Death Reminds Us to Live...

Sometimes it's hard to write about my experience. I've gotten so many emails from people thanking me for this blog; it's been very touching, and I really appreciate knowing that it's so meaningful to you. I have so many stories to share of experiences I have witnessed acting as a medium for others -- stories that are heartbreaking and heartwarming at the same time. I feel so fortunate to be a witness to those moments in people's lives; moments that are filled with gratitude and sadness all swirled together. I've had about a billion of those moments on my own journey, and when I think about sharing them, I never know where to start. However, when I think about sharing them I also have a most magical experience of what I call; "being remembered".

Since the very beginning of Spencer being on the other side, there have been many moments when I witness him "remembering me" into a memory. I have to tell you that one minute ago I didn't know I would be sharing this, and this is exactly what I'm talking about.

There have been countless moments when I have been sitting somewhere, or walking alone, or lying in my bed, and all of the sudden out of what seems like nowhere, I'm pulled deep into a memory with Spencer. I'm remembering a moment we had together somewhere along the timeline of our lives together. What I realized early on when this began to happen is that, it's like he is reminding me of those moments, and that is what I refer to as him "remembering me". He is remembering me; reconnecting and reuniting me to my memories.

This happens for all of us, I am sure of it. We think that we're remembering something, but we are actually being taken into the memory intentionally by our loved one. I am absolutely sure of this. In those moments there is no death, there is only life; only love, as grief is a form of love, and an expression of gratitude -- sort of inside out and sometimes indiscernible as such. Then there are the moments when those we love who are beyond their bodies do something through us; either through an action or through something that is said. Something that is unmistakably them.

When Spencer departed, he had a lovely girlfriend, who was and is very dear to me. She was so devastated when he died that she had to go away, and she just disappeared. It was more than a year later when she resurfaced by way of a phone call. Shortly after that call, I went to visit her in northern California. Just minutes after we were together, we were standing in her kitchen talking and making tea, and a lightbulb literally blew up. We laughed, knowing that it was Spencer letting us know that he was there with us. We decided to go for a walk in the forest near her home. As we were walking along talking about him, I began to do something that at first seemed a bit odd. I reached over and put my hand under her long, dark hair at the back of her neck, and I began to move my fingers in a feathering-like motion up under her hair, on her neck. She turned her face toward me, her eyes filled with tears and said, "Spencer used to do that all the time".

It was a bittersweet moment; one of joy, because he was there with us, and one of sorrow, because he was not. Spencer wanted her to feel his love for her, and he wanted her to know that he was there, so he used me to do that.

I have had so many similar experiences since he died.

I share this because I believe that sharing those precious moments unites us, and comforts us, and helps us to realize that there is no end to the love that we have for one another; love just takes on different forms from time to time, and so do our relationships.