Gift: A Son's Story (short extract 4)

            The medium came at five that afternoon.  I'd taken down my birthday cards and the sympathy cards I'd received.  I wanted to leave no clues, just as she had asked for none.  She was a woman of around my own age with a kind smile.  I instantly felt comfortable with her.  I made us both a cup of tea, then I set up the computer to record the reading, as she'd said I could. 

            She produced a pack of tarot cards and passed them to me to shuffle.  I did so, then cut them and handed them back.  She then dealt ten cards in a Celtic Cross spread on the table between us. She explained that the reading was about past, present and immediate future.  It was about influences, and things that held me back.  It was also about directions.  She asked me what I hoped to gain, and if I had any specific questions.  I told her I just wanted to know where I stood right now, with things that were going on in life, and what might happen next.  She nodded her head and looked at the cards.  Then she began.

            She spoke generally about my past and how it had come to shape the person I currently was.  That I was a quiet and reserved person, who preferred peaceful environments and selected my friends well.  She said I was highly intelligent and had a strong moral sense.  I hated stereotyping, and had a close identification with the underdog.  I was, at the same time, very much a dark horse who liked to keep myself back.  In that way, I didn't always let my true light shine.  I was often misunderstood by others, too.

            She paused a moment, looking at the cards.  Then she said:

            "There's not just you.  You have a sibling.  A... brother?"  She shuddered.  "Ooh... I've gone cold all of a sudden.  Now, why's that?"

            From the way she said it, I knew she wasn't asking me.  She turned her eyes and looked off to her left.  Then she shook her head and returned to the cards.

            "Brr!  Still cold."

            I said nothing, except "Yes, I do have a brother."

            "Okay," she said.  "Is he younger or older?"

            "Older."

            "Older.  Okay."  She looked at the cards again, then seemed to come back on track - like that was a minor digression.

            She said that I found a good outlet for my spiritual qualities through work.  She said my strengths lay in helping other people.

            "You have a patience with certain people.  Older people and those with difficulties.  The vulnerable in society.  You fight their corner.  You care about them.  And you care for them.  A lot of this comes from a sense of vulnerability that you have yourself, for some reason.  It's always been there.  It's another reason that you don't let your true self out all the time, and speak up more when you should."

            I told her that I worked in care, and had done for several years.

            "And I don't think you should not do that," she said.  "I think you always will do it in some way or another."

            She said I was now at a crossroads in life.  A big question for me was 'What next?'  She said I was someone who still had unfulfilled dreams.  Someone who wanted to travel, and always had wanted to - to get away - but had been held back from it through a sense of responsibility to someone else.

            "An elderly relative, I think.  Probably a parent."

            By this time, I was starting to wonder how she'd found out these things about me.  I couldn't help but think, uncharitably, that it was all too accurate.  That no one could just intuit this, or even pick it up spiritually.  I'd been nodding along with what she'd said, though, and adding a comment here and there.  Nothing to really give anything away.  In the recording, which I played back later, I was laughing a lot.  I sounded upbeat.  I knew I was smiling for much of the time, too.

            She then said:

            "Your natural demeanour to others is friendly and cheerful.  But there's a flat-line of mood around you.  I'm sensing anxiety and depression - either with you or with someone close."

            I nodded, but didn't comment.  She continued the line, though.

            "You're a dark horse in this way, too.  You show the world one thing.  But you sit on your true emotions.  People don't see what's really going on.  You wear masks."

            She stopped for a moment and frowned slightly.  Then she said:

            "Who's Russell?"

            As she said it, she shuddered again.

            "Ooo... I've gone cold again."

            I told her who Russell was.  She widened her eyes.

            "Well, this makes sense," she said.  She looked at the cards.

            "He's a very different animal to you.  There's a considerable distance between you.  It could be geographically, but I'm more inclined to think emotionally.  I'm still feeling very cold in talking about him.  You said he's older."

            "Yes.  He lives quite nearby, too."

            "Right.  It's emotional distance.  He doesn't really get you.  You're world's apart.  There's something else, too."  She thought for a moment.  "I'm getting children with him.  Two children.  But there's another one.  There's a boy and a girl.  But there's another one, too."

            I explained about Russell's two from his first marriage, and then Nicole.

            "Right.  Yes.  There's an issue with them.  There are fractured relationships.  Especially with the daughter.  It's like she's been cut out of his life.  It's caused a great deal of grief."

            I nodded.

            "I think I know what you mean - though I'm not absolutely sure of the circumstances of their relationship now.  I think there is a sense that the step-daughter is more favoured, but I can't say more than that."

            She didn't go into it any further.  In fact, I felt it was something she was glad to leave.  She simply shuddered again as she mused over the cards.

            "Yes... I certainly get the sense of your being isolated and different as a child.  You liked your own company, and you still do.  You don't need lots of people around you."

            I told her a little about those times, and my diagnosis.  That seemed to make sense to her.  She spoke about my spiritual side again.  She felt strongly that I should be looking to develop that in future.

            "There's a spiritual aspect to your job, of course. But it's like you still need to find your niche in that respect.  I feel you should be giving some focus to learning, especially in that sense of spiritual development."

            She finally spoke of changes coming.  In the short-term, July or August were months when something would happen.  A new job, maybe.  In the longer term, she thought that somewhere between six and twelve months ahead, there would be bigger change.  A freeing-up of things around me.  A more definite sense of direction - but still connected in some way, directly or indirectly, with what I was now doing.  Helping others.  A mentor, or guide.  A carer.

            "I see books, too.  You're good with words.  Looking after others, writing... these are your strengths.  That's your spiritual path."

            What was important to me in this, she said, was to try to cast aside the negatives.  The things that weighed me down.  It was important to move on from people, too, who had let me down or pulled me back.

            "Above all, you must not feel that you need to keep apologising for yourself.  And you don't need to apologise for leaving people behind, either.  Don't worry who you upset.  Just be who you are for once, and be confident in yourself.  You don't need anyone's permission or approval.  Cut the strings, and go forward with your life.  It's going to get much more interesting, of that you can be sure.  But only if you do these things."

            Which brought us to the end of the reading.  She collected the cards together and asked me if any of it had been helpful to me.  More so than I could possibly begin to imagine at that point, I felt.  She'd not held back.  She'd given me the extra nudge I needed.

            "It's been an unusual reading," she said.  "Lots of interesting things coming out.  I hope you can take comfort from that, at least."

            It was at this point that I decided to come clean.  I told her it was my birthday.  And I told her what I'd been doing, and what had just happened.  I expected her to be shocked or surprised, but it seemed as if it was something she'd suspected all along.  She gave my arm a gentle squeeze.

            "This is a difficult time for you.  But I'll tell you something.  My mother died a long time ago, after a nasty illness.  I loved her more than I loved anyone else.  But after she'd gone, and was out of pain at last... it sounds selfish, but I felt relief.  Relief that she was no longer suffering.  And because it brought me into my life and gave me movement."

            I didn't need to say anything.  She understood.  I told her, too, that I couldn't really understand my responses to it.  That I'd expected to be in a dreadful state, yet I seemed to be alright and feeling good.

            "That's because you've done a lot of your grieving," she said - echoing Dr Ebute's words.  "Being with her.  Also, you'll always have that knowledge that you were there for her and did what you could.  She'll always be close to you because of that, to give you that reassurance.  Have you had any signs that she might still be around?"

            I told her about the things I'd found.  The text message.  The letter.  The coins.  The book.  The little 'coincidences'.

            "Yes," she said.  "You will see these things.  You're sensitive to them, which is why I think you need to concentrate on developing that.  Have you seen any feathers yet?"

            "Not feathers, no.  Why?"

            "Feathers are often a sign that they're near.  You won't need to go looking for these things.  You'll just find them.  They'll be there.  And don't question any of it.  Just accept it."

            I saw her down to the door.  As she went out, she turned and looked back at me.

            "Your mum has cut you loose now," she said.  "You can go forward with your life."