Carlos telephoned me because he wanted to hear from his father, Gustavo, who’d died several years ago. At the beginning of our session, he told me he’d dreamed of his father, who appeared as a phantom-like figure on the edge of his unconscious awareness. Gustavo had spoken to him, but his voice had sounded blurred, like he was speaking underwater. And that made no sense to Carlos, because his father hadn’t drowned.

I centred myself and asked my guides to bring me Carlos’ father. After a bit of uncomfortable stillness, I felt a male energy, but the spirit seemed like he was in the far corner of my reading room. Was this Gustavo? Why was he being so difficult?

"Let me tell you what I’m getting," I said, concentrating on the ephemeral presence nearby. "The spirit is male. A heavy-set fellow with big hands. And now he’s pointing to his head. There’s a pain in his head."

Carlos hissed, "Yes." Then he took a breath and said, "Go on."

The spirit drew closer to me and I felt compelled to stand up. I said with an edge in my voice, "Let it go." That surprised me, giving such a sharp command to my client. "That’s how your father would speak, right?"

"Yes. When he was angry about something."

"Well, your father isn’t angry. He’s—"

A searing pain stabbed my left temple. My eyes squeezed shut and I gritted my teeth. If this isn’t mine, I thought, take it away. The pain vanished. And then I knew what had happened.

"Your father was shot in the head," I said slowly.

"Yes," he growled

"Your father says, ‘Let it go.’"

"I can’t."

"Let it go," I said emphatically, speaking with Gustavo’s energy. "You’ll only get in trouble. It’s over. Gustavo says it’s over. That’s why he hasn’t come to you. He doesn’t want you to follow him. Let it go."

Carlos didn’t speak. In my mind, I saw him standing on a dark street corner, his hand in his pocket gripping a weapon made of cold steel, waiting impatiently for someone to walk by so he could take the next step in a drama of vengeance that would seal his own fate.

"Your father says, ‘Promise me. You promise me. You won’t do anything about it.’"

A minute ticked by. It felt like an hour. I wanted Gustavo to say something more to calm his son, but his energy had melted away. I begged anyone else in the spirit world to come forward and talk Carlos out of making a terrible mistake, but the room stayed silent and cold.

Then he said, "Yes, I promise."

I sensed Carlos’ energy settle. Searching for something to say, I asked him, "Are you all right?"

"Fine." He sighed as if he was carrying a great weight on his back. "I just need to think." Then he thanked me for the session and hung up.

I prayed for his guides to help him ease that weight, and give him the inner strength to keep the promise he made to his father. As the days went by, and I nervously scanned the newspapers for word of a story that I knew would break my heart, I came to realize the lesson Carlos taught me: There are some things in life we can’t control, and if we push too hard to exert our will, it ends up controlling us.