I am a cynic, by and large. I rarely take anything at face value, have a somewhat "OK, prove it!" type of assholery about me, and am the first to go all Snopes-dot-com and call bullshit when something seems too weird to be true. However, after witnessing such bizarre phenomena as double rainbows, Indonesian tsunamis and the success of Taylor Swift it has come to my attention that yes, there are perhaps things in our universe that cannot be explained by science or logic.
Therefore, my red dress challenge this week was to think outside the box; to embrace something I have always found to border on the ridiculous. So I swallowed my pride, opened my mind, and went to see a psychic.
The psychic I found was located in the back of a New Age bookstore about a mile from my hotel.*
*I'm travelling for work this week and am currently in a town that has the grand distinction of being the "Topless Espresso Cart Capital of the World". Huzzah!
I was expecting a Madama Zolga kind of character, like Anne Bancroft in "Love Potion #9" and instead was faced with a crop-top wearing chain smoker with hair that was jacked to Jesus like Ellen Barkin in "Drop Dead Gorgeous".*
*I have the cinematic aesthetics of a dime-store hooker.
My psychic, Sharon, told me that she "became" psychic seventeen years ago after being unconscious for three days following a horrifically botched surgery. She claimed that a spirit guide presented himself to here in her altered state and taught her the power of harnessing spiritual energy. I suggested it may simply have been the result of a shit ton of pharmaceutical grade pain killers, but Sharon was adamant. She placed her hand over mine and stared deeply into my eyes for several long moments.*
*Which were moments of sheer physical torture to me as I enjoy being touched and stared at about as much as an agoraphobe with Asperger Syndrome.
"I sense the color green has significance for you." she nodded sagely.
"Ummm...green? Well, I guess so." I racked my brain frantically, "I mean, I like green, but..."
"It's a man!" she suddenly cried, "His NAME is Green! And he will have great significance in your life!"
"Huh, OK. Green. . .holy shit, my gynocologist is Dr. Green! No offense but based on how long it's been since anyone has been spelunking in my Cave of Mystery I'm pretty sure things have grown closed down there. Doc Green won't have much to work with."
Sharon tilted her head and regarded me quietly. "You like cheese".
Wait...what? Did I seriously pay this woman $15 to wax eloquent on my love for all things Gorgonzola? You don't have to be Dionne Warwick's psychic friend to know that I like cheese; just look at the size of my ass! So, just to test her abilities I replied "I'm allergic to dairy".*
*I'm not really; but I am intensely allergic to bullshit. Too bad they don't make an Epi-pen for that.
Not to be deterred, Sharon countered "You may be allergic but your spirit still hungers for it. It is a carry over from your past life."
Seeing as how I was such an ardent admirer of cheese products I could only infer that she had just implied that in a past life I was either a mouse or French, either one of which filled me with white-hot rage. Then, just as I was about to stand and excuse myself before Sharon's spirit guide went all Patrick Swayze on her ass she softly grabbed my hand. "It isn't your fault" she said. "He forgives you."
I paused quizzically. "Who forgives me?"
Sharon smiled softly. "Your son. He wouldn't have survived and neither would his brothers. He died so that they could live. It was meant to be; he's safe now."
I stood frozen to the spot. Because what Sharon didn't know, what she COULDN'T have known is that when I became pregnant after years of fertility treatments, we discovered we were carrying triplets. At around ten weeks the doctor noticed that while Baby A (my son M) was developing normally, Baby B (my son J) and Baby C (the baby I called Will) were struggling. Baby C's heart rate was erratic and he was constricting Baby B's umbilical cord to where he was slowly starving to death. The doctors had said that Baby C would never survive past twelve weeks and that if we didn't do a selective reduction then all three babies would die. After an agonizing period of crying, fighting, and praying for a miracle, we made the decision to try to save the babies we could. Even after Baby Will was taken from us, I was still on bedrest for weeks and my sons M and J were born at 27 weeks, weighing only 3 lbs. and 1 lb. 9 oz. respectively.
"How can he forgive me?" I whispered through my tears. "I can never forgive myself."
Sharon smiled gently, patting my hand. "Because it was God's will. HE was God's will."
God's will. He was. He was God's Will and I will love him until the day I die.
So, do I now believe in psychics? It's hard to say, but I am definitely more amenable to the idea. I do believe in spirituality. I do believe that some people are just more consciously aware than others. And I do believe that when our loved ones leave this earth they are never truly gone. I see my grandfather whenever I hear violin music, I see my grandmothers when I smell honeysuckle or taste an apple fresh from the tree, and I see my son Will every time I look into the eyes of my beautiful children and know the sacrifice he made for their survival. Love never dies.