A Reading: A Mother in Spirit Helps Her Grieving Daughter Heal
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At the beginning of every session, I always asked clients not to give me any information during the reading, other than to answer my questions with, “Yes,” “No,” or “I don’t know,” and if I asked a question that required anything more, I wanted only the briefest answer possible.
Not only did this help me offer a clean reading, it removed any speculation that I was merely feeding back what I’d already been told, or that I was making educated guesses.
In other words, it removed the possibility that I was a fraud.
I knew nothing when the sessions started, other than who it was they hoped would come through or what they hoped to achieve from our time together.
In the interests of brevity, what is written below is a condensed version of the reading.
“KR” is on the other side of our Zoom call. A stylish woman in her early 40s. Simple, elegant jewellery. Thick, blonde hair just below her ears, striking green eyes. In spite of her soft smile, instantly I sense that she is quite reserved. She hopes to connect with her mother.
“I’m aware of a female presence with us, feels quite maternal so I’m guessing this will be your mother but let’s be sure. She is coming through with another female energy, someone close to her and she’s quite pleased about this. Does she have a sister in spirit?”
“Yes.”
“It’s like she’s saying, ‘Look who I brought with me!’ She’s quite excited that they’re together again, as her sister went first and it was a terrible blow.”
“Yes.”
“Her sister feels older but they’re close in age.”
“Mm-hm.”
“She’s saying, ‘Two peas,’ as if they always called each other this.”
“They did, yes.”
“Okay, I think it’s safe to say that this is your mother.”
A slight twitch in her eye, but nothing else to give away her feelings.
“She’s making me feel like you and she were different in many ways. You didn’t always see eye-to-eye, or your approaches to life were opposite. Two ends of a spectrum. You’re over here, she’s over there.”
Gentle nodding.
“But at the same time, she’s showing me how connected you were. You were close, in spite of the differences. There’s a lot of love there.”
“Yes, there was. Is.” Quiet but slow, emphatic nodding.
“She’s showing me her hands. She works a lot with her hands, perhaps is creative or makes things, crafts or art, something like that?”
“Yes.”
“And gardening. She’s showing me a garden. Did she love to dig in the soil?”
“She did, yes.” Soft smile, remembering.
“She’s showing me doing something with you, something you did together, like, making something, or creating something?”
“Mm-hm.”
“It’s big. Looks like a blanket or something? She’s working on it with her hands. A quilt or something like that?”
“Yes.”
“But she’s doing it with you. You’re working on it with her. It’s kind of like your language, the way the two of you can connect or communicate. Well, not entirely. You weren’t so opposite you couldn’t talk to each other but this is different.”
“Yes.”
“It’s like, this is where your souls meet and you truly connect and can share something meaningful.”
“Yes, it was.” A few tears perch gently on her eyelids.
“A lot was said or even not said while you worked on quilts, but it was how you worked out your differences, whether spoken or unspoken. It was how you came to understand each other.”
“Yes.”
“She’s showing me that she’s shoving it to the side. Like, it’s been pushed over here, out of the way. She’s making me feel like it’s cut off, something is cut off and the quilt is ‘over there,’ so to speak.”
She nods. Lips pursed. Holding back.
“Ah. She’s making me feel like her passing was sudden. You were in the middle of this project and she was here and then — gone?”
“Mm-hm. Yes.”
“You haven’t been able to bring yourself to look at the quilt.”
She shakes her head slowly, biting her lower lip.
“She’s saying, ‘Finish it.’ She says that not doing it isn’t going to chase away how much you miss her or how much it hurts. She’s showing me that you bottle your feelings and this isn’t helping you.”
“I do, yes. I’ve always been like that.”
“She says to stop trying to escape your feelings. She knows you miss her but she’s still here. She’s always here. She says, ‘Finish the quilt. You can wrap yourself up in it and find warmth in your memories.’ She says this will help you. She adds that it’ll be like spending time with her, and like she’s giving you the hugs she can’t give you in the same way as she used to do.”
Finally, the tears flow.
“She wants your promise that you’ll complete the quilt.”
She nods, smiling. Pulls out a tissue and wipes away her tears. “I will, yes. I’ll do it for you, Mum. I promise.”
A few months later, KR sent me a photo of the gorgeous quilt that she and her mother had created together. It was nothing short of a work of art and although she had been reluctant to even look at it after losing her mother, it had worked its healing magic. Working on it without her mother, she was able to process getting used to that loss while still remaining connected to the love they shared, in spite of their many differences. She cried a lot but said it was cathartic, almost like crying in her mother’s loving arms.
She said that her mother had been right about wrapping up in the quilt and having it be like getting big hugs from her. The quilt was her most prized possession. Not only had it helped her stop stuffing her grief and be able to move through it, it was a beautiful daily reminder of her mother’s love.
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