Prior to my career as an advice columnist, I worked for a financial services firm, where I learned the value of planning and perseverance. I also learned that when I asked people for something and they said no, I was perfectly happy to move on down the list and ask someone else.
Handling rejection was not an issue—though that might be more attributable to my dismal dating record in high school. So, I thought my quest to get Theresa Caputo, ‘The Long Island Medium,’ to meet with me while she was in St. Louis for an appearance would be relatively easy. Uh, no.
My father passed away years ago, and I just wanted to ask him about heaven. When I was little I had an unusual preoccupation with death and asked my parents about it often. I wanted to know if you could read the newspaper in heaven. Would there be poker games? Would you be able to choose between bologna and salami sandwiches? How did you get new clothes? I had very specific questions that I needed answered.
It is hard to stump your parents, but I did. And then my dad did what any parent who needs sleep does: He made up a story. Of course there were newspapers! They were delivered in the morning and afternoon. Poker was on Wednesday evenings. If you wanted bologna for lunch, that was fine, and you always had new clothes. So for 50 years, that’s how I have pictured heaven: My dad and I sitting around playing poker, eating sandwiches, me dressed in the latest designer styles and my dad occasionally checking the newspapers for baseball scores. If right now you are picturing that piece of artwork (and I use that term very loosely) of dogs sitting around playing poker, that, weirdly, is how I picture heaven, only with people.
So when I learned Theresa Caputo was coming to St. Louis, I needed a private reading with her so I could communicate with my father to confirm my version of heaven. For those of you who don’t know, Caputo is a famous medium. She communicates with people who have passed away and has a wildly successful television show on TLC. There is a three-year waiting list to get a reading from her. I assumed she would love to chat with me. I started with an email to her PR agency, followed by a phone call to her PR agency, followed by another email to a different address at her PR agency. I found a connection via LinkedIn, but it required an upgrade to my subscription. I texted two friends in New York to see if they knew her, emailed the marketing manager at the Family Arena in St. Charles (where she was appearing), tweeted her, posted a message on her Facebook page and complained to everyone I knew that Theresa Caputo’s ‘people’ were ignoring me. I even sent out psychic messages to her every evening.
So, I decided to spend $64 and attend her show, certain she would pick me. If she didn’t, my research revealed she stayed only in fivestar hotels, so I could always wait for her in the lobby at The Ritz-Carlton. The show started, and Caputo was immediately out in the audience connecting with people and, of course, members of their families who had died. She worked the room and was amazingly accurate. Eventually, she stopped right in front of my friend and me. It was going to happen … and then nothing. Not one word from my dad. She talked to someone behind me and moved on.
The show was over. My last hope was an ‘accidental’ meeting at The Ritz. So after I dropped off my friend and headed to the hotel, the most amazing thing happened. My father came to me and said, “You are acting like a lunatic. Go home.” Which I did, but I still don’t have any answer about the bologna sandwiches. I also don’t have a restraining order requiring me to keep my distance from Theresa Caputo.
