"Just Be Honest With Yourself'

It was another day working away with B.

We were dragging a pallet of turf out the back gate, getting it ready so customers could drive up with their trailers and either load it themselves or ask us for a hand.

As we reached the gate, a customer approached. He asked if he could take some turf.

I said, “No worries, mate,” and B said something to him I can’t remember what but the guy didn’t like it. He got confrontational.

B looked at me with a smirk and a look that said, “I’ll leave you with this one, champ,” and walked away.

I helped the guy load the turf. He actually turned out to be a very nice guy.

We were having a casual chat until we weren’t.

He started off talking about Australian politics, but then the conversation veered sharply.

He told me that a few years back, during the AFL finals, there was a segment on 3AW radio where a guy would call his aunty to ask what the score would be and she had predicted the result four times in a row. It went viral.

Then he looked me dead in the eye and said:

“I was the guy they were calling.”

I was listening closely.

“But I never told them my real name,” he said.

“My name’s Chris just like yours. But here’s the thing… my aunty had been dead for 20 years.”

I just stared at him.

He continued:

“I’d pretend like I was calling her in the next room. But really, I was just tuning in and she would give me the answer.”

I stood there. I looked into his eyes.

This was a man speaking truth.

I was ready for this.

He smiled.

“There’s only one thing you need to do,” 

he said.

“Just be honest with yourself.”

He explained:

“When you’re driving to work in the morning, and you want to speak to someone who’s passed just talk, like you and I are talking now. The answer will come. It won’t be how you expect. It might be a song. A sentence in a book. Something someone says. But you’ll get it. Every time.”

Then he shared something personal.

He told me he’d had a falling out with his brother over a family issue.

Before they could make peace, his brother passed away.

One day, he was working alone on a building site, on the ground floor. He said it was like someone had a remote and hit mute it went silent. Everything.

He looked up and saw his brother standing on the second floor.

He made his way down slowly.

They had a conversation.

He didn’t tell me what was said, said he’d rather keep it private.

But I believed him.

My heart confirmed it.

I took his advice.

I did exactly what he said.

And the results were uncanny.

I could speak to my grandfather and I’d get answers.

Every time.

Day after day, I kept doing it.

And every time, the response came.

One morning, I spoke to him in the car on the way to work. Said my bit and then just got on with things.

I walked into work, straight into the aisles.'

A woman approached me and asked where the potting mix was. I pointed.

“Just down this aisle here.”

She thanked me. I said, “No worries.”

And then… she changed.

Her face softened. Her eyes glazed. She went into a trance and started talking really fast.

She told me I was going to be an amazing father. An amazing husband.

She kept going fast, passionate, sincere.

And then she stopped. Smiled. And walked away.

I swear it was like she had no idea what had just happened.

It just came through her.

I went and sat in my car, rubbing my head with both hands.

“Am I completely fucking losing the plot here?”

“Is this really happening?”

My whole world was caving in on me.

But I wasn’t scared.

I loved it.

I was just struggling to process the intensity of it all.

Eventually, things settled down.

And it just became… a normal part of my life.