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Friday, June 20, 2014

Nine Lives

Dear Josie,

I visited a psychic today. 

I'm not her.  I'm not the crazy wind chime lady who speaks to the dead, nor am I the newly-bereaved, exceptionally gullible mother desperate for a sign.  Desperate to see you.  Believe me, I would give anything for this.  In my heart I know you're here, and right now, that's enough for me.

No actually, I had planned this visit long before your death.  I have always wanted to see what it's about, this psychic energy.  I wanted to know what would be said about me, aura colors and the like.  I wanted to see what the fuss is about.

I went with your aunt and several of her girlfriends.  This woman with the gift, she was polite and friendly.  Her house was warm and inviting, beautifully decorated with lavish colors and dramatic hues.  I absolutely loved it, didn't want to leave. 

When my turn came I felt my stomach tighten a little.  I imagined myself entering the room to a gasp, a pregnant silence.  She would grab my arm and close her eyes, tell me there was a strong spirit attached to me that she could feel the moment I entered the room.  There would be a slight validation, then.  A reassurance provided.  Worth every cent of my forty dollars.

It wasn't like that.  Well, not entirely.  I sat down in the chair and I said my name.  She began to shuffle my cards, laid them out in front of me, calmly looking to my side. 

There was the "Death" card.  She told me that death did not necessarily mean someone would die, but that it could be a "rut" I am finding myself in currently, a struggle that is nearing its end.  I informed her that actually, the literal meaning of the card was spot on.

I told her about you, and she offered her sincere apologies, followed by the turning of two more cards.  "Change" and "Sun".  She explained that these were very good, and that they symbolized what was coming for me.  The title of my favorite Beatles song and blog site flashed through my head, along with a voice.  Please be true. 

She told me she envisioned me "bigger", and that she saw more children for me.  She said that she knows I fear it happening again.  The worst.  How could I not?  And she said not to.  She told me your soul will never leave me, that the child's soul follows the mother's throughout lifetimes, spans existence and death and space.  I smiled. 

She told me that she was getting a message.  She said that you had left me for a reason, so that "something bad would not happen to me later in life."  Interesting perspective, from someone who knows nothing about me.  Nothing about the recent clotting diagnoses, my body slowly depriving yours of blood for months.  That's when I lost it.  Is that really the reason everyone keeps talking about?   Did you save my life? The lives of your future brothers and sisters?

When I calmed down, she asked your brother's name, ran his birthday numbers and immediately laughed.  "He's fun!"  She smiled.  " I want to laugh when I say his name.  Is he funny?"  were her exact words.  I'm not sure she could have gotten any closer if she had known him herself. 
After the readings ended, we were saying our goodbyes when another woman pointed something out.  "Did you see the picture of the cat?"

I looked to the wall in the living room.  There were several hand-made paintings of various animals above the glass chest.  That's when I got the chill. 

 I thought of what they might say, your father and the skeptic I once had the pleasure to be. Maybe she just really likes Josie and the pussycats. 
But of all the walls in all the houses of all the psychics,
of all the names in all the world, there it was, staring up at me.  I took a picture. 

Maybe I am the crazy lady now.  The lady who sees what she wants to see and nothing more, but I felt you then, as strongly as I ever have.  You're with me, aren't you?  Following me into houses of strangers, pushing me to open my eyes, to say the things and learn the things I never would have before. 

It's been three hours and I haven't stopped smiling.  Turns out, a little curiosity was very good for this cat.



  1. Your post on BabyCenter led me here. I love your writing! I too had a stillbirth. I was 31 weeks pregnant with a little girl. I noticed less movement and ultrasound confirmed no heartbeat, but she had underlying issues. I can relate with so much of what you say. I noticed you are in St. Louis. That's where I gave birth, and the lady who took pictures of my baby was named Martha Lafata. She was with The Jeremy Project. Do you know her?

    1. Hi Samanta, and thank you for reading and commenting.
      I do not know a Martha LaFata. There have actually been several people who have asked me about "LaFata's" they know or have met. There must be a lot of us out there!
      I am so very sorry for the loss of your daughter. What happened will always be awful. It will always be sad, but I have met so many wonderful women who share this loss with me. I am humbled by them, I am inspired by them on a daily basis, and I am priveledged to walk with walk with you.
      Keeping you in my heart today and always. Thanks again!

  2. Thank you! I wish we weren't connected because of it, but here we are. I'm not sure if you've seen this before. My sister shared it with me after my loss. This post reminded me of it....

    “A Pair of Shoes”
    Author Unknown

    I am wearing a pair of shoes.
    They are ugly shoes.
    Uncomfortable shoes.
    I hate my shoes.
    Each day I wear them, and each day I wish I had another pair.
    Some days my shoes hurt so bad that I do not think I can take another step.
    Yet, I continue to wear them.
    I get funny looks wearing these shoes.
    They are looks of sympathy.
    I can tell in others eyes that they are glad they are my shoes and not theirs.
    They never talk about my shoes.
    To learn how awful my shoes are might make them uncomfortable.
    To truly understand these shoes you must walk in them.
    But, once you put them on, you can never take them off.
    I now realize that I am not the only one who wears these shoes.
    There are many pairs in this world.
    Some women are like me and ache daily as they try and walk in them.
    Some have learned how to walk in them so they don’t hurt quite as much.
    Some have worn the shoes so long that days will go by before they think about how much they hurt.
    No woman deserves to wear these shoes.
    Yet, because of these shoes I am a stronger woman.
    These shoes have given me the strength to face anything.
    They have made me who I am.
    I will forever walk in the shoes of a woman who has lost a child

  3. I saw your post on BC. I think this is a wonderful story. She is giving you signs! It makes me want to see a psychic about my boys....