What are we

A week ago I had a visit with a medium, actually two mediums.  This was not a private meeting; but rather, it was an open invitation to attend a healing session, and all were welcome.  It wasn’t held in a darkened room, it was held in a bright, sunny parlour that could seat 20 to 30 people.  There were that many too, we were a full house.  We spanned all ages in that room, and every one of us was looking for something.  Some were obviously there hoping to connect with a person now gone, to get an answer or feel close to someone they miss.

We shared a meditation and a prayer before moving to the healing session.  This was my interest, the healing session, the putting on of hands and sharing of personal energy.  No chanting or incantations, just silence.  The healing was very powerful.  I felt a gentle, calm centering that seemed to lift the weight that sorrow has added to my soul.  It’s always there, the awareness of loss.  So I welcomed the silent support that the healing provided.

Overall, the session was marked by openness and acceptance of each other’s dreams, fears, desires and, most of all, need.  Everyone in the room wanted something and it translated to a thick blanket of energy.  The room was highly atmospheric.  Was that the heightened expectations of those in attendance making the room feel full and overflowing with energy, or was it more?

I think the thing that I want most, is to understand that final mystifying element of our life:  our death.  Like so many before me, and so many that will come after me, I wonder what truly happens. There are those who fear death, those who don’t, but regardless, there is no one who can describe death – some return after near death experiences, but not after death.  What happens to our spirit, the force that is us?

We are energy. We can’t see the energy that makes us breathe and move, think and feel, but without it we are dead.  So when we die, what happens to that energy, to the thing we call our soul, where does it go? Perhaps it just fades away to nothingness, to heat and then cold.  Or perhaps the energy in our brain, while it sustains life, is just the manifestation of something greater, something beyond the current grasp of scientific thought or scientific assessment.  The unanswerable question.  Science will try to answer it, and those with strong faith will answer it.  For people like me, there is no answer, and I will continue to wonder about it.




The Darkness Suits Me

It’s been almost two months since my husband died. Like most traumatic incidents the event itself has the ability to feel close and distant at the same time. Some days it feels like Kevin’s been gone for a long time, other days it feels like it just happened. It can feel so raw that it pains my heart and I find it hard to swallow; even holding my head up is an effort. The pain is very, very real. It settles deep the centre of my chest, behind my ribcage and throbs in time with the beat of my heart – separate but the same. I would likely be diagnosed as suffering from Broken Heart Syndrome. It is real and it exists, and it is a major factor in why I continue to be under a doctor’s care

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about Kevin, wonder what he would think or say. Some days are better than others. On good days I may find humour in something and I can imagine him hiss-laughing, he’d sound like a snake, sharing my laughter. On other days I don’t imagine his response at all – I can’t get past my own sorrow. On these low days I may find myself in his closet touching his sweaters, smelling his clothes, hugging one of his favorite tee-shirts. On these occasions I wonder if he can see me, if he is still here in some shape or form, and so I plead with the universe in general, to send me a sign to let me know he’s here with me.

Tomorrow my daughter and my sister-in-law will go see a psychic, medium, sensitive – I am actually not sure what she is. I hope it proves to be a comforting experience. I was offered the opportunity to go as well, but I am just not ready. I am still dwelling in the darkness and shadows, but unexpectedly there is a degree of comfort in this. I am not moving forward very fast and darkness seems to encourage caution and care; it’s okay to move slowly when you can’t see where you are going. So, for now, I passed on the opportunity.

It’s almost two months and I have been back at work part time for about a month. It has been a push, but my coworkers tell me that I appear to be improving.  Maybe on the outside, however, the reality is that his death is never out of my mind.