In the days following the death of my dear friend Adam, many people have said something to the effect of: “You of all people know he’s still in your life.”
I understand such comments come as a bid of faith in my skills as an intuitive, but I’m nonetheless surprised. Because even for me, contact with the embodied—aka conscious, living people— is very different from contact with the “disembodied.” Yes, as a life-long empath, I often receive “downloads”— flashes of emotions or information from departed ancestors, energetic guides, sometimes even the souls of people caught between life and death. But I would never pretend I understand everything about this other realm, and I don’t trust those who claim they do.
We living, breathing people are limited to the third dimension not only in terms of physical limitations but in terms of our capacity to fully comprehend energy and matter. Thus when a loved one dies, our faith that we are supported by something we can’t intellectually grasp is sorely tested. We wonder if our departed person is safe or scared. We worry they might not know what we were unable to tell them. And we fear we’ll never connect with them again.
T
he truth: These concerns are for us still on this plane, not for those who have moved on to a realm we cannot yet understand. In my work as an intuitive, I often can help others find peace and meaning in these losses, and I am glad to do so. But while moving forward my recently deceased friend may message me through dreams and small coincidences, this will be so very different from the easy luxury of a quick text exchange, a shared joke or meal, and, ah me, a warm hug. We who are embodied crave the creature comfort of other bodies, and must embrace the companions of our heart who share our plane. Which is to say: Regardless of my intuitive abilities, I will deeply miss my friend, and that’s okay.
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