I spoke to my dead father through a psychic medium – and I couldn’t believe what I was told

It was only three months ago that my dad and I were chatting in my kitchen about whether he wanted red Thai chicken curry or a steak for supper. Now, rightly or wrongly, I’m hoping he can speak to me from beyond the grave.

It feels ironic, especially as he scoffed at the idea of an afterlife. I’m open to the idea, but as I wait for my 50-minute spirit reading to begin, I’m suddenly overwhelmed by a tidal wave of grief. My dad, who was 91, has gone forever. Where is he? We were inseparable. He lived with me in the last months of his life, and was a father figure to my children, Lola, eight, and Liberty, six. He was my steadfast rock who I could always count on. I cared for him until the end. I want to know if he’s OK. I want to know if he’s happy and with my mum. I want to know if what I’m doing is a useful tool for processing grief. Or if it’s utterly ridiculous.

Fleur Leussink is the 34-year-old medium who I’m hoping will connect me with my dad. She has a five-year wait list – though does “express readings” within three months for $895 (£691) – and clients that have included Lana Del Rey and Emma Roberts. When she appears over Zoom from New York, I am struck by her ethereal softness – her brown, shoulder-length hair is tied into a neat bun, and she wears a white puff sleeve top and earpiece.

After brief introductions are made, Fleur goes quiet. She closes her eyes and sways calmly from side to side. She tells me this is to “tune in” to “energy, consciousness, or lifeforce”. She claims that all of this exists even after our physical passing, that it is “conscious, intelligent, and aware of real-time events”. It’s subtle, she adds, with quick visual images appearing to her much like a daydream or in the form of a sensation in her body. “We’re going to be working with a couple of people,” she says, declaratively. “Your father is there, but it’s crowded. I can’t get to him without talking about others too.”

That’s when she mentions “a man who passed through suicide”, someone I was close to, but who isn’t my father. I immediately know that she’s talking about Alex, my former partner and the father of my children. But I’ve written about him before extensively, so I’m sceptical about her pinpoint accuracy. Alex, she tells me, is watching over four children, even though I only have two children with him. “Both girls,” she says correctly.

This calculation makes sense. Two of those are Lola and Liberty, of course, but also his 29-year-old son from a previous relationship, and his six-year-old granddaughter. “Correct,” I say. I realise there’s no way Fleur could have known this information, even from my social media.

As much as I’d like her to connect with my dad, Fleur can’t move past Alex. She says that he has “a history of addiction”. This is true, I say. “It feels romantic,” she continues, “like a partnership – but it feels very off and on.” That is true, too, as is her feeling that “this man” died a decade ago – Alex died in 2014. Fleur correctly senses that I haven’t been open to love since, and says that Alex wants me to meet the second love of my life, who is waiting in the wings. I stop her. “Alex can’t take up the whole reading,” I insist. “Absolutely,” Fleur laughs. “But he’s really strong energetically.”

Fleur says that she senses one of mine and Alex’s children has just lost her bottom front teeth. That’s accurate. She tells me that Alex is “impressed” that Lola and Liberty are so solid, and that they don’t hold the same dysregulation that could make them turn to substances as they get older. That’s reassuring. Fleur says she is going to “move” her energy and pivot away from Alex. I feel a tinge of guilt – as if I’m not appreciating his support.

Finally, Fleur connects with my dad. She senses that he was dependable for me, that he was part of the day-to-day in my children’s lives, and that he got to see them change and grow over time. All of it is true. She tells me that he was often in denial about his old age, and that he knew he was unwell but that his death wasn’t expected. “Yes,” I gulp. “It was a total shock.”

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She feels pressure on her head – as if it’s what he experienced the night he died. “There is a sense of the cardiovascular system not working well,” she tells me. “That the blood flow isn’t pumping around the body. He’s hit by the pressure in his brain, and then it all goes very quickly”. What blows my mind is that there is no way she could have known this information unless she had seen his death certificate. The post-mortem revealed that my dad had died of myocardial ischemia in the left ventricle, meaning there was a decrease in his heart’s ability to pump blood. That can reduce venous outflow from the brain, causing headaches. I know – I looked it up.

She tells me that there was a woman present in the room while he began to pass away – it was his carer, who discovered him at 2am and woke me up to alert me. “There is a slight delay,” she says. “They aren’t in the room to take action right away.” But he wants me to know that finding him earlier “wouldn’t have made a huge difference”. At best, he thinks he would have been in a vegetative state, which is exactly what the intensive care doctor told me about 15 minutes after we arrived at the A&E department.

My dad was unresponsive as I sat by him and he took his last breath. Two doctors had called me into a hospital side room and told me the devastating news they were removing the breathing apparatus – I had a few minutes left with him to hold his hand. I begged them not to let him die before I surrendered to one of the saddest moments of my life.

“He wants me to know with absolute certainty that he knew you were there,” Fleur tells me. I get goosebumps. “Were you on his left side when he was passing? Because that is where he feels you.” “Yes,” I say. She has the feeling of receiving a kiss on her left cheek. She tells me it feels beautiful, and that my dad wanted me to know that he felt the kiss. She describes the scene as if she was there.

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He’s happy, she says, to be reunited with my mum – she’s also correct in that my dad had been living on his own for “a very long time”, as my mum died over 20 years ago. It’s as if she knows him well. He even wants me to know his teeth are good again. “He had a lot of pain in his teeth and his gums towards the end of life and had a hard time chewing on things,” she says. “He’s done with that, thank God.” His last message to me is that I was “closest to him, and knew him best” – and that I shouldn’t let other people tell me what he desired, wanted or thought. It really resonates with me, particularly in light of family disharmony.

I don’t really know what to make of it all. In the 50 minutes I spent with Fleur, I think there were only two occasions where she said something I thought was incorrect. I’m certain there are many fake mediums out there, people who prey on the vulnerable and those who get addicted to spiritual readings like these. But I’m left baffled by what I’ve personally experienced with Fleur. I just can’t explain it.

“I don’t perceive the spirit world to be outside of our own,” Fleur tells me after the reading. She was told by a psychic when she was 18 that she herself was a medium, and that she would get very sick if she “didn’t step into it”. She’s been doing readings ever since.

“I believe death to be a continuation of life,” she tells me, shortly before we say our goodbyes. I don’t find that message particularly comforting, but I do feel like I’ve had a good chat with my dad, whether it was genuine or not. Perhaps that feeling is all I needed.