Woo-Woo Joins the Party…

Spirits, ghosts, apparitions, and messages from beyond–never got mine. The Norwegian does not visit. I’ve often thought it’s because he left things in such a jumble that he doesn’t want to deal with what I’ve got to say.

The Chickens say there’s evidence all around. And the psychic medium with a psych degree says the same. Whaaa? Yup, this girl saw a medium–like the Tyler guy on Netflix or the one with the hair from Long Island.

Never have been sure whether this stuff is real. And with moi–Is there a secret left unexplored on these very pages? Except for the names, which is a puzzler. Long-time followers know The Norwegian is the dead husband the Chickens are the children–they don’t have names, protect the innocent, that sort of thing. So it is disturbing when the first thing she writes down on a piece of paper is his name, the names of my children, and a big letter “C.” Good guess? Hmm.

“What is the C?”

“When did you have cancer dear? It took your voice. You have to tell your story to help others.” Anyone who reads back far enough, or knows the journey, is aware that I had to learn to speak all over again. What most don’t know is how deeply self-conscious I am of the way my voice, cadence of words, and sounds come out now. So much so, that I am much quieter than before cancer. I speak up far less and words are much more measured when I do. It has deeply affected my confidence and social verve.

So the chick hits a nerve right out of the gate. Color me intrigued. In addition to the nerve she tingled when I walked in the door and she said, “Your husband passed.”

“Who is Sam?”

“Hmm, I don’t know a Sam. I can’t think of a Sam.”

“We’ll come back to it.”

I think on Sam and she tells me things about my marriage no one knows and the woo-woo begins. He talks to you all the time, she says. He wants to know if you hear him? No.

“It’s because your grief is so thick he can’t get through.” Chick is hitting on too many of my secrets. One tear falls, then another. My grief and I do a constant dance, one where my partner will not let me go. I have no dance card as I cannot break free.

“Is Sam a big black dog?” WTF says my face. Sam was our Gordon Setter when we first married. “Sam is with him all the time.” The Norwegian loved Sam. Now, Sam may be a common name for someone to guess. But how did this girl know he was a big, black dog?

She tells me some private things. Even I have limits my dolls–not sharing. But she leaves me with a few thoughts. The Norwegian is with me all the time and if I open myself up a little, I’ll find him. Our stories, even the bad parts, are there for us to share so others can heal too. We are all connected.

The veil may or may not be thin. All I know is I’m walking with a lighter step knowing my sweet Norwegian is walking alongside me. So there’s that.