I haven’t had a whole lot of sleep the last few nights. Just as I fall asleep I’m woken by a spirit. I fall asleep again, and repeat. This has been the case from 2 AM until 4:30 AM and even during the time I am sleeping I’m having dreams of clients and their loved ones. Last night’s visits were almost too much for me and this afternoon I cried that I wanted off the ride.
I couldn’t see what she looked like; I could only see her shadowed silhouette and hear her voice as she stood in my room, head down in sorrow and regret.
“I was supposed to be at your office today,” she said, “but I couldn’t take the pain of his loss anymore and now I’m here. Don’t blame yourself. Don’t let others take the blame. It’s all on me,” she whispered quietly and disappeared.
I woke up with a start, crying.“Did you recognize her?” Chuck asked me.
I didn’t see her so I couldn’t know for sure.
“Look at your schedule and see if you recognize everyone’s name?”
I had a mini session and knew her. I had a small gallery session with 7 that happened to be all women’s names, and my last client was a man.
“I guess I’ll know if one person doesn’t show up for the small gallery,” I said, having a terrible feeling that I would be only 6 for the gallery session. “I just pray I can keep it together,” I worried.
My first session came and went, and I waited for my next session. The door jingled and I waited to hear someone walk by the office, but nobody came so I got up only to see nobody there. It’s happened before, so I didn’t really think much of it until people started coming in and not one time the door chimed. With a 10 am start, a client rushed in a couple minutes before.
“Am I your last one?” she asked.
She made 6 and it would seem the case. So I explained my agitation.
“Will you call her and see?” I was asked.
Somehow I got through the couple hours and after everyone left I stared at the name of the person who was a no-show. Then I did something I never do. I put her name into Google. It goes against my morals to do that, but something was telling me to get the validation. Sure enough her obituary popped up immediately, along with a child of hers who had passed just a couple months before her. I knew her. I’d met her, I’m not sure where, but I’d met her.I took her name and searched my email and Facebook to see if it anything came up, and sure enough there was an email from her a couple weeks before her passing asking for an appointment. She had to connect to her son, she said. She had to know he was okay. I had responded.
“He’s okay,” I told her. “He’s with a grandfather or great-grandfather and is still going through his soul journey.” It hadn’t felt like he’d been gone long and she still had to grieve. “I don’t think you need me right now. I would instead suggest grief counseling. Not to get over it,” I told her, “but to learn how to walk through the agony of loss. Nobody gets over death,” I said. “No, we go through it and sometimes we need someone to hold our hand and walk with us, sometimes even carry us when we feel stuck by the last moments, wondering and second guessing the would ofs and should ofs.”
I ended by asking her if she needed help with a name of a grief counselor. She replied that she didn’t need a name and that she understood everything I was telling her, but still wanted to still book an appointment for 6 months after the date of her son’s passing to give them both time, and then she went and booked this small circle.
But instead of getting help, or allowing anyone to help carry her through the flames of grief, she took her life. I didn’t really know her, but I felt a horrible guilt. Maybe I could’ve stopped her, or helped her, or taken her to a counselor. Or maybe if I had gotten her in early and helped with the connection she would still be here. Maybe…
“Are you okay,” Chuck asked me when he picked me up.
He knew I wasn’t, though, because I was crying.
“Someone didn’t show, huh?”
I could only nod. I cried all the way home, not saying anything.
“You know that none of this is your fault,” Chuck said as we stepped out of the car.
I did, but I didn’t. I do, but I don’t.
My dad immediately knew something was wrong when he saw me so I decided to share the situation.
“Sometimes the depression and grief are just so strong that the person can’t see through that, and you can’t, nor can her family, beat themselves up with regret. She made her choice, Kristy.”
“It’s all free will, remember?” Chuck reminded me.
Without replying I pulled out the computer and signed on the American Suicide Prevention website and donated the monies she’d paid for small gallery session and her upcoming appointment in memory of her. It was the least I could do.
Being a medium I’ve connected many who have lost loved ones to suicide to their loves ones on the other side. I grew up in the Lutheran church and was told that anybody who commits suicide goes to hell and is punished. That isn’t what I see on the other side. I mention in my book Messages from a Wonderful Life that those who take their own life have to go through a soul journey, or counseling of sorts, that I call Angel Boot Camp, in order to heal. It isn’t all fun and games and angel wings. My experiences with those on the Other Side who’ve committed suicide have been as different as each individual’s life. Some have regrets, and some don’t. Some aren’t in the best place on the Other Side, although I wouldn’t exactly define it as hell, and others transition just fine, and are at peace and are happy with their decision. There is, however, no escape from our problems on this side or the next. I believe that lessons can be learned in all situations. I’m still learning my lesson with this.
We are often an instant grief society. A sad face on a Facebook status and many feel they’ve done their part. When someone is broken inside, a sad face on social media doesn’t help, but sometimes there’s nothing that can help.
My wish for everyone is that within tragedy, suffering and sadness that you can find the rainbows. They are there, but the storm clouds are often very thick. Yes, life’s difficult. If it wasn’t, the rainbows wouldn’t be so special. If you can’t find the rainbows, ask for help. If you are in crisis, call that National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-TALK (8255).
To those who’ve lost a loved one and who is grieving, especially a child, it’s a special part of your heart and soul that is taken; stripped away. Death is hard on the living, there’s no argument there, and time doesn’t make the hurt go away, but time does allow for some healing.
And to all those who’ve lost their will to fight the battle, may you find your peace and fly with the angels.
Kristy Robinett
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