I am sitting alone, waiting for my daughter to get home from Shea’s funeral. (I thought hiding the details for this story, but something doesn’t feel right about changing things.)
Shea died in March, not long after the Coronavirus hit, leaving his family struggling to find a way to grieve without a proper funeral. Shea was a high school junior, one of the quieter ones of the friends that would come over, and a talented piano player (I would learn later on.) What stands out for me with his passing, is not only was he a friend of my daughter’s, but that I had also given him a reading a few months before the accident.
Maybe it was December, could have been January or even November… but Shea had come over to my house with his friend Aidan for individual readings. I knew Aidan much better, and he had many times expressed his interest in what I “do.” He was kind of scared, though; worried about the heebie jeebies of the unknown. I laughed and assured him he was safe, but I think he may have recruited Shea to come along for his own reading as backup.
I sat on the couch, and actually pulled my hood over my face to try to get into my zone. I don’t think this helped the heeby jeebie factor, as Aiden later told me he had taken a picture of me sitting like that and sent it to my daughter, as in “what the heck is happening!?” It worked, though, as I brought through loved ones for both of them, and answered as many questions as they had. They were both thankful, and as much as I could tell, “wowed” by the experience. I think I even got some tears out of a couple teenaged boys! Now that’s saying something!
We got the call from my daughter that Shea had been in an accident and was hurt, and I remember my first thought being “maybe he broke both legs.” Even hearing that he was lifeflighted, somehow that was as bad as I could imagine it. So, when later that night the talk turned to “life support,” it was shocking. It didn’t take long for the news to turn even grimmer. There wasn’t much hope. I heard that Shea was on life support mostly to give his loved ones time to come and say goodbye to his physical body.
If you’ve been following my blog, you’ll understand that I make that distinction very purposefully. Shea, the physical body of a still growing teenager with the rosy cheeks and blond hair that we can touch and see and is gone, yes. But Shea, the PERSON, the SPIRIT that resided in that body, is not. And I don’t say that with a general rule of thumb attitude. No… I say that because Shea himself let me know he’s still around.
A few days later, Shea was still at the hospital. My daughter was getting some conflicted information on when life support would cease, but we knew it was imminent. Again, this wasn’t long after COVID was in full force in NY and CT, so we were in strict lockdown. My family and I were all at the dinner table doing a puzzle this particular night. My COVID days have mixed together, so again, I can’t tell you if it was Saturday or Sunday, but I remember I was sitting there with a glass of Cabernet, and my job was to weed out the puzzle edges. We were laughing and had Alexa playing an assortment of music.
As I was studying the pieces, I felt a strong pressure in/on my right ear. This has happened before, and I’ve probably already described this feeling… it’s as if an airplane takes you to 40k feet and your ears so badly need to pop! But, this is only in only one ear. Having had this as a sign from Spirit before, and also KNOWING this was Shea, my first inclination was to glance at my watch, thinking he was giving me his exact moment of passing. But as soon as I registered the time, I got the message to pay attention to the music that was playing.
The song was “American Pie.” Like, drove-my-Chevy-to-the-levy American Pie. But, it was as if Shea had come to me at the precise moment he wanted to, a spiritual picking up and dropping down of the needle on the vinyl… because as soon as I listened I heard, “this will be the day that I die… this will be the day that I die…”
I remember stopping everything for this moment in time with him, trying my best to get what he was giving. What was he telling me? Was there a message? As soon I asked the question, the answer became clear. Shea showed me just a spiritual tap on the shoulder. He was just passing through, and wanted me to know that he now knew, too. I have no doubt Shea will try to let his loved ones know he is still around when the right time comes, but what I’m excited about, is that he knows he CAN. It was a quick goodbye and hello at the same time, and I will be forever honored that he took the time to give it to little ol’ me.
So as I sit here, waiting for my daughter to come home, I am again taking delight in the little things. It wasn’t a formal reading, it wasn’t in the midst of a meditation… it was just… a hello from the spirit world at such an unexpected moment.
*** I can’t tell Shea’s story. But his family passed out bags of #SheaStones today at his funeral. Those who loved him are encouraged to leave a stone when they go somewhere or see something that reminds them of Shea. I believe his story will continue to be told by others… aren’t they lovely “little things?”
6 thoughts on “It’s the little things”
This is so beautiful Holly! Wow! Thank you!
This makes me really sad but it also makes me happy that our spirit knows we are still alive somehow. Do you do phone readings? I am a friend of Laurel’s and my sister would really love to do a reading (or whatever you call it).
I absolutely can do a phone reading- but I prefer zoom just because it’s nice to see a face and also I tend to speak with my hands quite a bit. Haha! I’m moving across the country this week but would absolutely fit her in after that. Would love to. Send me an email, email@example.com to set it up and discuss further. ❤️
Such a beautiful moment. Thanks for sharing! ❤️
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We both know the spiritual world Holly, but tears roll down my cheeks. Because of humility? Gratitude? His young life? They above also give us beautiful and special opportunities to get in touch. And we may indeed feel honored if we are the one who can act as a conduit.
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