Grief has a way of knocking the breath out of us. It’s a deeply personal, often isolating experience—and when we lose someone we love, especially unexpectedly, the world can suddenly feel unfamiliar, hollow, and painful.
After the passing of my son, I was thrown into that space. A space where everything felt surreal, and nothing made sense. The ache was constant, and the longing to feel him again—to know he was okay, to believe he was still with me—was overwhelming.
It was in those quiet, heart-wrenching moments that mediumship began to reveal itself not just as a gift, but as a lifeline.
In the early days after a loss, we’re often swimming in a sea of emotions—shock, sadness, disbelief, sometimes even guilt or anger. It’s not uncommon for people to say, “I wish I could feel them near me, but I can’t.” And I always tell them: That’s okay. Grief can cloud our ability to sense the presence of spirit. But that doesn’t mean our loved ones aren’t trying to reach us.
As time passes, something shifts. The fog begins to lift—sometimes just a little—and we may start noticing things. Flickering lights. Feathers in unexpected places. Pennies on the ground. A certain song playing at just the right moment. A bird that always seems to be nearby. Their name popping up in ways that feel too specific to be random.
These are not coincidences. They’re subtle signs from spirit—a quiet but powerful reminder that our loved ones are not gone. They’re simply transformed. Still present, just in a different way.
My own journey with spirit became deeply personal after my son passed. One of the first things he did was play with the lights in our house. I would turn them off, certain of it—and find them on again. At first, I questioned myself. But soon, it became clear: he was showing me he was still with me.
Then came the semi-trucks. Twice, I saw trucks driving by with only his first name on them—nothing else. His name is unusual, so this felt like a direct message. A spiritual wink. And then there were the cats. He blended with them in such a beautiful way. One of my most aching wishes had been to hug him one last time—and every night, one of our cats would curl up beside me, place her cheek against mine, and wrap her paws gently around my neck. It felt like a soul-level embrace.
These moments weren’t just comforting—they were transformative. They helped me shift from unbearable sorrow to a space of connection, hope, and eventually, peace.
Spirit has taught me that healing isn’t about forgetting or moving on—it’s about transforming the relationship. It’s about recognizing that while the physical presence is gone, the soul connection lives on.
Mediumship offers more than communication—it offers validation. It reminds us that love doesn’t end with death. That our bonds are eternal. That we are still seen, still loved, still supported by those in the spirit world.
In my work as a medium, I’ve witnessed countless moments where a message, a sign, or a shared memory brings tears, laughter, and the kind of deep, heart-level healing that words alone could never provide.
You are not alone.
Your grief is valid, your love is eternal, and your loved one is still near. Whether you sense them or not, they are finding ways to reach you. And when you’re ready—when the noise of sorrow quiets just a bit—you might feel that subtle touch on your cheek, hear their laugh in your heart, or see their name just when you need it most.
Mediumship doesn’t take the grief away—but it can offer light in the darkness. It can be the bridge between pain and peace, between “goodbye” and “I’m still here.”
And that, I believe, is one of the greatest gifts Spirit has to offer.
If you’d like to explore what a connection with your loved one might feel like, or learn more about evidential mediumship, you can visit www.aperfectsoul.com. I’d be honored to walk that path with you.
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