Best of Erik: Small Miracles

Jamie’s assistant, Amy, wanted you guys to know that there are a few spots open for the following channeling calls. All others are booked up.

Griever’s Call June 2oth

Erik’s Conference Call July 11th

Griever’s Call July 18th

This post was published just 4 months after Erik died. It makes me sad to read it because it reminds me of how deep and cutting my pain was at that time. Now, the pain has dulled, but I suppose it will always be my constant companion.

Losing a child, particularly to suicide, is gut wrenching. It lends an entirely new perspective on the term, “a broken heart,” because every morning when I wake up and realize that ‘yes, Erik is still dead; it wasn’t all some horrible dream,’ I feel like a dagger has been plunged to the hilt into my heart. Since his death, it’s like I’ve lost a limb and must limp through life a broken woman. Some days I wonder how I can bear plodding through the decades I have left on Earth when every day that my son isn’t with me is like a bitter eternity. Some days, I long for death, but the love I have for my husband, my other children, my friends and the rest of my family plays tug-of-war with my soul. I must stay. I must love. I must endure.

Of course I have many good days, but when I slip into a particularly dark place, Erik comes to comfort me. The other day he did just that. Here is just one story of the many miracles with which he graces our lives:

Erik shot himself in the head in his bedroom. Finding him moments later was the most horrible experience I’ve ever had. For days, I couldn’t even go upstairs, much less return to that room. Then, I went through a phase when I wanted to be there all the time. I wanted to smell his dirty clothes. I cursed the fact that the sheets on his bed were changed minutes before his death, robbing me of the chance to soak in his scent, his essence. I tended to the makeshift altar on his desk by lighting the candles and rearranging the flowers that were slowly turning brown. I combed every surface, every wall to find the dent made by the wretched bullet that stole him from me forever.

Now, I avoid the room again. Seeing the rough wood planks from which the carpet was removed, seeing the yellow bags the crime scene cleanup crew filled with his clothes, seeing his empty bed…it’s just too hard. We keep pictures of him around the house, but every reminder of his death is locked away in his room: the photo album from the funeral home, the keepsake box filled with sympathy letters, leftover programs for his memorial service, copies of our eulogies, they’re all in his room as unspeakable reminders of a life cut short. Erik’s room is a no man’s land behind a locked door that no one dares open. To open that door is to open painful wounds again.

The other day, I felt particularly sad. As I sat on the couch sobbing softly, the housekeeper who comes once a week and has know Erik since he was 16 months old approached me quietly. She said, “Elisa, look what I found on the utility room floor.” She placed a little card in my hand. It was a card meant to be distributed to everyone at Erik’s visitation and memorial service providing information on how to leave an audio message, thoughts, prayers, remembrances, condolences.

How could this be? These cards have been locked away in the leather keepsake box in his room upstairs. The door to his room has been closed for months. How did that card go from that box, from that room, all the way downstairs to settle on the white tile floor in the middle of another room?

As I touched that card, Erik’s image appeared in my mind. However, this was no ordinary image. It was vivid. It was strong. It was tangible. And the smile on his face spoke volumes. It said, “Mom, I’m fine. I’m here. I’m as alive as I’ve ever been.”

I’ve learned so much from the books I’ve read on how souls can manipulate energy to move material objects, even books explaining the physics behind the phenomenon. In a previous entry, I recounted how Erik said he was working on developing that skill so he can contact us in more tangible ways. That miracle proved to me that his practice paid off.

A day destined to be sad had become happy. Thank you, Erik, my darling boy.

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Elisa Medhus

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  • Jeanette DiPasquale

    That was beautiful Elisa. I know it is still very difficult for my friend whose son also committed suicide a year ago. Still hard. Peace!

  • mike m

    Elisa, as you know, I’m a big manly man. har. But, in the most unexpected ways, I find myself (not that often) just staring at the screen, weeping. The sweetest, most sad things I’ve ever encountered have been right here on the blog. I love you. . . and Erik.

  • Nate

    And yet there are still so many of us who are physiologically “alive,” but not truly living. I myself need to work on living life, and not living in fear!

  • Lynn L.

    That was hard to read but I’m grateful for it. I suppose until you return Home yourself, Elisa, you won’t be able to fully see the incalculable growth and comfort you’ve facilitated for others, by the work you and Erik have accomplished through this blog and the books. You were tremendously courageous and generous to sign up for this contract.

  • cristina

    beautiful Elisa <3 as always 🙂
    Can we ask Erik how he materializes/dematerializes objects? That way we may understand how jesus turned water into wine and fishes and bread into so many that everyone was fed ….

    • I think he already explained that. Search for “apportments” but basically he creates the object (as he creates everything there–thought creates reality–and then he lowers the vibrational energy until it’s in the visible range of the electromagnetic spectrum. When he makes things “disappear,” he just cloaks it with some other energy pattern I guess whatever would be around it.

      • cristina

        oh good stuff 🙂 can’t wait to read it ! Thank you Elisa <3

  • cyndi wilkins

    A Mother’s Day gift from your sweet boy 🙂 Big Hugs to you!

  • Anne Read

    For someone who hasn’t lost a child,I love what you post Elisa,so beautifuly written,thank you…much love to you all.

  • me

    … we’re different but share the same all emcumbracing pain .., never ends .. the Mother’s Day intense again…. I am so very sorry, but know ur pain

  • Debbie Berry

    Elisa, you honor your son so beautifully !! Erik chose you to be his mom for this journey and I can see why. I know that nothing can ever replace holding your son in your arms, and seeing his smiling face.. But he has gifted you with a love so powerful .. To receive messages from him, to know that he is not in pain, and happy shows how much he loves you. Thank you for sharing this journey, thank you for sharing your son, thank you for giving me what I know to be true. That my girl Kylee is also free of pain and happy . If I have to live here without her , then I just need to know that she is happy. That is all any mother wants for their children.. I don’t get to hold her, touch her and watch her raise her two beautiful children , but if I know she is happy then I will endure the heartache and keep my promises to her till I embrace our life together again. Thank you Erik for choosing one amazing mom, and thank you for giving this mom the gift of knowing that my girl is happy . Much love to you both !

  • Rainbownz

    Your such an inspiration of love dedication focus and strength..erik is a unique blessing..thank u yet again 4 sharing your inner thoughts and your son erik with us.

  • M&M

    Love and hugs to you, Elisa. We have each other and because of you, we now have more “each others”. I am so grateful to you but so sorry for all you have gone through.

  • sak

    Thank you for reposting this entry.
    You see I lost my son 4 months ago in an accident so me reading this reposting at your 4 month mark was meant to be. (I am from Houston too.)
    The past several weeks I have been consuming myself with books on the afterlife too for we have have been receiving amazing signs and messages from our son. It wasn’t until I was given your book that I felt validation.
    Thank you, thank you, thank you Elisa and Erik.

    • Maybe Erik nudged me to post it just for you. I thought I was choosing randomly, but there are no coincidences, so… Anyway, I’m so sorry for your loss. I promise things will get better with time, but you need to take whatever time you need. Don’t let other people dictate that pace. I hope you read through the archives, too. I know there are tons of posts, but they really do help.

  • Amanda Grieme


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