heart. beat.

Seven years and 364 days ago, my husband said “I love you, baby,” for the last time. Another twenty four hours and I heard the last beat of his heart. With my head on his chest that last morning, I could hear the sound of a living Mike. There, there, there.

And then not there.

The silence after was so immense, so final and devastating, I can still feel it in my bones.

Six years later, the last breath of a beloved friend taught me that there really is no there, no separation. It’s all just Here. And the ensuing years have cemented this knowledge into a life changing certainty.

We don’t die. We don’t leave. We just change. And yes, for those left behind who don’t yet know, it is an agony. I admit that, and yet I do know (KNOW!!!) that we continue, and it helps. A lot. Especially combined with that other gentle healer, time.

Knowing doesn’t entirely do away with longing and it doesn’t instantly heal a broken heart. Grief waves still lap the shore. We want our people. We want love in the flesh.

This last week leading up to the anniversary of Mike’s departure, I’m missing him pretty intensely though I can feel his presence much of the time. He’s Here — cap H Here — meaning all there is, the only place any us ever are, alive or “dead.” These meat suits are such effective insulators that we think we’re alone when we are actually immersed in a soup of loved ones, guides, and angels. The a-loneliness can be extreme.

Mike died after a long illness which left him severely debilitated. I watched Brenda suffocate as her lungs filled with fluid. And yet Mike has told me he was right behind me, hands on my shoulders, as I held him. And when Brenda took that last breath, she was instantly up and out, insisting to Suzanne “I’m right there with them” even as I told those gathered she was gone.

Both come through with great joy. Great joy. My friend Grace, who died the day of Brenda’s funeral (and didn’t really buy much of this stuff), is joyous and free. My brother in law, an atheist who laughed at the suggestion of an afterlife, turns up in mediumship development circle now and then. Another brother-in-law, a deeply despairing atheist who died by suicide, comes through with Mike, laughing and happy. My precious father, who left three months after my husband, has been coming through lately with the most astonishing messages and, just this morning, two katydids, insects being his calling card (and katydids particularly meaningful).

What if we quit fighting the truth that dead is not really dead? What if we embraced the (researched, proven) fact that consciousness survives? What if we abandoned all of the half truths and confusing dogma and really listened to the stories of those who’ve died and returned — and there are millions — who assure us that all is well, that Love is what awaits us post-breath?

I don’t know for sure what might happen, but I do know what it’s like to live with fear and now to live without it, and the difference is extraordinary. If dying truly is, as the ancients assure us, “nothing at all,” if we “wake up laughing at what we thought was our grief,” life becomes a joy right now. Right here. here becomes Here, the bliss we arise from.

If we follow the evidential proof that we don’t die with a study of who we really are absent these human suits, we can find ourselves truly free, in this moment, in the human version of Here. There’s more room for love, for kindness, and for peace when fear falls off the radar. I know this because I’ve lived the transformation since the last beat of Mike’s heart.

Fear’s poison permeates this world and it’s especially virulent right now. It’s natural to feel the energy of that (even for those who don’t believe in energy and those who don’t normally live in fear). The human experience is what we’re here for, but there’s another way when it gets to be too much. To step back, to immerse ourselves in the truth of who and what we are is like a day at the spa. The healing waters of love are curative. A reminder of Home.

Knowing the truth wipes clean the lens through which we view this life and its travails. Clarity brings understanding and comfort. This isn’t all. It’s okay, even when it doesn’t feel like it. We’ll wake up laughing at what we thought was our grief over this messy world.

For the last 3-4 days leading up to the eighth anniversary of the worst day of my life, I’ve been showered with gifts. Repetitive numbers. 1111, 444, 66666, 555, 2222, and so many 333s I can’t count. Truly, it seems that every time I look around, there’s another one. A decades-old card from Mike inexplicably turned up in the cabinet under my sink, an “I love you baby” from a dead man. Yesterday, a feather from one of my guides, two katydids from my dad, and then Brenda ratted me out to Suzanne about having had my hands in ice minutes before she texted. My friend Sandy’s daily message from spirit yesterday was like hearing directly from my angels.

We can live in a magical world that often feels like heaven, or we can live in a world that too many times feels like hell. The difference is in knowing who we are. Eight years ago I prayed to get out of this living hell so I could be with Mike again. Today, in the same Mike-free world, I’m prone to ending texts and emails with “I love this life!” We are here, our loved ones are Here, and it’s all the same. There is nothing to fear. The heartbeat of Love is eternal. We’ll wake up laughing.

29 thoughts on “heart. beat.

  1. Dear Unexpected Mystic, thank you for this L., I hope to find this place, am on the path, but the grief, at almost 3 years is still intense. Thank you for shining a light on the path. Bless, Nora

    Like

  2. Lynette,

    Wrapping you in so much love my friend! Thank you for so Beautifully expressing your heart, your feelings and your truth. This resonates with my heart. Love you, XO-Kathy

    Like

  3. Another great missive, Lynette. After 4 years, 8 months, and 13 days, I’m not quite at the “I love this life” stage, but I do keep my eye on Nature and my curiosity about Her has not waned, so there’s hope! Nearing 60k words, I write to my spouse of 47 years because she’s the one person I trust. If it isn’t too long to fit in here, I will share today’s entry in my ‘grief journal soliloquy’. It is very helpful to read your writings because, as you know, most of us are alone on this journey. Please write again when Spirit guides you – you effort is very much appreciated, Lynette.

    Today’s entry: “September 23, 2020. Trying very hard, Toots, to let it all go. I really, really want peace. I am so tired of internal torment from seeing and holding too many deaths and living in an angry world. Of course, torment and anger are just as real as the wind and gravity. But, kindness and goodness are real forces and they are as invisible as the gravity that keeps us grounded. Just because you can’t see the invisible, doesn’t mean you can’t feel it. Although, trying to walk that path between the physical and spirit world is tough! Sometimes I forget that you’re here, so I cry. Trusting myself gets murky some days, BUT, because you came back to me just 10 hours after leaving your body, looking 40 years younger and SO healthy and happy to tell me about all the colors you can now see and said, “I’m here, but not there…”, every day I try to summon the power to trust you more than I trust myself in human form. And I do trust you. The one thing I have to remember is, because you look so well when I see you, it makes me think that the next life space is not composed of oppositions the way physical Earth is. Have to admit, I do not understand the word ‘unconditional’ when applied to anything in this Earth realm because we only have oppositions that create all kinds of conditions. It is your smile and radiant joy when I see you now that makes me feel what ‘unconditional’ will feel like. It must feel like total trust and harmony – like the way I felt the first time my eyes met yours. We both agreed it felt like we were home. So grateful to still have you.”

    Many thanks, Lynette. Stay well and smiling.
    Kindly,
    Jane

    Like

    1. Oh Jane, what a gorgeous, touching, heartbreaking missive you shared. Yes, “we both agreed it felt like we were home.” And how lucky you are to still have her with you, as I am Mike. But … but …

      We don’t have any time tables for this ordeal, do we? I’m amazed at how some people seem to bounce back in a matter of months or a year and others of us not so much. We’ll just keep going, yes? One of the most comforting things that my misty people shout at me now from spirit is “it’s just the blink of an eye! You’ll be with us soon enough.” It used to make me furious. “Easy for YOU people to say, you’re not stuck her in this place,” but I get it now. Whatever brings peace in this waiting time, I’m doing more of that. Clearly you too, as evidenced by this heavenly conversation you’re having with your beloved. xoxo

      Like

  4. Thank you, dear Lynette. Working on it because when I substitute “people” for “Gem,” it fits perfectly for what I’m experiencing so deeply right now. The depth of it does surprise me, but then again, life is life and love is love. And he was my love (in a healthy sort of way) in a way that I haven’t been privileged to experience with very many people.

    Like

    1. Honey, there is no difference. Love is love is love. The loss of it is the heartbreaking thing, not the package it lived in while physically present here. And there’s no grief heirarchy (though I admit it seems so at times). One person’s ruinous loss is another’s bad day or month. My heart is with you, dear one. xoxo

      Like

  5. So beautifully said. From one who knows her husband is still right here yet grieved the past two days. Then I found a card I sent to him many years ago (he kept my cards) that read ‘it is amazing that you can be so far away from me, yet closer than I could dream possible.’ We love our winks from the other side. Blessings to all of us. ♥️

    Like

  6. Lynette,

    What a beautiful post! Mike must have been a heckuva guy… the love that you express is what so many people search for their entire lives and fail to find. Fortunately I have found it with MLB. 🥰

    Lots of love and appreciation for what you contribute every day to Suzanne’s work.

    Love,

    Ty

    Ty Giesemann sent from my iPhone (571) 236-3541

    >

    Like

    1. Thank you, Ty. I remember my first reading with Suzanne. The two of you had just made that beautiful video talking about your very special relationship. When she settled in and felt Mike, she said “oh wow, he loves you SO much … wow, this is a Ty kind of love.” What better description? Love you, friend. xo

      Like

  7. I love seeing your posts, they always touch me deeply. I am approaching another anniversary of marriage and then his departure in the middle of November. Yes, the intensity has lessened along with the yearning for the physical. Replaced with the desire to start again. Much love mystic friend

    Like

  8. I shared this in FB as so many need to read your amazing story and how true it is! Folks live in FEAR now and become trapped in a world they can very easily change! Living in love brings us all closer to the higher vibration that we are! Thank you for this! May this help many more! Laugh! Be Joyous! Life IS Beautiful!!!

    Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s