It's Been A Year...

Today you've been gone a year. How can it be a year when it still feels like yesterday? How can it be that I've asked the same questions for 365 days? Why did you leave? Why didn't we have more time?

How do I do this without you...

My heart is still broken for the loss of my Twin Flame and the tears still come, some days more than others.

Somehow, I have learned to keep breathing and I have gotten *some* answers to my questions. Though like anyone who's lost someone important, finding answers to the questions doesn't alter the pain of the loss, especially when it's so sudden. When a friend lost her mother, quite literally in the act of putting on her seatbelt, likely from an aneurism it happened so fast, he reminded me that sudden loss is so very jarring. Jarring. The word stuck with me because that is how it feels, like someone's just shaken me very hard and even now, a full year later, I still find myself asking, "How can you be gone?" as I still struggle to digest this truth.

This same week, I lost another beloved friend, and while his battle was long and hard, in the end the cancer was victorious. It is heartbreaking and awful to lose a childhood friend though for me, this was a bit less jarring than losing my Twin. We all knew Stephen was "living" with cancer and his numbers were stable. Anyone who's been through or near a cancer journey knows that without a full remission, this is good news on borrowed time. The numbers were stable until they weren't and it took less than six months for cancer to win the day. Not so with my Twin. He left us all in the space of two weeks and jarring again seems an appropriate word.

As a medium I have no doubt in my mind that the soul continues, that he is still here, that he visits his family on a regular basis. I have watched as he learned to communicate, and came to me through other mediums. In workshops and classes, he shared information through people I'd never met before and let me know with full certainty, that he was the communicator. The things they shared, details of his life I shared with no one, could not possibly have been known to them unless he himself was sharing it. It was gut wrenching. I wanted to scream, "why are you here but not here??" as I forced myself to write down every word they said. I needed to remember, to be able to remind myself later, that he was there and that he could still communicate with me. And on darker days, those notes have brought glimmers of light and healing as well.

As someone who does this work on a regular basis, I never cease to marvel at the information I am guided to share, information I could not possibly know about the total stranger sitting across from me. But until he passed, I never fully felt the profundity of it for myself. Often in workshops, my Nanna is first to come through to other student mediums. She loves to drop in and say hi to everyone and she comes through so often I've learned to expect her. I love hearing from her and I know she guides and helps me be a better conduit for those on her side of the veil. And as much as I love her, and know she loves me, she is not the one I ache to hear from.

Last year, while at a muti-day training in Fort Myers, Fl, spirit artist and medium Joe Shiel had a wonderful connection with my other grandma, Helen and her sister, my Aunt Dora who is my Gatekeeper and guides me so often. It was a beautiful experience to watch him work and know they are with me and, the portrait he drew of them now hangs in my reading room as a daily reminder that they are with us, watching and guiding as much as we will allow.

Earlier that same day, Joe asked for a volunteer for an exercise he had not yet explained. I sat there, in nearly the last row of the room, bewildered as my hand shot into the air and the words "I'll do it" popped out of my mouth. It happened so fast and felt like someone had grabbed my wrist and tugged my arm into the air and before I knew what happened, I was walking towards to front of the room.

During the course of the day, my twin had already come through to two other mediums I had just met, as he was learning to connect. Those who know me know I do not believe in coincidence. They asked me to trust them when Joe asked for volunteers and that trust was rewarded (as it always is) with a beautiful connection to my gramma and aunt and a drawing I'll cherish forever. (Google him, his work does not come cheap!)

As a medium, and for all that I know that I know, I still find myself filled with grief and with questions? Even though I'm a medium, and I know that I know what I know, I am also still human. A human who lost someone unexpectedly, someone, who even though he could infuriate the hell out of me, I loved in a way I didn't know was possible, and in a way that will last forever.

Every day, though especially today, on the first anniversary of his passing, I wish we'd had more time and I remain filled with grief and sadness. I grieve like anyone, asking all the same questions of my ceiling, my God and my guides. And in this year of grief, amidst the madness and uncertainty of 2020, I have learned an important lesson. It's ok to not be ok. More than that, it's ok to say it aloud and let others know.

"I am not ok." But eventually... one day... I hope I will be.