by n 1999 Janis and Max Besler were a California power couple: she was publisher of the Sacramento Bee, a paper that won two Pulitzer Prizes on her watch; he was a political consultant, stepfather to her son, Tanner, and the love of her life.
"He was compassionate and empathetic and my lover and my best friend," she said.
And she was at his side when doctors told him he had terminal cancer in late 2003.
"The most painful part was just watching him suffer" -- and feeling helpless, she said.
In May 2004, a few days shy of his 56th birthday, Max Besler died, and that, Janis says, is when things started getting weird: Lights in her Sacramento home would flicker; clocks would stop at the moment Max died.
But then, on the anniversary date of his death, Janis was stunned by something she saw as she stood in her bathroom washing her hands.
"I looked up at the mirror and I saw a handprint," she told Smith. "A perfectly-formed, powdery handprint. Large, on the mirror. It was the right hand."
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"He was compassionate and empathetic and my lover and my best friend," she said.
And she was at his side when doctors told him he had terminal cancer in late 2003.
"The most painful part was just watching him suffer" -- and feeling helpless, she said.
In May 2004, a few days shy of his 56th birthday, Max Besler died, and that, Janis says, is when things started getting weird: Lights in her Sacramento home would flicker; clocks would stop at the moment Max died.
But then, on the anniversary date of his death, Janis was stunned by something she saw as she stood in her bathroom washing her hands.
"I looked up at the mirror and I saw a handprint," she told Smith. "A perfectly-formed, powdery handprint. Large, on the mirror. It was the right hand."
Source
