‘Saved by my an­gel son’

Michelle Green­wood couldn’t rescue her beloved boy, but he was des­tined to pro­tect her

Spirit and Destiny - - Contents -

When Michelle

Green­wood lost her beloved son, she had no idea he would still be on hand to of­fer sup­port and pro­tec­tion

Look­ing at the photo my son, Ja­cob, had just texted me, I felt sick. Look at my aura Mum, he’d typed un­der­neath.

He was stood on a beach, build­ing a tower of stand­ing stones. Around him was a lovely white aura that touched the stones and stretched sky­wards.

And in that in­stant, I knew.

Ja­cob was leav­ing this earth, and the an­gels would be tak­ing him to the other side. I couldn’t ex­plain how I knew. All I could say was that ever since I was a kid, I’d been sen­si­tive to the spirit world and had the psy­chic gift of in­ner know­ing.

I picked up the phone and called a friend who, like me, was very spir­i­tual.

‘The an­gels are com­ing to take Ja­cob,’ I sobbed.

She tried to calm me down, told me I was mis­taken, that it wasn’t go­ing to hap­pen…

Yet for the next four weeks, I felt weighed down with a sense of dread.

Ev­ery time I looked at my beloved boy, I felt a tug at my heart. I couldn’t breathe a word to him about what I knew was go­ing to hap­pen, but I was dis­traught with fear.

A fi­nal good­bye

He was just 21 years old, a beau­ti­ful, kind and lov­ing young man with his whole life ahead. I couldn’t bear the thought of los­ing him.

But I did.

In Au­gust 2016, Ja­cob went out one evening on his new mo­tor­bike to see his girl­friend.

Watch­ing him pull away from our house, the bike wob­bled and I called, ‘You’re go­ing to have an ac­ci­dent, you shouldn’t be rid­ing that at this time of night.’

That was the last thing I said to him. Ja­cob never came home, and de­spite ev­ery­one out look­ing for him, there was no trace of him or his bike.

Then I had an aw­ful vi­sion. Ja­cob was cry­ing and call­ing for me, ‘Mum. I need you.’

I knew then he’d gone. That he’d crashed his bike and died in­stantly and the an­gels had come to take him, just as I’d known they would.

Ja­cob’s body wasn’t found for an­other two days.

My youngest son, El­liot, then 13, was in the car with me when the call came. We were on the mo­tor­way driv­ing home to Heb­den, York­shire.

Ja­cob had been found in a ditch. His bike had hit a tree and he’d been thrown off.

How I man­aged to keep con­trol of the car and pull over onto the hard shoul­der I’ll never know. I had to call the ve­hi­cle re­cov­ery peo­ple to drive us home. I was a com­plete mess, and El­liot was in­con­solable.

The un­known face

It was only when I saw the pho­tos taken of Ja­cob at the crash site, that some­thing that had hap­pened three years pre­vi­ously sud­denly made hideous sense.

I’d had a vi­sion – a hor­ri­ble im­age of some­one with long brown hair, curly, maybe dread­locks. I couldn’t make out their fa­cial fea­tures, only that blood was com­ing out of their nose.

Not long af­ter­wards, me and the boys had gone to Turkey on hol­i­day, and I’d begged Ja­cob not to go quad bik­ing as I was ter­ri­fied the vi­sion was of him and he was in dan­ger.

I was a sin­gle mum, and Ja­cob had al­ways been so pro­tec­tive of me and his brother. He was al­ways want­ing to know where I was and when I’d be back, so he’d know I was safe. He’d never have done any­thing that would worry me, so he didn’t go quad bik­ing and the up­set­ting vi­sion slipped my mind.

‘He’d never have done any­thing that would worry me’

Un­til now. The vi­sion had been of

Ja­cob, sprawled life­less and bleed­ing in a ditch. And my boy was gone.

Lay­ing your child to rest isn’t right. The best you can do is give them the send off you’d think they’d want and cel­e­brate their life, and all the joy and hap­pi­ness they brought to you.

And what a life force Ja­cob had been. He was so full of en­ergy, into ski­ing, skate­board­ing, kayak­ing. He was a fire per­former, a chil­dren’s en­ter­tainer, a win­dow fit­ter. You couldn’t have found any­one with more life in them than him.

Ja­cob was cre­mated and we scat­tered some of his ashes over Janet’s Foss, in Mal­ham, where we used to spend a lot of time as a fam­ily. It’s a York­shire Dales beauty spot, with a lovely wa­ter­fall. Ja­cob loved wild camp­ing.

Life-sav­ing words

I didn’t have to wait very long, though, to dis­cover Ja­cob’s death wasn’t ‘good­bye’ at all – he was still with me.

A few weeks af­ter his fu­neral, I was sit­ting on his bed cry­ing. I missed him and couldn’t find a ring he’d had that I wanted to give to El­liot.

Then I heard Ja­cob’s voice, as if he was be­side me, ‘It’s un­der the bed. Top left-hand corner.’ He was right, too!

Not long af­ter this, Ja­cob proved to me that be­ing on the other side wasn’t go­ing to stop him look­ing af­ter his dear old mum.

I was driv­ing to Bris­tol to col­lect El­liot from a show he’d been work­ing on. He may only be 15 but he has his own light­ing busi­ness and de­signs light­ing sets for shows and fes­ti­vals.

I was re­ally tired and had stopped at a ser­vice sta­tion for a quick break.

A lit­tle while later, I pulled out on to the slip road to re­join the mo­tor­way and there were three hulk­ing great ar­tic­u­lated lor­ries, one in front of me, one in the lane next to me and one be­hind me.

I’ve been sen­si­tive to the spirit world my en­tire life

With my beau­ti­ful boys, Ja­cob and El­liot,at Janet’s Foss

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