I’ve been having a very hard time lately. It seems like I must work so hard to distract myself. Idle moments take me to a very dark and unhappy place. The images of what he looked like when I found his body, his blank and lifeless stare, the smell of gunpowder and blood in the air, the carnage–it constantly plagues my mind like an unwelcome guest. My only respite is busy work, distractions. I’m becoming weary of the effort, though. But writing this blog does help. I hope reading it helps you too. That aside, let’s continue with the next ten minutes of my session with Felix. Again, as a reminder, I’ve written Felix’s comments in italics.

Who’s Carla or Carl, maybe Carmen? Starts with a c-a-r.

Wait a minute let me think.

Carlos?

Oh, yeah, that’s a buddy of his in welding class. He was very sweet to Erik and taught him a lot about welding techniques.

He just wants to say hello to Carlos. He’s saying he didn’t have a girlfriend though.

No, huh uh.

He’s saying, “No girl. No girlfriend.” He’s showing me sulking.

Sulking? Well, he did have a very short relationship with a girl just before he died. He and I talked about nearly everything, including sex. (How I wished he had confided in me about more.)  He shared that experience with me, because it was his first time. He was always so ashamed of being a virgin at age 19. About of month before he died, he actually “got some,” so to speak.

Felix laughs.

And that girl took it very hard after he died

Aw.

I mean, they broke up after three days, but she was a little bit of a sulker.

He’s got a dog with him. He says he’s got the dogs with him. He’s showing me two dogs; one of them is small.

That must be Cookie, our Italian Greyhound. She got run over. What about the other dog? What does that one look like?

That one looks like a bigger dog. A BIG dog, like a bear!

Yes, exactly. That’s our Weimaraner, Zoë.

He says, “Thank you for the prayers.” You know, prayers are very powerful, Elisa.

Good. I talk to him every day, several times a day.

He says he hears you every day.

Good.

You have to understand that.

Can you ask him if he’s tried to manifest himself? I know it’s hard for spirits to manipulate their energy and manifest physically, but has he manifested himself?

He says, “Yes.” He says, “I came to Mom’s dreams, Felix. I came to her dreams.” He’s showing me “smoking up,” like, not cigarettes.

Yes, he manifested a smell, like bong water, which he told me about through Kim O’Neill. He said he’d do as a way for us to be sure it was him. (See the entry posted March 8th entitled “Eau de Erik.”)

He’s also saying he’s made things move around the house, like you misplaced your keys or your glasses or something?

I’m going to have to watch out for that devil. (There was one occurrence where my keys went missing. This is very uncharacteristic of me, as I am very anal about knowing where everything is. The most compelling evidence for Erik’s trickery, however, can be found in the entry posted on April 7th, entitled “Punked Again!”)

He’s not stuck; he’s not lost. He’s just hanging out with you guys.

Yeah, I know.

He wants to acknowledge that. Did he like black t-shirts? He keeps showing me a bunch of black t-shirts.

Yes he did. (His drawers are still filled with them.)

He’s showing me retro music like Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon, all old school music, AC/DC, Jimi Hendrix.

Yes, all of his t-shirts have old band logos. (Erik was crazy about classic rock. He should have lived in the seventies. Actually, maybe he did!)

He’s playing around with you. He’s tickling your toes. Are you sensitive on your feet?

Yes very!

He’s laughing and tickling you.

Ha! I’m very ticklish everywhere.

He’s saying, “Tell Grandma hello.” Grandma’s still here?

Uh huh.

He says, “Tell Grandma ‘hello.'” That looks like your mother.

Yes, okay. Now my husband’s mom has passed. Her name is Auslaug. I’m wondering; is she coming through?

Let me ask here. (Long sigh.) Did she have chest problems, lung problems? She’s showing me emphysema or like lung issues.

Yeah, she did. She had pulmonary sarcoidosis and emphysema. She died because of her lung disease.

Thank your son, because he’s taking her hand and presenting her to you. He’s saying, “Grandma’s here. Grandma’s here,” very strong. And she keeps saying, “Tell my son hello. Tell my son I love him very much.” Was somebody upset they didn’t get to see her?

Yes, Rune and I flew to Norway by ourselves.  The kids didn’t go, because it was such short notice there weren’t enough seats available.

She’s saying it’s okay, she’s with your son. Hold on a sec. Who liked to make quilts?

That would be my sister, Teri.

He’s talking about the quilt. He’s saying, “Please tell her thank you.” (One of Erik’s favorite keepsakes was a quilt for his toddler bed. It had a western theme with cowboy boots and other cowboy paraphernalia decorations. He used to wear cowboy boots so much that she used to call him “Boots Medhus.”)

Someone in your family said they thought he was going to commit suicide?

Yes, that would be me. I felt like he would. Deep inside, I knew it was a real possibility. We tried to do everything we could to prevent it, though. He went to a psychiatrist and therapist every week and everything, but I felt like he’d eventually succeed. It was a maternal gut feeling, a maternal instinct.

He keeps saying, “Mom knew, Felix. Mom knew.”

I told all the kids, “We don’t know how much more time we have with Erik,” so I encouraged them to treat him well, to give him plenty of love. I did this, because his siblings kind of excluded him, especially the younger ones. He was a darker person, and they just didn’t know how to relate to him. I told them, “Please, even if it’s just asking, ‘how was your day, Erik,’ please make him feel included; interact with him.” I didn’t want them to have any regrets, and I wanted Erik to feel as loved as possible.

He’s thanking you for that, because you got him. You got him.

Yeah, yeah. (I say this tearfully.) Why am I taking it so much harder than everyone else? Everyone seems to have moved forward, but it’s been really hard for me to get over this and function.

Let me tell you something; You’re never going to get over it.

Yeah, of course not.

You’re never going to get over it. You’re his mom. You had him. You feel responsible for him. Even though you didn’t have anything to do with his passing, you have that spiritual bond with him that will never go away. But you move through it. In time your heart will heal as you come to understand the spirit world. We leave the body, but we don’t die. We continue.

Oh, yeah, I know that.

You know that intellectually, but it’s another think to know that emotionally. You miss him, and you’re human. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t miss him.

I just want to hug him. (I choke back the tears, knowing that he’s right. I do understand the spiritual world from all of the scientific evidence I’ve read about as well as my intuitive sense of knowingness, but my emotional conviction is more fragile. After all, there is so much more at stake now. What if it’s all a bunch of horse manure? What if he’s gone forever? It’s easy to believe something when being wrong means little. But when you put your heart on the line and risk it being torn into small, unrecognizable pieces, faith becomes a spider web in a windstorm.)

I know, but nobody should be telling you that you need to get over him.

Oh no, nobody’s telling me to. It’s just me.

Yeah, well don’t ever think you need to get over him. You just need to incorporate him into your life. He’s a part of you, and you’re a part of him and always will be.

I just wish I could perceive him better. I would love to be able to project my consciousness into the afterlife so that I could visit him and hold him and hug him, but I don’t know if that would ever be possible.

You can do that, but ask a spirit to show you, to give you some signs. You know, I feel like your son is giving you a ton of signs. He keeps talking about the bird. “The bird is a sign.” Did a bird fly into your house recently?

Well, that’s really interesting that you say that, because a bird was in Michael’s house. He gave his mother a sign. When she was at his grave, she was lying on top of it, crying and asking for a sign. Right then, a black bird flew over her followed by a whole flock of black birds. Then at home, she found a little black bird sitting on Michael’s bookshelf. The house was closed up, so she had no idea how it could have gotten in. When she gently scooped the bird up into her hands, it remained very calm…didn’t panic or try to fly away. She took it outside to let it go, and she felt this was a sign.

Yes, Erik says, “It’s a sign that shows we’re still alive. The black bird is just the energy.”

This comforted me greatly. How could Felix have possibly have known about Michael’s “bird in the house” clue? Erik told him, how else? If you haven’t read the details about that story, please see the entry posted on January 27th entitled “Little Black Bird.” Skeptics eat your heart out!

I feel a little better, now. Thanks for listening.