Years ago my father introduced me to a tradition that was able to bring peace into our relationship.  My parents divorced when I was about ten years old and my Dad moved south, far away from me.  We really didn’t speak often as my parents had one of those horrendous divorces.  I probably saw him a half a dozen times before heading to college in Burlington, VT.

 Needless to say, we did not have much in common and frankly, I kept myself slightly aloof from him as he left long ago…During college he began making attempts to be a part of my life.  He would take me skiing with my boyfriend, send money finally and call more often.   

One memorial weekend he asked me if I would like to do the graves with him.  Strangely enough that was one place we both liked to go – cemeteries.  We both liked wandering around old graveyards reading headstones and admiring the artistry of the marble works.   

 My Dad grew up in Middlebury, VT.  Most of that side of the family still lives there and our relatives are buried in several different cemeteries in the area.  I agreed, not really knowing what I was getting into.  He picked me up early that Sunday morning and I looked in the backseat to see all kinds of supplies – gardening tools, cups and to my surprise, chilled champagne. 

 We began chatting about where we were going first and my Dad started telling stories.  He loves telling stories, but this time the stories were of friends he had lost in Vietnam, Uncles wounded in WWII and scandalous adventures of my family I never knew.  I laughed, really laughed and I saw my father for the first time as more than the man that left.

 He was flawed certainly, but he was trying.  Trying to become a family again.  I saw for the first time how young he was when my parents got married and I found compassion that was not there before. 

 At each grave we cleared away the weeds, and planted pansies and marigolds.  We offered champagne toasts and funny stories to those long gone.  Quietly, without knowing when, a gentle peace had slipped into my Dad and my relationship.

 I finally had come to love my father again.  I realized wasn’t abandoned any longer.  I had found my way back to him and this family through the memories and stories of those long past.  That day, together, we found peace again in pansies and laughter.  This peace has made all the difference and I am grateful. 

Happy Memorial Day!  May peace find each of us.

Recently several clients and some dear friends have come to me struggling with the deaths of loved ones.  Death is often a topic each of us would like to avoid – like a dirty, little secret that if we just ignore it long enough, maybe it will go away.  However it doesn’t…It just waits for each of us.

I have an easy relationship with death.  I believe in a Christian model, however, I also believe we come back over and over.  Each of us has certain work to do in our lifetime along with the free choice to realize that work or not.  I believe most of the people involved in my life today, I have been with before in previous lives.   

A few years ago my step-sister died.  She died horribly – alone.  At first there were hints of a suicide and that is what distressed me.  I was worried her soul was lost and wandering – not knowing the grace that was available to her.  I learned of her death on a Sunday night and that Monday I had already planned to visit a mentor to train on Mediumship. 

 So the next day I went to my mentor very upset – worried that somehow Nicky was lost.  We set the space and called Nicky to us.  Immediately she came and she was so sad, but her first words were about suicide.  It was not a suicide, but a mistake – she just wanted to feel better with a little more drugs.  That was Nicky.  After she made the “no suicide message” clear, you could feel her sadness and she taught me about free will.

 She had said in this life she thought she could do it – beat the addictions, but she couldn’t.  She spoke of the love that was in her life always (family and friends) but that she never accepted while she was alive.  She helped me to understand each of us has choices.  Nicky chose drugs over and over – she couldn’t help herself and that is when I found peace.

 I understood each of us has our own “cross to bear.”  Nicky didn’t choose the drugs because of any one person.  No, this was her life, her choices and I could love her still.  I remembered her as a child and making friends with everyone – she accepted each person as beautiful and interesting.  This probably led to problems as an adult, but I know the very essence of Nicky’s soul is love – not perfect, but love all the same. 

 When we closed the session that day, I knew Nicky would be ok.  I believed in her – her soul.  I know her beauty and kindness will come back again and we will meet again.  Maybe not in this lifetime, but I know she is never lost from me.  She speaks with angels now, across the thin veil – healing her wounded places and biding her time until she comes back again.

Who hasn’t heard all the hype surrounding this book – Oprah’s book.  Several of my friends and family have recommended it to me and reluctantly, I read.  I say reluctantly because I am not a big fan of reading journals.  I’m a prose-girl.  I have only found a few (David Sedaris, Dr. Beryl Markham, Anne Morrow Lindbergh…go to my resources page to get reviews/info) that have a voice that not only resonates with me, but doesn’t bore…She bores a little – do I really need to read about her urinary track infection, the drama of embarrassment and alternative healing?  I’m sorry this just isn’t that big of a deal – obviously no childbirth experience…

Escape.  Run away.  How often have you thought about it?  Still, after all these years, the idea continues to attack your thoughts – is it possible?  Yes and no - there is a fine line between healthy escape and denial.

Sometimes, you need to get away.  Maybe you work too much, maybe you are in the midst of a very difficult personal issue, or maybe, you need to take a break from the stressful reality of your day to day life, whatever – escape is possible.  Get in a car, a plane or even a train, and leave that which is the reality of your life.  Why?  Perspective.

For some odd reason driving 50 miles away from your life offers you a little breathing room.  Exhale.  It’s going to be OK.  Somehow it is easier to step into that place, detachment, when the issue/reality isn’t crammed up your nose.  Sometimes the best thing an action-oriented person like you (or me) can do is get away – if only to force yourself to stop.  Stop thinking.  Stop talking.  Stop doing.

When you are in this mindset of non-action, you discover all this space.  This empty space that you have been filling with all the stuff – worry at the top, delusions of control and ego below.  The conversations, the phone calls and the deals that hold the tenuous balance of your happiness in place.  It is when you get to this place that the line of escape and denial can blur.

This is your truth.  What needs to be let go and what needs courage?  Sometimes life is challenging, period.  No easy way around, but straight through the crap.  Are you, in fact, making this journey more difficult on yourself?  What can you let go of to gain more peace in your life?  And this is the rub, that which you give up must empower you, not deny your reality, or your issues.

For example, you can control your behavior, but not the behavior of others.  Trying to make someone love or treat you better doesn’t work, but finding the clarity within to know what you need does.  Once you know what you need, then you are ready to come home from your retreat to complete the next step on your path to peace –  ask.

Asking for your needs to met may be a stumbling block, because asking implies your own worth, your own deserving to be happy.  You deserve to live a beautiful, abundant life.  So go escape, to discover what you need and come home — ask, and you shall receive.

Many years ago, I felt lost in my life.  I felt alienated from my husband, my kids, my parents, my friends, even myself.  Sometimes I could see my part in the problem, but more often than not, I saw others to blame. I knew I didn’t want to live this way, so I sought help through a hypnotherapist, Christina.  When I met her, she sparkled, and I thought, “I want some of that joy.”  She looked happy and peaceful from the inside out.

We began to discuss my childhood. I grew up in a violent, alcoholic, often frightening  home and like many other children of alcoholics, I don’t really remember much.  I have very few memories.  Since my childhood was so unsafe, Christina suggested we find a spiritual mother for me through hypnotherapy.  This was all very new to me.  I thought, “Spiritual Mother, What?  Don’t I have a Mother?  How could that help?”  Fortunately, I was so desperately unhappy, I was willing to try anything.

Christina began guiding me through a very relaxing visual meditation, finally leading me into a meadow.  In the back of my mind, I was thinking, “I wonder if this works?  I hope someone shows up.”  I was even a little scared that maybe no one would come.  Then, out of the woods, there she was.  Floating towards me.  Bursting with joy.  Arms flung wide.  There before me was Mother Mary in Blue.  Blue veil, blue dress.  So beautiful.

In my head I heard her say, “I have always been here with you.  I’ve just been waiting for you to see me.  I love you.”  Tears streamed down my face and as I felt her words, I thought: “I am so not worthy.  Doesn’t she have places to be?  Isn’t she needed somewhere else?  I’m not important enough.”  And, “I was raised by two atheists and Mary is my spiritual mother?  Wow.”

I couldn’t stop crying.  Her unconditional love, her absolute adoration of me, her child, was overpowering and life-giving.

After the session ended, I kept seeing the experience in my head over and over, awed by the whole session.  What did it mean?  Later, sitting in my office at home, still contemplating the afternoon, I looked up and saw the picture.  I giggled.  The framed picture my mom had given me before the birth of our first child stared back at me.  More giggling escaped my lips and then a burning in my throat.  Hot, stinging tears fill my eyes.

I had always wondered at the content of the picture.  As a child, we never went to church.  My mother didn’t believe in God, calling herself a recovering Catholic.  I read my name in the corner of the picture: Kelly, 1975.  I was five years old when I drew the scene.

There, from the frame, smiling broadly at me, is my Mother Mary, floating next to a very happy baby with the word “joy” croakily written above.  Both their faces sparkle!  Glittery star beams touch their heads.  I look into the blue eyes of the Mary I drew as a child and I hear, very clearly, from deep within, “I have always been here with you.  I have been waiting for you to see me.  I love you.”   Finally, I know it.  Mary has been here, next to me, loving me unconditionally, always.  I felt peace at last.  I was never alone.  I am never alone.

Today I see images of Mary everywhere.  I am constantly reminded of her presence and love in my daily life.  I feel her unconditional love for all of us.  Friends and clients have told me their own “Mary” stories.  I am grateful for the stories, because, sometimes I feel a little lost again.  Life is joyful, but also remarkably stressful.  The new stories and images remind me, again and again, of the love that surrounds me always, even in the dark of night.

Maybe you are feeling lost and alone.  Today, I can tell you with absolute faith, you are not alone.  I am grateful to be able to help others discover this truth.  Right next to you is spirit.  Cheering you on.  Loving you…waiting for you to see.  Waiting to lift you up.  So, ask - knock.  The door will open for you.