To my ancestors

I used to be afraid of dead people.

I’m not anymore.

In fact, anyone who knows me now, probably knows I have a healthy relationship with the dead.

Healthy from my perspective anyways.

I’m no longer afraid.

Not afraid of the dead body itself. Or going to funerals… or viewing the casket… but I used to be very afraid when I was a little girl.

Why?

Because I didn’t understand it.

Death, dying, dead bodies…

Coffins, hearses, cemeteries…

Weird, cold funeral services.

The energy.

All of it.

Not just the sad energy in the room. Not the uncomfortable feeling of not knowing what to say. Literally ALL the energy.

The grief.

The pain.

The awkwardness of being a child staring up at a lifeless body while everyone is crying or praying or singing… depending on the service.

And the energy.

Of course I didn’t know this at the time, but I could feel everyone’s energy… including the deceased.

That’s why I was afraid.

I mean, technically I could see that they were no longer here with us.

There was an indescribable “emptiness” standing in front of the open coffin.

The body lying peacefully. Eyes closed. Hands placed neatly together.

But the body seemed hollow. Empty. Something was not present.

It was a terrifying experience.

We’d return home and I’d be afraid to go in my room. Afraid they would be waiting in there for me.

Afraid they’d be there…

In my dreams.

And when I awoke.

I remember trying to talk to my parents or my sister. They knew I was afraid. It seemed to bother me in an abnormal way. My parents would kinda just tell me to pray and that the person was gone. Dead. They couldn’t get to me.

I guess I felt differently. Logically and by all reason and explanation, yes, they were correct. The lifeless corpse could not get to me.

But the energy could.

And it did.

It followed me.

It haunted my dreams.

It was there when I woke up.

I hated it.

I didn’t understand what I felt, or why I’d see the dead people in my dreams. It truly was a horrific experience EVERY SINGLE time someone passed away.

I found ways to self soothe. To comfort myself till days and nights after the funeral had passed. It always took several nights. And then somehow, it was gone. That fear of them lingering. They’d move on I suppose. I would go back to my normal kid life and “forget” the feeling… till someone else died, of course.

Several other “clues” about their lingering energy showed up in my dreams. As well as other “signs” that they would visit… but I didn’t understand any of it. I had accepted the fact that, as weird as it was, my great fear was of dead people.

It was only fairly recently (about 5 years) that I realized I’d completely overcome my fear of the dead body.

It didn’t go away on its own of course.

For the past 20 years or so… I started to go to the cemetery alone. Till it just became my “place” to go and think. Cry. Talk out loud to everyone there. Talk to my ancestors. I even fell asleep in the cemetery once. I was lying on the grass and somehow dozed off briefly. Weird I know, but it happened. That was about 15 years ago, and I’ve grown even more comfortable in the cemetery since.

So why do I say that people would now say that I have a healthy relationship with the dead?

Well, it’s because I talk to them. The dead.

Everyday.

I hear from them too.

I’m a psychic medium.

I had to figure that out for myself. Then accept it. And then, I had to find a way to embrace it. It’s fair to say I’ve embraced it. So maybe “healthy” isn’t the word everyone would use. Some don’t believe it. Some think I’m weird. Some think I’m borderline obsessed with the spiritual realm.

9 times out of 10 I’d rather sit and talk to my ancestors over boring small talk with the living.

And I trust them.

The ancestors.

I’ve come a very long way since I was a scared little girl face to face with a body in coffin.

Now I’m an adult, with a fascination for spiritual things and the “other side”.

Today as I’m writing this, it is El Dia de Los Muertos. The Day of the Dead.

My favorite day of the year.

The day that the veil is thinnest between the worlds.

The day I join others in honor and celebration of those who have gone before me.

Today I welcome them back.