(Photo by Getty Images from book “Fallen Masters”)
I interviewed psychic medium John Edward (an author interview for bookreview.com, for his fictional novel Fallen Masters). Following that formal interview, we discussed this blog site, and his past advice to grieving parents to try to see the actual death of a child (the way in which they died) as a door and nothing more than that.
He has said in the past that the method of the death is not important after “crossing over” and therefore, he has long advised parents not to get hung up on “the door your child went through to cross over”. He says that parents will often ask him how the child died, if circumstances are unknown, or what they were thinking at the time of death, rather than about the state of their energy at present, which really is more important to feeling a continued connection. On the other side, he said, the method of death makes absolutely no difference to anyone.
I specifically asked him for a different message for grieving parents, regardless of their belief in mediums. I asked what advice he would suggest, based on his own belief in the messages he has received from those who have “crossed over”. Specifically, I asked him what he would say to grieving parents who need help to find a sense of peace with redesigning their own lives after the death of a child. Here is his response for you:
“The loss of a child admittedly is the Grand Canyon of your life. It is a gaping, cavernous hole in the ground that you have created as the national monument of your life — that is as it is supposed to be. It is a place that you visit, but it is not intended to be a place where you live. It’s not where they want you to live. It’s okay to go back there, but not stay there.”
I don’t know if I believe in this or that medium, but I do believe in the power for ongoing communication between energies. I call where Daniel is the “death dimension” and understand it to be devoid of the restriction of time or space. It’s a fifth dimension, to my way of thinking. So, on the road to where the interview was conducted, I had reminded my son (in my mind) that our symbol of connection is a blue rose, and I suggested that it would be nice to get one again, as it’s been far too long that he’s reached out.
It was a lighthearted thought. But Friday evening, I settled into the hotel with the responsibility to read a 479-page book in the next two days before the interview on Monday. Imagine my surprise (more honestly, my shock) when — on page 39 — a central character uses a single blue rose to propose to his wife. Since there is no time in the Death Dimension, I wondered if Daniel had whispered in John Edward’s ear when he wrote the book to include a blue rose? A nice idea, but really…. just a whim, right?
Saturday afternoon, I opted for a little retail therapy and went shopping at a nearby Hobby Lobby. A group of six young people (with a couple children between them) were joking as they shopped together. The small, happy band caught many people’s attention because of their Goth dress. I like Gothic clothing myself, and Daniel had liked it at around the time of his death at age 16, so I smiled their way and moved on. A few minutes later, they were again near me in the store when one of the young women presented one of the young men with a plastic flower. “What’s this?” he asked her, and I turned at her answer: “A blue rose.”
He asked why he would want that and she said she didn't know, it just struck her as funny. I told the group that it probably was meant for me, and I took it from her. I didn’t feel a need to explain it — only to claim it.
John Edward makes a good point. The loss of my son, after all of these years, continues to be the Grand Canyon hole in my life. I can’t just “get over it” nor can I pretend it isn’t there. But I can honor Daniel’s place in my life, and find the splendor it brought me, without camping out at the hole every day now. That’s the message of hope I can bring to you today, care of John Edward.
And maybe that’s enough to get you to another tomorrow. That’s the point, after all, of this blogsite: to help you eat a mountain of grief. We can do it together, one spoonful at a time.