Grief isn't linear, it comes in waves, and for me, those waves hit hard over just a few short years. The first major loss I experienced was my dad’s passing in December 2019 after a few months of illness that left him unresponsive. To have him pass on my birthday—well, that was so typical of him, always making things about him! I say that with a grin on my face. Dad was larger than life and couldn’t wait to be old enough to be a “proper eccentric old man.” He passed at just 74, but he absolutely nailed the eccentric part.
Just a year later, my beloved dog Scout, who had been with me for 19 years, passed away. The year after that, my grandmother—one of my best friends—passed at the age of 95. Her death, while deeply sad, wasn’t unexpected; she had always said that someday soon she would have "to go away."
And then came the most devastating of them all: my Mom. My spirited, strong, fearless mother. My partner in crime, my "ride or die." Her cancer diagnosis came suddenly, and within just 10 days, she was gone. In those short days, we talked a lot, left nothing unsaid. She wasn’t afraid of dying, just afraid of more pain. She didn’t even want to make it to another Christmas, which was shocking because this woman WAS Christmas—she left the tree up and played Christmas songs all year long, and we’d have to drive past the house pretending we didn’t know it was hers so she could make us "ooh" and "ahh" at her decorations.
She wasn’t worried about me or how I'd be after she died. She knew I had a strong spiritual practice and an incredible family of friends to support me. She was so positive, as much as one can be in incredible pain on her deathbed. But watching her suffer in those final days broke my heart, and despite the fact that we had such meaningful conversations, her passing—along with all the others in just three years—really put my core belief system to the test.
Even though I deeply believe in the effects of magickal practice and death as a transition, and despite my skills as a medium, the weight of these losses felt unbearable at times.
And then, just when I thought I had steadied myself, we lost Jess. My soul sister. A brilliant and deeply gifted professional medium who was one of my biggest champions, always encouraging me to step fully into my own abilities. After a very long and difficult hospital stay, she transitioned from this world, leaving behind a space that no one else could fill.
Jess was an earth angel—the kind of person who lit up a room with her laughter, who never let you doubt yourself, and who carried the spirit of Merlin, magic, and mischief in everything she did. We had a tradition of talking on the phone every New Year’s Eve, reflecting on our journeys and the year ahead. We bonded over The Golden Girls, our love for the mystical, and our shared passion for mediumship.
But here’s the thing: I know she’s still here. I feel her, her enormous presence, her laugh—big, booming, full of life—reminding me that I am. That she is. That, as her own business name suggested, she is still “In Touch with Spirit.” And that’s exactly what she’s telling me now: to trust in my own power, to keep going, to remember that death is not an end.
And grief doesn’t just come in the form of physical death. There are other kinds of loss, other kinds of grief. Saying goodbye to a 30-year friendship is its own kind of mourning. We met as 20-year-olds full of fire and ambition, and now, at 50, we’ve simply grown apart. There was no big betrayal, no defining moment—just the slow realization that we were walking different paths. And that’s okay. Some losses come not with tragedy, but with quiet acceptance. Even when you choose to let go, there is grief.
I’ve always believed that death is not the end. It’s simply a shift, a transition of energy. In my practice, I regularly communicate with spirits, connect with ancestors, and work with the divine. I’ve spent years reassuring others that their loved ones are still with them, accessible in spirit. But despite this deep belief and understanding, I struggled with my own complicated grief. The losses I experienced during those years felt insurmountable. Even though I knew my loved ones were still around in spirit, the ache of not having them physically here was immense.
What I didn’t expect was how hard it would be to hold space for both my spiritual beliefs and my very human emotions. Knowing that death is a shift didn’t make the pain of their absence any less real. My magickal practice was a comfort, yes, but there were moments when I questioned why, if I believed so strongly in the continuation of the soul, I still felt so much pain. What if I forgot my dear Grammy’s Lawrence, MA accent? What if I couldn’t recall Dad’s laugh or Mom’s favorite episode of Twilight Zone? (There were two, by the way—"Next Stop Willoughby" and "Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder.")
The truth is, grief doesn’t follow any rules. It doesn’t care about what we believe or how spiritually attuned we are. It comes in waves, crashing over us no matter how much we understand on a spiritual level. But what I’ve come to realize is that grief and belief can coexist. We can honor the deep sadness we feel while also knowing that death is not the final goodbye.
For me, mediumship has been an incredible tool in navigating this balance. Mediumship provides a bridge—a way to connect with loved ones who have crossed over, not just in theory, but in real, tangible moments of communication. Even though I know death is a transition, hearing my mother’s voice through spirit, receiving messages that only she would know, and feeling her presence so strongly during a reading brought me a type of healing I couldn’t find on my own. It’s one thing to believe in the continuation of the soul, but it’s another to experience that connection in real time.
In one particular session, I was the client, and my mom came through to tell the medium to "take care of my daughter." That was so spot on because anyone who knew my mom can hear just how she would’ve said that to someone, even a stranger! She was always concerned that "someone takes care of you for once," and it wasn’t out of line for her to ask the medium, who didn’t know me, to take care of me. As a medium myself, I knew that was her way of offering validation and reassurance.
My own mediumship practice has allowed me to understand, through working with others’ loved ones, that my own loved ones are still very much a part of my life, even if they aren’t physically here. They are still watching over me, guiding me, and most importantly, they’re still connected to me through the unbreakable bond of love. That’s the gift of mediumship—it reminds us that the people we miss so deeply aren’t truly gone. They’ve simply shifted into a different form, and they remain accessible whenever we open ourselves to that connection.
If you’re struggling with grief—whether it’s recent or something that’s lingered for years—I encourage you to consider mediumship as a tool for healing. It’s not about moving on, but about reconnecting with those who have transitioned, finding peace in the knowledge that they are still present, and allowing that love to fill the space that grief has carved out.
Grief is complicated, and it doesn’t just disappear. But with the help of spirit and the wisdom of those who have passed, we can begin to heal in ways that honor both our pain and our spiritual beliefs. Mediumship gave me that gift, and it’s one I’m honored to offer to others.
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