My Emmanuel
An Angel by Any Other Name
Hi everyone, thanks for joining me. Happy Full Moon.
It’s been a little while since I’ve shared a paranormal story with you. And with my spooky stories as the initial core of my storytelling, I thought it was time to rewind the pages of my spirit diary to recount yet another tale to share with you all.
So, as it is the beginning of a new month, in the glow of our first full moon of 2026, I share my tale of an early morning ‘visitor’ a couple of nights ago, which has spurred me on to tell my current tale.
It all began a few nights ago when I was home alone as night fell, and a movie happened to be on TV that I love. ‘Meet Joe Black.’ Who wouldn’t want to gaze upon those crystal blue eyes of Brad Pitt for a couple of hours, whether or not the movie was any good? But, in my opinion, it is. Not just because of his mesmerising eyes, but mainly due to the paranormal undertones in the human incarnation of the storyline.
It follows the story of William Parrish, a successful media tycoon who is about to celebrate his 65th birthday. As he contemplates his life and impending death, he is visited by the Angel of Death, who takes the form of a young man named Joe Black (Brad Pitt). Joe makes a deal with William: he will postpone William's death in exchange for a tour of life on Earth, allowing him to experience human emotions and relationships, ultimately forming a bond with William’s daughter.
For me, it’s not so much the story of the love that grows between the daughter and Death, but rather the journey of William, the father that Death has come to collect; the relationship between William and his daughter, mainly because it reminds me of my own dad. The day he went away, and the fact that I never got to say goodbye.
No one told me he was dying when they knew he was. I was eliminated from Dad’s last scenario. He just disappeared from my life, never to be seen again. Never to hold again. Never to say ‘I love you’ before he left me. Just like in the closing scenes of ‘Meet Joe Black’, when Death finally escorted William to his death, as the daughter watched her father from afar, feeling something was wrong, but not aware of his impending departure, forever. Death and William simply walked up and over a hill, disappearing into the night on the other side. As if they just walked into eternity. Just like that - gone. Just like dad.
Hence, I sat and watched the movie alone. Bawling my eyes out yet again, as I watched William walk away with Death over the hill into the night. My heart splitting with the pain of missing my dad and being alone in this world without him. Wishing so badly I could hold him, one more time. Wishing so badly I could hear him answer my cries for him. A touch, an invisible word whispered in my ear. A moving object on the coffee table before me that, though it defies logic, I would know it was him. Anything. But of course, there was nothing.
Apart from having numerous ‘visits’ from dad where we’ve reconnected in dreamtime, for some reason, this movie always gets me right between the ventricles. Such is the power of pain to keep your heart entwined in thorns.
So, I went to bed. Lying, crying in the darkness, waiting for a response from dad.
But there was nothing.
That pain in your heart that never dissipates, never leaves, never heals, hiding in the shadows. That’s the one I went to bed with.
Outside my bedroom door is a hallway. Oftentimes, orbs, sparkles, and ‘someone’ walking up and down can be seen on different occasions. A presence I am aware of.
It’s my grandmother. Many times, she stands in the doorway of my bedroom looking at me. She never comes in. I don’t know why. She just stands and stares at me. Watching over me in the silence. Many times, I’m in the state between semi-conscious and dreamtime, the opening where you see things and in panic, you scream and scream till your throat hurts - but nothing comes out. Excruciatingly, you continue the muted screech until you wake yourself out of the torture, and immediately, whatever scared you has gone. Your heart is still pounding, and your throat is sore. But at least you’re back in reality.
This was one of those nights.
But as I lay there longing for dad, drifting into the ‘zone’, she softly appeared. My beautiful grandmother.
She stood there in the doorway, watching me with her usual silent stare. And again, I was screaming in sheer pain for her to come and hold me. I wanted to hold her. To feel her warm hand sweep across my forehead as she used to do when I was a child. Comfort. Safe. Pure love.
Then, in an instant, something happened.
She walked through the doorway and stood at my bedside. She gently took my hand and held it in hers and said,
‘It’s ok, I’m here.’
In an instant, I ‘woke’ up. Still panting from the screaming. Knowing that she was really there and heard my cries. Pining for her love; aching to be held.
Then suddenly, there was peace. In the bedroom, in the hallway, in my heart.
Not a dream, but an apparition of love
And so, the next day, as I recalled the numerous ‘visits’ I’ve had over the years with many loved ones and friends, I remembered this one I’m about to share.
As always, this, too, is a true story of the omnipresence of those we love. Never far away. Forever listening, forever watching; forever standing beside the bed, to comfort, to hold, to reconnect.
Come meet my angel, Emmanuel.
The year was 1982, the disco years were slowly coming to an end, and life was evolving as it should. One’s life moves from one chapter to another. A door closes, a new one opens. Friends journey with you or remain in the past. It all depended on which fork in the road you chose.
Sharing those amazing years was a beautiful friend named Emmanuel. His name described him perfectly. As his title infers, he was an angel, well, to me at least. And coincidentally, he did have wings. He could fly. Wings of the aeronautical kind, that is. He was a pilot. Small planes, seaplanes and the like. It was his dream job.
He was a softly spoken, gentle guy. Tall, dark and handsome. Our relationship was of a brother-and-sister kind. Life just felt safe when Emmanuel was around. We’d spend our weekends going to discos, dancing all night, enjoying the 70’s and 80’s with gusto. Funky music, the Jackson 5, The Bee Gees and many Saturday Night Fevers were treasured fragments of our life journey together. Some of the best times of my life were in the 70s and 80s. Fond memories shared with treasured friends that have lasted a lifetime.
As life moved on and friendships began to disconnect, Emmanuel and I remained close, always. But as we got older and life and work intervened, sadly, we weren’t tripping the light fantastic as often. I guess we all had to grow up sometime.
I was really peeved that I couldn’t, wouldn’t be able to dance all night, every night till dawn forever. Well, at least till I’m eighty! Dancing was my addiction. It made my heart sing, and my soul take flight. My passion.
The last time I saw Emmanuel was when he rang and asked if I wanted to meet him in the city for lunch, as he had a couple of days free before he had to leave for Queensland on a flight planning assignment for an estate agency and wanted to catch up before he left.
Of course, there was no hesitation from me. It was always a joy being in his company.
I remember we laughed and laughed that day over silly things, the absurd, the frivolous, life and connection. It was so easy and comfortable being in his presence. We just had this rapport that melded. I would miss not seeing him for a couple of weeks while he was away. But his return was always something to look forward to.
Following our lunch date, weeks had gone by, and I hadn’t heard from him. Thinking he must be pretty busy flying real estate moguls around the Sunshine Coast skies, it wasn’t till weeks later, on a sparkling, crisp spring morning, that I had a visit from him.
Oddly, it was five o’clock in the morning.
I was at home, in bed, as the sun began to rise on another mundane day. Part of me was still in slumber, caught somewhere between consciousness and dream zone. I seem to spend a lot of time there. I’m sure I’m just a visitor to Earth and not a resident!
With the sun now dazzling through my bedroom window, I awoke, squinting from the glare as the sun’s rays pierced through the curtains.
As my eyes began to focus, I then realised that standing beside my bed, literally shining in his immaculate pilot’s uniform, was my Emmanuel. Looking down at me, plain as day, with that peaceful, captivating smile he wore so well.
Strange? Yes.
I asked him what he was doing here and how he got in. Through my attempts to fully wake, it didn’t occur to me straight away that it was the early hours of the morning, but most of all, how did he get into the house and manage to come upstairs to my bedroom without my flatmate or me hearing him at the door, or walking up the squeaky staircase?
His stare was intense as he smiled like an angel and spoke.
“I’m OK now, don’t worry, I’ll be OK”.
I sat up in disbelief and asked him what was wrong, and again, why was he here with me.
His beautiful face was bathed in the morning’s sun. And as I fully focused on his being, the realisation set in that he had the perfect complexion of a newborn, without a blemish on his face, like antique porcelain. Perplexing, seeing he had slight scarring from acne in his early years.
He was pale, very pale, but oh-so-handsome in his crisp white uniform.
Then he spoke again,
“I’m OK. Everything will be alright. I’ll always love you,” and slowly began to fade in front of me, still staring at me with those beautiful brown magnetic eyes.
My heart was pounding.
Deafening silence.
Then, as my mind attuned to what I had just witnessed, my heart and breath resumed their normal repetition and the realisation that this was not a dream.
I knew then something was very wrong and that what I witnessed and what would transpire over the following days and weeks would leave me without a cherished friend and ‘brother’ forever.
Heavenly spirits were at play here.
I was terrified for Emmanuel and what could have possibly happened to him. This was no ordinary visit.
I decided to call Mani’s best friend, Tim, who would most likely know Emmanuel’s movements and if he was ok.
I didn’t know how to broach the subject with Tim. He wasn’t very open-minded about mystical matters such as this. He was a lovely guy, but more in the moment, rather than contemplating the mysteries of life or death. I think he didn’t understand and was scared of such topics. But I had to find out if Emmanuel was alright.
On finally contacting Tim, he said he was going to the local pub for lunch, and I could meet him there. He believed it was just a catch-up session. For me, a mission of love.
We sat and chatted briefly over a wine. The usual pleasantries and unimportant babble bounced back and forth. Then, not wishing to wait another minute, I asked him if he had heard from Emmanuel.
He said no, not for a few weeks, which Tim himself thought unusual. This was out of normal character for Emmanuel.
So, I delicately endeavoured to tell him what had happened the previous morning with Emmanuel’s early morning visit to my bedside and that I was worried something could have happened to him.
I tried numerous times to convince Tim that it was not a dream or a hallucination. But a visitation of which I’ve had many before. Visitations of prophecy.
He just laughed at me and said I was probably going nuts and not to be so ridiculous, eventually becoming slightly agitated with me and my persistence.
I realised it was probably time to go, getting no support for my story from Tim, but reiterated to him what I experienced and what I thought it meant and that we should take it seriously, whether he believed me or not.
I know what I saw and what Emmanuel had said to me, but if Tim didn’t believe me, there was nothing more to say, and I should accept that some people simply don’t believe.
I asked Tim to contact me as soon as he heard from Emmanuel, should he hear any news, if for nothing else but to ease my mind. He said he would, with disbelief snickering in the back of his mind.
I must have planted a seed of doubt in his brain, because even though he didn’t believe me, he contacted Emmanuel’s family. Even though I was close with Emmanuel’s sisters, back then one didn’t have mobile phones to connect us all, just an old-fashioned land line. So, his sisters’ phone numbers never really seemed something to share. Unlike today, when everyone is connected in a million ways.
Tim finally got back to me. As he relayed the unfolding details of Emmanuel’s ‘disappearance’, it was then that I realised that my early morning visit from Emmanuel was his way of saying goodbye, even though there was no confirmation of anything untoward having happened. Just that gut feeling.
Such visitations have happened many times in my life. It comes down to a personal rendezvous with one’s spirit and their way of saying goodbye.
It was the look on Emmanuel’s face, his porcelain skin and his almost glowing aura that told me all I needed to know. And what I had witnessed was real.
The information relayed back to me from Tim was chilling.
Emmanuel was on a property inspection flight with a real estate agent, just as he had shared during our last moments together. The air controller lost contact with Emmanuel and the location of his aircraft.
Air control lost sight of him on the radar. The plane had just disappeared.
It wasn’t until many weeks later, after an air search and sonar underwater radar, that Emmanuel’s plane was finally located.
Devastation is an understatement.
I was told that the seaplane had attempted to land on a large dam and apparently hit something just below the surface of the water that wasn’t visible at the time of their descent, which caused the plane to flip and crash into the water, immediately plunging into the murky waters.
His plane was found upside down in the dam. Emmanuel and his passenger were still strapped into their seats. Emmanuel, in his pristine white uniform, just as he was when he appeared to me that crisp, golden morning.
It was so terribly devastating. For everyone. His beautiful family, friends, colleagues, and me.
For him and his passenger, it must have happened so very quickly and with such force that they couldn’t release themselves from their seats. Perhaps they had been knocked unconscious.
However shocking, we told ourselves at least he was doing what he loved.
Flying. Like angels do.
Tim finally acknowledged my angel visit from Emmanuel the day of his funeral. Finally relenting that there is possibly more to this life and beyond than we realise.
Sadly, though, it was after Emmanuel’s passing that Tim and I also lost contact. I don’t think he could cope with the fact that he never actually believed me when I told him about Emmanuel’s manifestation in my room that morning, and that maybe having me remain in his life was a heart-bleeding reminder of the loss of his best mate and the circumstances that surrounded it.
That’s OK. I understand, and so would Emmanuel.
So, every time I notice a seaplane on TV, flying over our Sydney Harbour Bridge or above our golden beaches, I think of my beautiful friend, my Emmanuel and know that he now flies in heaven with his own wings. No engine, no flight plan required.
As his name depicts, Emmanuel is one of the seven guardian angels with a purpose - to overcome fear.
It is said that Emmanuel reminds us that God, whoever you believe God to be, is within everyone and everything and that magic and miracles can become a part of everyday life if we are willing to allow them.
Emmanuel reminds us, me, to celebrate every moment and to see the sacred in the mundane.
I try my best every day for you, dear Emmanuel. Some days are a desert. Some are blue skies forever. Some days, I wish you were here with me still.
Since you’ve been gone, my handsome brother, an eagle has begun flying overhead. He appeared again this morning. Circling, gliding down to take a familiar look. Hovering just long enough for us to make eye contact. I know it is you, my beautiful friend. I can see your soul in the windows of your stare. I know it is you still watching over me like you always did.
A comforting sense of calm comes over me as I watch you circle above me. My ultimate joy is watching you spread your wings as you soar into the morning sun. Just as you did that early morning visit so many years ago.
I know you are near, and so is the magic. Now I know you are indeed ‘alright’.
And just for the record, I don’t worry, I just miss you down here on earth.
how beautiful for Emmanuel to visit and say farewell.
One of my favourites! 🤍🪽