One Year of Grief

One Year of Grief March 13, 2022

My brother journeyed to heaven on the afternoon of Friday, March 12, 2021, with family by his side. He will forever be 61 years young.

A fall led to fractures, to several hospital visits, to a heart ablation, and ultimately a severe bacterial infection in his blood that could not be tamed. It spread bacterial lesions and masses that shut down his organs, made his joints painful, and created a sort of blindness that happened suddenly. With the nurses and doctors at St. Mary’s in Livonia, Michigan we tried everything to keep him here with us, but the infection was just too severe. And honestly, we all knew he didn’t want to fight anymore.

I help people with their grief for a living. It’s my passion to help others see that the other side is just a whisper away. Yet, throughout the year I would find myself waking up in the middle of the night, sobbing uncontrollably, and in deep grief. I’d fall asleep with a tear-soaked pillow, waking up trying to conjure a happy spirit and trying to be the crutch for my dad.

When my mom passed away in 2006, I had people calling me out on my grief – “If you believe in an afterlife, then why are you grieving?” When my best friend suddenly passed away, I had people calling me out for my tears – “Why would you cry if you believe in heaven?” And yet the human side of me would feel every bit of the darkness that grief gifts. It would happen in the most unusual spaces of time. Creeping up like a burglar ready to rob me of my inner sunshine.

As my family and I left my brother’s bedside one year ago, assured he’d taken hold of my mom’s hand and allowing the angels to carry him to the afterlife, the nurse put her arms around me and said, “You were all so strong”. All I could do was bend my head down and weep because strong wasn’t at all how I felt. I look back to one year ago, and I’m unsure if I feel any stronger, but I am wiser.

I tell my clients there’s nothing wrong with being angry, mad, and sad when they experience a physical loss. There’s nothing wrong with crying or grieving. In fact, it’s normal. It’s human. Never allow another to dictate your grief in the name of your relationship, your job title, or your strength.

When I’m sad, I get quiet. I have a hard time texting or talking, although my mind relentlessly screams words that I must get on paper/screen, and so I write. I also clean. Hearing the swoosh of the water on the hard tile with the dance of the mop, the vacuum’s hum, and the spray of the cleaner, it’s all I can seem to control in the moments of intense stress.

I never imagined the loss of a sibling could feel as painful as it does. I never imagined it would feel like a piece of my heart and soul have been ripped away. A sibling is part of a special bond. No words ever needed to be said to communicate volumes of information. I could text an eye roll emoji, and he would know what I meant without one word typed.


Watching my dad grieve through these 12 months was painful. Losing friends and friends who took the opportunity to walk away from my feelings. Vulnerability is scary but equates to strength. When tough times hit, special people rise. Those who left get to return to their normal lives. They don’t have to or want to be reminded of the terrible loss you suffered and so they avoid it by avoiding you. Common, but painful. I tried to keep them by pretending I wasn’t grieving, and it didn’t serve me well, though. I said I’d take time to grieve, but I didn’t. I let grief sneak up in the midnight hour and it was lonely, yet I still lost more than I’d like to list.

My brother had lost so many people he loved that I knew he’d get the hang of showing me he was okay in any way he could. I can say I’ve received amazing visits from my brother, and I know he’s enjoying his afterlife. He’s come in my dreams with his friends who’d passed away. He’s come with my mom, his dogs, my dogs and cats, our grandparents, and once in a red convertible. He’s living his best life, and I’m happy for him. He sends me Bruce Springsteen songs in the weirdest places, in the weirdest ways.

365 days seems like forever and yet yesterday. I’m still healing and will likely always. Many, both the griever and those who watch the grieving, expect a year later that magical healing. You don’t just “get over it”, you learn how to live with it. You learn you don’t need to relive the painful memory of loss in order to keep their memory alive because love endures death.


Kristy Robinett (Michigan) is a revolutionary psychic medium and astrologer. In addition to giving readings and teaching workshops, she uses her psychic skills to assist with police investigations. Kristy lectures across the country and is a frequent media commentator, appearing on the ID Channel’s Restless SoulsFox NewsABC NewsCoast to Coast, and more. Kristy Robinett is also the author of several books, including Born Under a Good SignIt’s a Wonderful Afterlife, and Embrace Your Empathy. Visit her online at

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