When I was twenty years old, I met Beverly Alberstadt, and my longing for a mirror ended. She spoke the words I recognized, and she related to God and to others the way I did. It was love at first sight. I adored her! She was the Unity minister in Greenville, South Carolina, and she was thirty years old, so our closeness in age also helped with our connection.
I attended every class she taught, every program she sponsored, and every lecture she gave. During this chapter of my life, I catapulted level upon level to new heights of growth because of all the validation of finally being seen for who I was. I felt with absolute certainty that she and I would be physically and spiritually connected all our lives. I was therefore shocked when she announced that she was relocating to Alabama to marry the man she had fallen in love with while in ministerial school. Needless to say, I did not want her to go. I had searched for someone like her for fifteen years, and now she was leaving.
We stayed in touch as best you could back then, and one day I called her to discover she was very ill. I had lost my driver’s license, and by now I am sure you know why, so I paid friends to drive me to her. I could not believe my eyes when I saw her. She was withering away, and later I discovered she had cancer. She died not long after that, and for years I grieved for what could have been.
I grieved for what I wanted, what I missed about our connection, and I could not heal. She was the second person devoted to God whom I had loved so deeply and who had died young. The memories of losing my cousin Bruce came to life again.
I would share with my therapist, my astrologer, and, from time to time, a psychic the deep loss I felt for her and how I could not heal. I was given processes and journal techniques, among other things, yet with little to no success. I did not understand how I could have been so clear about our relationship being lifelong when that was not to work out at all. It was indeed one of my deepest disappointments.
One day the inner awakening of Spirit opened up my heart again, and I realized I had to let go. Beverly died in the late 1980s, and a number of years had gone by. She was born on January 11 (1–11), which is important to know. About five or six years after Beverly died, I was awakened in the middle of the night by my pager going off really loud. For those of you who do not know what a pager it, it is a small box we used to carry around so that people could call us and leave their phone number as a message; then we would find a phone and return the call. My pager went off so loud that it startled me, and when I looked at it, it flashed 111. I went back to sleep, and in a few moments it went off again: 111. I said out loud, “Beverly, is that you?”
The next day, as I left my apartment, there was a huge banner across the street that read Beverly’s Antiques—Grand Opening. I was having a grand opening, all right! I was on my way to meet with a woman from California; the experience of the last few hours was consuming me, yet I did not feel comfortable sharing it. I asked the universe to give me a sign.
As I was riding with the woman to a restaurant, we decided to have the valet park her car. After he did so, the attendant yelled at her, “Ma’am, I parked your card in parking lot space 111.” She looked at him as if he were crazy, and he said it again. Then she looked at me and said she had heard him the first time, but why was he yelling the number instead of just giving her a ticket? I told her that it was actually a sign for me and that I would explain it over lunch. (I still have the ticket all these years later.) When I shared my story with her, she validated it by agreeing that I was getting a visit from someone I had truly loved so deeply.
These encounters have never stopped in my life. I have had these messages through phones and other means of written expression. I have had psychic readings, and the psychic always hears Beverly giving me messages about my life. She has remained in my life one of my greatest allies, and she is part of my dream. My dream needed me to come true so I could experience the love we had together in a different kind of way—not my way, but the High-way!