From Chapter 2 of Little Voices...
"After visiting Lila in the psychic shop, the spooky stuff ramped up. Not only was the TV going on and off on its own, but I started to see more than shadows walking around my home.
One afternoon, while working at my kitchen table, I saw the apparition of a small boy walk into the kitchen. He had dark hair and wore a white shirt with white shorts. My entire body chilled as I sat frozen, staring him in the eyes. Just as I was getting ready to say hello, he vanished. I held my breath for what seemed like an eternity before exhaling, trying to make sense of what I’d seen. Just then, the living room TV turned on as if validating what had happened.
I frantically researched apparitions on Google. The search engine never let me down when I was figuring out how to design and build furniture, so I figured it would help make sense of my current situation. For the most part, I looked for articles about spirituality and spirits in general. What I found ran the gamut from afterlife stories to near death experiences to spiritual woo woo. Trusting angels and fairies wasn’t something I was ready to do, even though I’d ventured into Lila’s psychic shop months earlier. I wasn’t that much of a believer despite what I was seeing. I still thought there was half a chance I was going crazy.
More incidents like the little boy in my kitchen occurred, but one night while we were drifting off to sleep, Scott whispered, “Honey, do you see that girl with long black hair standing in the doorway?”
Relief engulfed me. Finally, he saw what I did.
“Oh yes…I do,” I said. “I am pretty certain I saw her in the garage with me today. I have to figure out how to come to grips with this and find out what she, and all of the kids showing up in our house, want. They keep staring at me, but I don’t know how to talk to them. I think I’m going to have to Google it. I can’t believe I’m saying any of this right now. How can it be real?”
Scott chuckled. “I love that your mind goes to Google, Kiers. I wish we knew why it was happening, but at least you know I just saw one, too. You’re really not crazy; you do know that, right?!”
“You mean you’re not about to cart me off to the psych ward today?” I replied with a smile. “I don’t know what to think, I mean…I believe that it’s really happening, I’m just still so confused as to why and how. Maybe the Reiki lessons did something to open me up?”
“Maybe,” he said leaning in to kiss me on my forehead. “Try to get some sleep, hon. We’ll figure this out. I love you.”
While Scott found easy slumber, I spent most of the night with eyes wide open thinking about everything. I didn’t have any definitive answers, but I knew deep down that something had changed in me.
The next morning, I called my Reiki masters, and they explained that I was energetically more receptive, having gone through training. But still, not everyone who learns Reiki starts seeing apparitions. Google became my best friend, but there had to be more to it. Why me? Why now? I was pretty sure the internet couldn’t answer my ‘why’ questions, but I had faith I’d be able to research how to navigate it all.
Every month brought a new unexplainable experience—some I still wish I could wipe from my memory. One night around 3AM, I dreamed about being buried alive. I was a blond boy in a red plaid, flannel shirt who looked to be around the age of five. Strong, calloused hands were squeezing tight around my neck before I was laid in a shallow grave. Darkness surrounded me but I could still make out tall pine trees surrounding me in the glow of the half moon. The sensation of dirt being tossed in my face was the last thing I saw before I was suddenly back in our bedroom.
Scott woke to the sounds of me screaming, “I’m not dead yet! I’m not dead yet!”
“Kiers, you’re dreaming…it’s OK. You’re safe,” he soothed.
Drenched in sweat and almost to the point of hyperventilating, I searched for his face to ground me. Once I realized I was safe in our home, I clung to him. He held me tight against his chest while my tears soaked his t-shirt. I couldn’t speak for a few minutes.
“Can you tell me more about it, hon?” Scott asked once I was no longer in hysterics.
I relayed the scene to him, but this time from more of a bird’s eye view. Afterwards, we talked about how strange it was that I was dreaming of a child I didn’t know, and that I wasn’t watching it play out like an episode of CSI but living it.
Eventually, I fell back to sleep from sheer exhaustion, but once the sun came up and the coffee was brewed, I pulled out my laptop and started googling all things paranormal.
I searched the internet for scientific studies on afterlife, spirit phenomenon, alternate realities, and spiritual awakenings. After a couple of hours of research, my mind, which was now filled with too much information about the strange phenomenon I was experiencing, began to crave normalcy. And I knew just how to make that happen—I had a toy box to build. I tried to give myself a break from the Twilight Zone life I’d been living by cranking up the radio in my workshop and calling a few friends in between sanding toy box parts. Hearing their voices made me feel like I wasn’t losing my mind. While I didn’t say anything to them about what I was going through, I wondered if they could hear and feel how off-kilter I felt.
Another vice I turned to that day was Facebook. Surfing the feed helped me feel grounded in reality and connected to my friends and family who weren’t living in LA. Sitting at my desk in the kitchen while I scarfed down a sandwich, I perused the feed laughing at jokes and fawning over baby photos until I landed on a post about a memorial celebration. I was immediately drawn to the photos of a young boy named Nate Pannell who had passed away in the town I grew up in, Defiance, Ohio. He’s the son of two fellow Defiance High School alumni who are a bit older than me. I knew of them but didn’t know them well.
Staring at the photo of Nate, I heard what I thought was his voice. It rang in my head. I was terrified at first. Was this real? I wasn’t sure if I was really talking to him, or if my mind was making it all up. After all, I’d never experienced anything like this while surfing Facebook. Staring at his photo, I could see him in my mind’s eye, and chills ran up and down my body. I noticed the chills were predominantly on the left side of my body, and made note of that, too. I had no idea what it meant, but it stood out.
I suspended disbelief long enough to hear Nate talk about his family and share specific messages he wanted me to share with them. That part terrified me, but I continued listening while I reached for pen and paper to write down what he was saying. In between his messages, I asked him, in my mind, if he had more to share. He would either say yes and continue, or no, and then plead with me to reach out to his parents.
After he spoke, I sat frozen in my chair thinking about what just happened. The last thing I wanted to do was reach out to grieving parents, who may or may not receive my guidance well. Their family had been through so much already. What if I was wrong and none of it was real? What if they saw me as someone trying to somehow take advantage of their situation? I don’t know how I’d react if someone reached out to me this way. Finally, I rose from my chair knowing I needed time to think about all of it and bee-lined it for our bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed with my notes in hand, I knew I had a choice to make. For now, it was to hide what had happened and go about life as normal. Normal was easier.
I opened the drawer of my bedside table and stuffed the messages inside. I knew I needed time, so I waited to be filled with courage and knowledge that what Nate asked me to do was the right thing.
The courage came two days later when I least expected it. I wasn’t even thinking about Nate until, out of the blue, peace came over me. Still terrified to take the next step, I obsessed over what it would mean to try. Even if they slammed the door in my face. Even if I was going to be the laughingstock of my hometown after word got around. I gently pulled my notes out of the drawer and crafted a quick introductory message to his mom, Denise. I nervously hit the send button hoping that I was doing the right thing. And it was indeed the right thing. Denise responded kindly which started a back-and-forth exchange leading to a phone call and, later, an in-person meeting in Defiance when I was home visiting my parents.
About four years after I shared Nate’s messages with his family, I asked Nate’s father, John, if he wouldn’t mind writing what the experience was like for them. By that time, I was running a nonprofit that helped grieving parents and thought a testimonial about his experience would be helpful for other parents.
John agreed, and about a week later, he shared his account of their experience with me via email. As I read the letter, I slowly sat back in my chair astonished by what John wrote. Up until then, I had no idea the impact the messages and visit made on his entire family. I knew they greatly appreciated that I reached out to them, but I didn’t fully grasp how much it shaped the course of their lives.
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I read about the healing that Nate had facilitated by sharing messages with me. Of course, I knew what the whole experience did for me, and I’m eternally grateful. Nate and his beautiful family helped me understand that what I was experiencing wasn’t just my imagination. It was very real and very important for all of us. I just had to have the courage to trust.
Written by John Pannell in 2013:
"Almost four years ago, I was just surviving being a bereaved parent of a child that has passed away. It was a daily struggle getting through a day without a total meltdown and the overwhelming feeling that I didn't want to live the rest of my life in the role of a grieving parent. It was in the midst of one of my many meltdowns that I remember my wife coming upstairs, in tears, telling me she got a message from Nate, our son that had passed away at the age of 13 from an AVM. I tried to listen to what she was telling me, but it seemed Greek to me because I couldn't get past my own doubt. She tells me that she got an email from this lady in California about how strange it may seem, but she thinks she has a message for us from our son. If we were willing, we could give her a call.
Denise called her and they spoke for almost an hour. Denise was trying to relay the information from the four pages of notes she took while Kiersten talked. The only comfort this brought to me was that for the first time since Nate's death, I had seen tears of joy versus tears of sorrow. Denise and Kiersten kept in contact, but I kept my distance. One day, I remember Denise telling me that Kiersten was going to be in the area and wanted to meet with us.
Out of obligation to Denise, growing skepticism, and just a dash of curiosity, I agreed to meet with Kiersten. My anxiety level that day was extremely high. I remember when Kiersten sat down with us at our dining room table. It was my wife, our younger son, Jack, my wife's aunt Sally, Kiersten, and myself. There was a lot of small talk, and I listened intently trying to find what the catch was. Over the next three and a half hours, what I got were answers, hope, and explanations. I had questions on authenticity as to who Kiersten was and what her motives were. I found Kiersten to be one of the most genuine persons I have had the pleasure of meeting. She spoke from the heart. She relayed to us information as it was interpreted by her. What I found was she spoke with a gift. Her heart was pure. Her interpretation spot on. She offered validation that was unquestionably accurate. She gave us peace knowing that our son was fine. Kiersten taught me that events that occur are not just coincidences.
Kiersten opened up a form of communication between my son and me that allowed me to go from being a grieving parent just existing to being a bereaved parent that is allowed to live. She has helped us by being a conduit for question and answer sessions, she has taught us what it means to look for the hidden meaning, and most importantly, she gave us our youngest son back. You see, until that time, there wasn't much communication between him and his mother and me. I know a large amount of time that first night meeting Kiersten, she spent talking with Jack. I have never asked either one what exactly was said, but whatever it was made a difference in a young man's life.
Meeting Kiersten and being open to her gift has not taken away the fact that we lost our oldest son. That is something we live with every day. Having Kiersten reaching out to us, opening herself up to us, putting it all out there, all for us and never asking for anything in return, has given us peace.
Kiersten, I know that my statement doesn't even start to do justice to what you have given us."
-- John Pannell
* Read more about Nate here: Nathanial Pannell Life Story & Time Line - Memorial
One afternoon, while working at my kitchen table, I saw the apparition of a small boy walk into the kitchen. He had dark hair and wore a white shirt with white shorts. My entire body chilled as I sat frozen, staring him in the eyes. Just as I was getting ready to say hello, he vanished. I held my breath for what seemed like an eternity before exhaling, trying to make sense of what I’d seen. Just then, the living room TV turned on as if validating what had happened.
I frantically researched apparitions on Google. The search engine never let me down when I was figuring out how to design and build furniture, so I figured it would help make sense of my current situation. For the most part, I looked for articles about spirituality and spirits in general. What I found ran the gamut from afterlife stories to near death experiences to spiritual woo woo. Trusting angels and fairies wasn’t something I was ready to do, even though I’d ventured into Lila’s psychic shop months earlier. I wasn’t that much of a believer despite what I was seeing. I still thought there was half a chance I was going crazy.
More incidents like the little boy in my kitchen occurred, but one night while we were drifting off to sleep, Scott whispered, “Honey, do you see that girl with long black hair standing in the doorway?”
Relief engulfed me. Finally, he saw what I did.
“Oh yes…I do,” I said. “I am pretty certain I saw her in the garage with me today. I have to figure out how to come to grips with this and find out what she, and all of the kids showing up in our house, want. They keep staring at me, but I don’t know how to talk to them. I think I’m going to have to Google it. I can’t believe I’m saying any of this right now. How can it be real?”
Scott chuckled. “I love that your mind goes to Google, Kiers. I wish we knew why it was happening, but at least you know I just saw one, too. You’re really not crazy; you do know that, right?!”
“You mean you’re not about to cart me off to the psych ward today?” I replied with a smile. “I don’t know what to think, I mean…I believe that it’s really happening, I’m just still so confused as to why and how. Maybe the Reiki lessons did something to open me up?”
“Maybe,” he said leaning in to kiss me on my forehead. “Try to get some sleep, hon. We’ll figure this out. I love you.”
While Scott found easy slumber, I spent most of the night with eyes wide open thinking about everything. I didn’t have any definitive answers, but I knew deep down that something had changed in me.
The next morning, I called my Reiki masters, and they explained that I was energetically more receptive, having gone through training. But still, not everyone who learns Reiki starts seeing apparitions. Google became my best friend, but there had to be more to it. Why me? Why now? I was pretty sure the internet couldn’t answer my ‘why’ questions, but I had faith I’d be able to research how to navigate it all.
Every month brought a new unexplainable experience—some I still wish I could wipe from my memory. One night around 3AM, I dreamed about being buried alive. I was a blond boy in a red plaid, flannel shirt who looked to be around the age of five. Strong, calloused hands were squeezing tight around my neck before I was laid in a shallow grave. Darkness surrounded me but I could still make out tall pine trees surrounding me in the glow of the half moon. The sensation of dirt being tossed in my face was the last thing I saw before I was suddenly back in our bedroom.
Scott woke to the sounds of me screaming, “I’m not dead yet! I’m not dead yet!”
“Kiers, you’re dreaming…it’s OK. You’re safe,” he soothed.
Drenched in sweat and almost to the point of hyperventilating, I searched for his face to ground me. Once I realized I was safe in our home, I clung to him. He held me tight against his chest while my tears soaked his t-shirt. I couldn’t speak for a few minutes.
“Can you tell me more about it, hon?” Scott asked once I was no longer in hysterics.
I relayed the scene to him, but this time from more of a bird’s eye view. Afterwards, we talked about how strange it was that I was dreaming of a child I didn’t know, and that I wasn’t watching it play out like an episode of CSI but living it.
Eventually, I fell back to sleep from sheer exhaustion, but once the sun came up and the coffee was brewed, I pulled out my laptop and started googling all things paranormal.
I searched the internet for scientific studies on afterlife, spirit phenomenon, alternate realities, and spiritual awakenings. After a couple of hours of research, my mind, which was now filled with too much information about the strange phenomenon I was experiencing, began to crave normalcy. And I knew just how to make that happen—I had a toy box to build. I tried to give myself a break from the Twilight Zone life I’d been living by cranking up the radio in my workshop and calling a few friends in between sanding toy box parts. Hearing their voices made me feel like I wasn’t losing my mind. While I didn’t say anything to them about what I was going through, I wondered if they could hear and feel how off-kilter I felt.
Another vice I turned to that day was Facebook. Surfing the feed helped me feel grounded in reality and connected to my friends and family who weren’t living in LA. Sitting at my desk in the kitchen while I scarfed down a sandwich, I perused the feed laughing at jokes and fawning over baby photos until I landed on a post about a memorial celebration. I was immediately drawn to the photos of a young boy named Nate Pannell who had passed away in the town I grew up in, Defiance, Ohio. He’s the son of two fellow Defiance High School alumni who are a bit older than me. I knew of them but didn’t know them well.
Staring at the photo of Nate, I heard what I thought was his voice. It rang in my head. I was terrified at first. Was this real? I wasn’t sure if I was really talking to him, or if my mind was making it all up. After all, I’d never experienced anything like this while surfing Facebook. Staring at his photo, I could see him in my mind’s eye, and chills ran up and down my body. I noticed the chills were predominantly on the left side of my body, and made note of that, too. I had no idea what it meant, but it stood out.
I suspended disbelief long enough to hear Nate talk about his family and share specific messages he wanted me to share with them. That part terrified me, but I continued listening while I reached for pen and paper to write down what he was saying. In between his messages, I asked him, in my mind, if he had more to share. He would either say yes and continue, or no, and then plead with me to reach out to his parents.
After he spoke, I sat frozen in my chair thinking about what just happened. The last thing I wanted to do was reach out to grieving parents, who may or may not receive my guidance well. Their family had been through so much already. What if I was wrong and none of it was real? What if they saw me as someone trying to somehow take advantage of their situation? I don’t know how I’d react if someone reached out to me this way. Finally, I rose from my chair knowing I needed time to think about all of it and bee-lined it for our bedroom. Sitting on the edge of the bed with my notes in hand, I knew I had a choice to make. For now, it was to hide what had happened and go about life as normal. Normal was easier.
I opened the drawer of my bedside table and stuffed the messages inside. I knew I needed time, so I waited to be filled with courage and knowledge that what Nate asked me to do was the right thing.
The courage came two days later when I least expected it. I wasn’t even thinking about Nate until, out of the blue, peace came over me. Still terrified to take the next step, I obsessed over what it would mean to try. Even if they slammed the door in my face. Even if I was going to be the laughingstock of my hometown after word got around. I gently pulled my notes out of the drawer and crafted a quick introductory message to his mom, Denise. I nervously hit the send button hoping that I was doing the right thing. And it was indeed the right thing. Denise responded kindly which started a back-and-forth exchange leading to a phone call and, later, an in-person meeting in Defiance when I was home visiting my parents.
About four years after I shared Nate’s messages with his family, I asked Nate’s father, John, if he wouldn’t mind writing what the experience was like for them. By that time, I was running a nonprofit that helped grieving parents and thought a testimonial about his experience would be helpful for other parents.
John agreed, and about a week later, he shared his account of their experience with me via email. As I read the letter, I slowly sat back in my chair astonished by what John wrote. Up until then, I had no idea the impact the messages and visit made on his entire family. I knew they greatly appreciated that I reached out to them, but I didn’t fully grasp how much it shaped the course of their lives.
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I read about the healing that Nate had facilitated by sharing messages with me. Of course, I knew what the whole experience did for me, and I’m eternally grateful. Nate and his beautiful family helped me understand that what I was experiencing wasn’t just my imagination. It was very real and very important for all of us. I just had to have the courage to trust.
Written by John Pannell in 2013:
"Almost four years ago, I was just surviving being a bereaved parent of a child that has passed away. It was a daily struggle getting through a day without a total meltdown and the overwhelming feeling that I didn't want to live the rest of my life in the role of a grieving parent. It was in the midst of one of my many meltdowns that I remember my wife coming upstairs, in tears, telling me she got a message from Nate, our son that had passed away at the age of 13 from an AVM. I tried to listen to what she was telling me, but it seemed Greek to me because I couldn't get past my own doubt. She tells me that she got an email from this lady in California about how strange it may seem, but she thinks she has a message for us from our son. If we were willing, we could give her a call.
Denise called her and they spoke for almost an hour. Denise was trying to relay the information from the four pages of notes she took while Kiersten talked. The only comfort this brought to me was that for the first time since Nate's death, I had seen tears of joy versus tears of sorrow. Denise and Kiersten kept in contact, but I kept my distance. One day, I remember Denise telling me that Kiersten was going to be in the area and wanted to meet with us.
Out of obligation to Denise, growing skepticism, and just a dash of curiosity, I agreed to meet with Kiersten. My anxiety level that day was extremely high. I remember when Kiersten sat down with us at our dining room table. It was my wife, our younger son, Jack, my wife's aunt Sally, Kiersten, and myself. There was a lot of small talk, and I listened intently trying to find what the catch was. Over the next three and a half hours, what I got were answers, hope, and explanations. I had questions on authenticity as to who Kiersten was and what her motives were. I found Kiersten to be one of the most genuine persons I have had the pleasure of meeting. She spoke from the heart. She relayed to us information as it was interpreted by her. What I found was she spoke with a gift. Her heart was pure. Her interpretation spot on. She offered validation that was unquestionably accurate. She gave us peace knowing that our son was fine. Kiersten taught me that events that occur are not just coincidences.
Kiersten opened up a form of communication between my son and me that allowed me to go from being a grieving parent just existing to being a bereaved parent that is allowed to live. She has helped us by being a conduit for question and answer sessions, she has taught us what it means to look for the hidden meaning, and most importantly, she gave us our youngest son back. You see, until that time, there wasn't much communication between him and his mother and me. I know a large amount of time that first night meeting Kiersten, she spent talking with Jack. I have never asked either one what exactly was said, but whatever it was made a difference in a young man's life.
Meeting Kiersten and being open to her gift has not taken away the fact that we lost our oldest son. That is something we live with every day. Having Kiersten reaching out to us, opening herself up to us, putting it all out there, all for us and never asking for anything in return, has given us peace.
Kiersten, I know that my statement doesn't even start to do justice to what you have given us."
-- John Pannell
* Read more about Nate here: Nathanial Pannell Life Story & Time Line - Memorial
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