In her new book, Love Never Dies: How to Reconnect and Make Peace with the Deceased, Dr. Jamie Turndorf tells the incredible story of losing her beloved husband in an accident and finding him again as a spirit visitor from the realm beyond death. Here Dr. Turndorf describes their first comforting reconnection after she returns home:

My mother drove me back to Jean’s and my house. As soon as her tires crunched on our pebble drive, I was overcome with chills, shaking, and trembling. I must have malaria of the soul, I thought.

I entered the house and burrowed into bed. My mother gave me a Valium. I lay alone, weeping, clutching Jean’s pajama top to my nose, like a little girl clinging to her favorite teddy bear. I inhaled deeply, smelling Jean’s beautiful scent that always filled me with such ecstasy. I wept and wept and wept, begging to be wrapped in the arms of death. Suddenly, as if an IV tranquilizer had been inserted in my vein, a tidal wave of peace and love entered me. My chest felt bathed in warm, golden light.

Words that were not my own began pouring into my head. At the time, I didn’t know the technical name for what was happening to me. I just knew that Jean was implanting words, thoughts, and feelings into me. Jean was suddenly a voice inside my head. The voice was clearly not my own. He was in my mind.

He said, You can’t give up. You can’t die. We have so much work left to do in our ministry. I was stunned by the message, but not afraid. “Ministry? What ministry?” I asked aloud. I didn’t have a clue what he was referring to. The word ministry sounded daunting, especially for an atheist. Clearly he knew this wasn’t the time to go into detail. He didn’t say more on this point, but I sensed that he would clue me in when he felt the time was right.

Even in that moment, I knew that Jean was showing me that our loved ones in spirit are here to help us weather life’s storms, assist us in completing our journey, and even guide us to fulfill our destinies. Despite registering that thought, I again wept in misery over having to live another 40 years or more on earth without him.

I silently asked, How do I live in the world when the entire world is gone?

In reply, the following words popped into my mind: You’ll never be without me. Your head rests on my shoulder morning and night and whenever else you want to connect with me.

He continued, My arms are always open to you. What else is there for me to do? My full-time occupation is to love you . . . . This was the first of many rhymes that I’ve heard from Jean. His rhymes, I soon realized, were his way of underscoring a point, to make sure I would remember his message.

He cajoled me through the night, buoying my sinking soul with words of love and reassurance. Come to me, my little darling [his daily term of endearment for me] whenever you need me.

His words of reassurance reminded me that I was not alone. (Nor are you. Your loved ones are always watching over you until your days are through.) The hours passed. His vigil continued.

At one point, he said, My little darling, don’t be afraid of being alone in the dark. It is in the silence that you will hear my voice. The conversation and the noise of the day drown out my voice. Any time you want to talk to me, come to the bed, be still, and you will hear me. It is in the quiet that we will always unite. He again said, I am always available to you. I’m holding your hand every minute.

Jean went on to tell me, I had to go. I needed to be in the form I’m in to protect you better. He added that he could help me better from the place where he was. During this entire magical evening, his words poured over me like a fountain of love, a babbling brook overflowing its banks. I didn’t sleep a bit. How could I? Like new lovers chatting the night away, Jean and I had found each other again. I didn’t want to close my eyes. I was afraid to lose him.

Below is the trailer for my book, Love Never Dies, a story about true love and moving from grief to joy after a loved one dies.