I had my first experiance with a medium a few months ago. I tossed around the idea of seeing one, just to see what would happen. They’ve always facinated me, as a child I used to watch Sylvia Brown on The Montel Williams Show and every now and then I still watch The Long Island Medium. Sometimes I think these people are full of shit but in my opinion- energy cannot be created or destroyed so when you die I don’t think that energy just dies with you, I think it can linger or leave traces behind and I do honestly believe some people can tune into those energies.
Anyways, local, in-person mediums are not so surprisingly very hard to get into, most were booked a few months in advance. So, naturally, like the millennial I am- I took to the internet. I joined a Facebook group and lurked in the shadows for a few months to decide if the people were legitimate. After a while, they were doing a special on readings so I figured what the heck, I’ll try it.
Most of the things she had to say were very vague and could be applied to anyone- like reading your horoscope. However, there were some things that there’s no way she could have known.
She said she was getting pain in the right side of the head (the side Sean shot himself on) and that his head felt very fuzzy and dizzy like he was intoxicated (which he was). She mentioned Sean’s drinking problem, said that he told her it was getting so bad people at work were taking notice. She also mentioned that Sean kept saying he wanted to be let out of the little box. For those of you that don’t know- I keep my portion of Sean’s ashes in the tiny urn that the funeral home provided me. She went on to say that he told her to tell me that there is a note, someplace dark and hidden but it’s not meant for me, it’s for the kids. Now, let me tell you even before I met with the medium, when Sean died I searched high and low for a note. I scoured every pocket, drawer, computer file and email, I meticulously went through his phone, every picture, note and text message- everything…and I couldn’t find a note. Upon hearing this, right after the reading was finished I tore my house apart for a second time looking for it to no avail.
There was one thing she said though that hit me like a ton of bricks, it was something I was not expecting to hear and it hurt to hear it.
She told me “He’s not sorry he did it”
Hearing this close lined me, knocked me flat on my back and took the wind right out of me. How could that be? How could he NOT be sorry? How could he not realize what he’s missing out on, what a mistake it was? She said that he told her that it was better for him to be gone then for his children to have an addict for a father.
All this time I lived under the guise, the belief, that I knew the man I’d married. I knew him so well, what his favorites were, his fears, hopes and dreams…so how could I not have known he was going to kill himself? Truth is, I didn’t know. When he walked out the door that night I had NO inclination that he’d go kill himself. So, maybe, I didn’t know him as well as I thought. Or maybe he became a man different from the one I knew. Because the man I knew would never quit and leave his wife and children behind. All this time I believed in my heart that if he could- he would take it back.
Maybe I was wrong.