A Transition to the Other Side of Life

Our two-year-old granddaughter was diagnosed with the terminal disease leukodystrophy. We received a call that the hospice nurses said she didn’t have much longer to live. My wife flew out that evening to be with her.

After returning from the airport and watching TV, I went into the kitchen, where we have an Aura auto picture frame that rotates family photos every fifteen seconds. The frame goes dark when the lights are off. That night, when I walked into the dark kitchen—for the first time ever—the frame was lit up with two photos. On the left, our granddaughter was pointing to a fire in their fireplace. On the right, her dad was relaxing on a chaise lounge. The pictures did not change after fifteen seconds. They just stayed there.

She held on, and my wife returned home.

A couple of days later, I got a call from our daughter-in-law, who was holding our granddaughter—except she didn’t call. My wife flew back out again to be with her.

Two days later, while I was in bed, the carbon monoxide detector went off. I looked at the clock. It was 7:13. I ran to the kitchen where the detector is located. The alarm stopped. I flipped on the light, and the Aura picture frame came on with the same two photos that had stayed on that Saturday evening.

After my wife returned home, one of our battery-operated candles on the dining room table turned itself on. It happened again the next day.

A couple of days later, our granddaughter passed away in her sleep, lying next to her dad.

Several months later, we had a reading with a well-known psychic. During the session, he said, “I’m hearing 713. Does that mean anything?”

Welcome to the other side of life.