping mechanism and he'd grow out of it.
One day when Brent was about 7, he was wandering around outside his dad's house, when the neighbor overheard him and asked him who he was talking to, as the conversation seemed rather more than what a little boy could have come up with on his own.
"I'm talking to Jimmy," he said.
"Jimmy? Jimmy who?" said the neighbor.
"Jimmy Thorpe," said Brent.
"What?! JImmy Thorpe! How do you know Jimmy Thorpe?"
"I dunno. He just talks to me. He's nice. He knows stuff."
"Son, Jimmy passed over two years ago. He used to live in that house you're living in right now."
The neighbor proceeded to ask about Jimmy. His appearance, his demeanor, what kinds of things he liked. It was a mind bender how much this little boy seemed to know about the late teenager who he could not possibly have known anything about. Brent's father knew nothing about the teen and was just as puzzled by the event.
The neighbor told the boy to hang on and he ran in and got his wife.
"Ask Brent who he's talking to, Janet. Go ahead, ask him," Said the neighbor as he came back out with a woman holding a jar of jam.
Little Brent proceeded to give the woman details about Jimmy. His last name, what he looked like, what he wore, what he said, the conversations they had, what his personality was like, and how the boy had died.
The woman gasped and dropped her jar of homemade jam on the porch. She was Jimmy's former teacher! She knew him well! The whole town was devastated when he had died. His mother would want to know!
It was swiftly confirmed to Brent's parents that he was not imagining Jimmy at all, but the friend was real. And it became apparent to everyone that the teenager who had passed a few years earlier was looking out for the boy to protect him and teach and guide him in his difficult childhood where his mother's family had abused and ruined him.
And here I was, describing Jimmy in full detail, personality, clothing, everything. I was mesmerized. It was a field of dreams.
Brent was extremely grateful for the visit with me today, but I think I got almost more out of this experience than he did. It taught me we don't know the first thing about death or the purpose of it, or who we really are in this skin suit on this marbly little planet. This stands out as one of my most favorite readings to date. I hope to keep in touch with this client and do more for him in the future.
So what do you think? Does Brent have a ghost or a guardian angel? Or was it just his imagination....as well as mine?
