I recently saw a client who lost her 24-year old son in March of this year. He died of leukemia. She came to me for a reading – to talk to her son on the other side. She said she really didn’t believe in the things I do or in reincarnation, but that she was desperate and in pain and was hoping I could help in some way. She was referred to me by two different, unconnected people, so felt that that was some sort of sign that she should follow through with it. I couldn’t disagree with her on that one, as I pay attention to signs/synchronicity too.
Her sadness felt and looked like a thick, gray shield all around her. I could feel the panic underneath that – that panic that accompanies major loss, that feeling like you will never get to see that person again. I have memories of that type of panic – that endless, desperate panic with no hope of remedy.
During the reading, I tried to stay focused on her son and not on her and her pain. I pushed aside the empathic sadness/depression and conveyed her son’s message. He had not been home yet, had not gone ‘to the Light’, for lack of a better way to put it. In that, he was not unusual; however, he was different in another way. He presented a first of his kind for me: a recently nonphysical being who knew where to go and wanted to go, but that had waited to talk to me first. He told us that he didn’t want to go until he had talked to his mother more directly than he was able by himself. “You see,” he said, “I have been waiting for you, Grace, so that I could tell my mother these things before going.” THAT, I had never encountered. He said he could see the possibility of her speaking with me and so had waited around.
I delivered his message and answered all her questions, mostly successful in keeping her pain from invading me too much. He, quite peacefully, moved into the Light afterwards.
And then I sobbed quietly in my office once she was gone. I waited until I heard the outside door close and knew she was outside the building. I let the waves of sadness and panic wash over and through me, wanting to get rid of them. I then cleared myself and the office and rode my bike home – subdued, sober.
I could feel her sadness and our connection the rest of the day. Every time I laughed or smiled, I would catch myself and pull back, emotionally. It felt obscene to laugh or smile in the face of her sadness, her loss. I thought of my own daughter. She will be 22 this summer. I thought of the pain, the absolute panic, the hopelessness, even the anger that comes with such a loss.
This morning I found myself laughing again at silly things, the way I do. I am basically a happy person. I have worked hard to be this happy and content in my life. I sent her a load of good juju and sent out a prayer for her healing on all levels and turned my energy back to MY life, my very good, happy life with a healthy, beautiful, funny daughter to grace it. I laughed at my attempts to take a photo of my eye , enjoying the process just b/c it took me back into myself and my life and out of her painful one. And I also prayed I would keep the memory of that contrast stored somewhere in here, in my life, to remind me of just how good my life really is.
Godspeed. Godspeed to the son, but he is fine; he is Home. Mostly, Godspeed to the mother.