I was working as a professional psychic advisor. It felt like I had the world in the palm of my hand. I had a successful business that I loved, an exploding clientele, and a fabulous family. I was bullet proof. Or so I thought. Then my mom died. It was quick, but not sudden. She had been battling cancer for many months, and we had just put her on hospice. I was still living in la-la land, convinced that we would figure this out, that she wouldn’t, couldn’t die. But she did. I was shocked, stunned, heartbroken. She was my best friend. Even worse, her death jolted me into the reality of my dad’s situation, because he, too, was dying from cancer. Survival mode kicked in, and though I was in a terrible fog, I went about the business of taking care of my dad. My sisters and I had a big responsibility, taking care of his health needs, his broken heart, and his home and pets.
My business eeked slowly along, all momentum jerked away. Somehow we managed to stay open, though sometimes I wonder how. I saw very few clients, stopped writing, and completely quit taking care of my home. I was not meditating, not working with my angels or guides, basically just stuck in a deep pit of grief. A few months after my mom’s death, my husband Scott discovered that I had not paid a bill in months. I just stopped. I have no explanation, I just quit doing it. Grief does weird things like that. Lucky for me, he kicked into high gear, caring for our children, home, and pets.
The holidays marched by painfully, a brutal reminder of the gaping hole in our family. I just continued to survive, to get by, but not live. I still went to work, hosted radio shows, and took care of my dad. I put on a brave face at his house, because I did not want my pain to somehow make his pain, or my sisters’ pain, worse. I put on a brave face for my clients, though many of them saw through that and nurtured and loved me through it.
Valentine’s Day came, and I went to work feeling terrible. My mom loved Valentine’s Day. She always made sugar cookies with the kids and decorated them. They took great joy in delivering plates to cookies and love to family and friends. That day at work, a miracle happened. A sweet client walked in the door with a beautiful, heart shaped sugar cookie with pink icing for each of us. She explained that she woke up that morning feeling like she had to bring us sugar cookies, and came right in with them. In that moment, I somehow knew that I was going to be okay. I still had life, I still had love, and my mom was still delivering sugar cookies.
I started to wake up from my daze. My house was a mess. My frazzled husband was worn out. My business needed some major attention. I stepped gently back into my life and started taking back my power. Slowly but surely, I started to climb out of the deep pit of grief. Each act of love from my family, friends, and clients lifted me a little higher. I still had really rough days, but I was flying higher. I got back to caring for my spirit, writing, and meditating.
One particularly rough day, I was gifted with yet another miracle that touched me deep in my soul. I was running late for work, parked my car, and hurried down the street to my store. A street performer stopped me and asked if he could sing me a song. Though I was running late, something made me stop and listen. As he strummed the first few notes, my eyes welled up with tears. He was singing “Let It Be”. This was my mom’s favorite song. It was performed at her funeral, and every time I hear it I am deeply connected to her. I listened to his lovely rendition with tears streaming down my face. At some point he forgot the words, and I filled them in seamlessly, the lyrics indelibly written in my heart. When he was done, I hugged him and thanked him for being on an angel’s errand that day. I walked on to work, full of hope and healing.
Many miracles have happened since. Countless acts of love have occurred on my behalf. My dad joined her in heaven just 17 short months from the moment she left us, and I walked (and sometimes crawled) through the grieving process all over again. I have learned to find the joy and magic in every situation that I find myself in. I have learned to be stubbornly optimistic, to demand to see the silver lining of every cloud. But I haven’t done any of that by myself. I have learned to ask for help, to lean when I needed to lean, to stay home and grieve when my heart asked for it, and to be vulnerable with my soul. I am forever changed, and I am forever grateful for the tender mercies that have been shown to me as I have found myself all over again.