Allison DuBois - Don't Kiss Them Good-bye

Joe said, “Yes, she died at two-fifty this afternoon.”

Sometimes I think I don’t deserve my guides. I had so many things on my mind that I completely ignored their signs. They tried to get me to my friend to say good-bye one last time and I dismissed them. They tried to tell me she was passing, and I was too busy to receive their message.

The very next day after her death, I received some information from the other side that there was a ring in a white box that was intended for Domini’s daughter Marissa. Domini hadn’t been really clear about details after she was diagnosed with cancer and had not arranged to get the ring to Marissa, but it was very important to her. Domini was the eternal optimist and thought that she was going to beat the cancer. One way for her to keep from dying was to not tie up the loose ends.

This is a common practice among the dying. Many feel that death can’t happen to them if they haven’t said their good-byes. Unfortunately, death doesn’t work that way.

I was told that the white box would be stuck under a mattress, or hidden by a mattress. I could see a mattress; a hand was lifting it at the corner and pointing. I had to try to interpret this vision. Clearly, Dominic needed to look under the mattress, so I called him to share this information.

I felt terrible calling Dominic, because he had taken care of Dom while she was dying and he had his own pain to deal with. I was there when they met thirteen years earlier. Although they didn’t always see eye to eye, he never stopped loving her and he could not stop thinking of her, because they had so many similarities. Besides their names, they also shared the same birthday.

If you’re wondering why Dominic cared for her and her new husband did not, it’s because the second husband had stepped out of the picture as soon as Domini became sick. She apparently wasn’t much fun for him anymore. A couple of months before she died, he filed for divorce. Fortunately for him, it hadn’t yet gone through, so he could still receive benefits from her death. I have one word for him: karma.

Dominic called later that day. He had found the box with the ring in it, stuck between a mattress and a nightstand. I said, “Is the box white? Because if it isn’t in a white box, I won’t feel confirmation.” (I can be a little demanding of my gift. Plus, my dear friend had passed away and I wanted to be absolutely sure that I was receiving her loud and clear.

“Yes, Allison, it’s white, just like you said.”

Dominic’s spirits seemed to lift once he knew Domini was communicating with us. She was sending a sign to those she loved that she was all right. More important, she was handing her ring over to her little girl Marissa, with love from the other side.

Most people would expect a medium to handle a friend’s death much more gracefully than would an average person. But after Domini died, I was like any grieving person. I felt as if I had been caught with my guard down. I have always seen the dearly departed attending their own funerals and felt comforted by that. At Domini’s funeral I felt no such comfort.

As I watched her children play in the cemetery, unaware of the enormity of the occasion, I felt as though I’d been punched in the chest. The children seemed to run in slow motion, and their laughter was haunting. As I stood next to Domini’s casket I could feel the physical weight of her body inside the casket along with her cancer. I felt sick and I tried to remember her before the cancer found its way through her body.

I think of Domini all the time. I recall the feeling of her cancer and remember the last time we sat together before she died. I didn’t want to leave her then because I knew that I would never see her alive again. Cancer had reduced her to a shadow of her former physical self. As I held her, I feared I would break her because she was so fragile. Saying good-bye when you know it’s for the last time is like no other sadness you will ever experience.

I know that Domini isn’t in pain any longer; she’s restored and vivacious again. Still, although I know that she is in a better place, I feel that her energy, as I knew it, has been removed from my world.

I also feel guilty. Domini had just had a baby, a year before she died. I saw her right after the baby was born, and I told her that something was wrong with her physically. She insisted that it was because she had just had a baby. I told her it wasn’t from having a baby. I persisted and made her promise to see a doctor. She reluctantly promised me at first, but then she said that she’d just seen a doctor, who said that she was fine.

This is where I find myself in a difficulty. I know that I couldn’t have changed the outcome of Dom’s life, but part of me feels that because I’ve done it for other people, I should have been able to intervene for her. But it was not to be. Domini had experienced a great deal of pain while she was pregnant, but her doctors thought it was because of her pregnancy. By the time she was diagnosed it was too late: her cancer was inoperable. I, too, must learn the lesson that you cannot blame yourself when you lose someone you love. Sometimes it’s out of our hands.

Domini’s two youngest children will not have a clear memory of her, although I have no doubt they will receive regular visits from their mother. She would have it no other way.

I try to remember that there is a reason for everything, but I am human and feel great sadness when someone’s life experiences are limited. I’ve also learned that it’s all right to mourn. Crying and asking why is a healthy way of working through your grief. I encourage people to talk to their loved ones on the other side. They will not only listen to you; they will answer you, one way or another.

When someone has passed prematurely, my ability to bring some sort of comfort is particularly important to me, because the wound is so raw for those left behind. Loved ones who remain to pick up the pieces have many unanswered questions. One of the biggest is “Why did you leave me?”

The answer can be an antidote for the pain, or it can add to the sense of loss. There is solace in knowing that we stay connected even beyond death and that there are reasons for every ending and beginning. Please know that your loved one simply got to go first. They will greet you when it’s your turn and it will be like no other family reunion you’ve ever experienced.

Our loved ones who cross over still go through life with us. They act as added energy when you need it. When you need strength, you might call out to your grandfather on the other side for strength and guidance. When you need patience, you might ask your mother to calm you. I know that when I get too serious, Domini is the burst of fun energy that tells me to lighten up. Allow your loved ones to be a part of you and provide inspiration in your life.

I once had the opportunity to do a reading for a nice gentleman and his wife. I asked him whether he had a brother on the other side who died as a child.

He said no.

“That’s strange,” I said, “because the energy is a brother energy.”

“Oh,” he said, “I had a nephew who died when he was twelve. We were very close in age; we were like brothers. We grew up together. His name was Martin.”

“Did he wear leg braces?”

“Yes, he did,” Martin’s uncle said.

Martin expressed concern over his parents. He worried that his death drove a wedge between them, and he went into detail about how they still grieve for him. He wanted closure for them. I explained to Martin that his parents would not be open to this experience. Martin kept giving me the names Robert and Bobby. I turned to Martin’s uncle and asked, “Who are Robert and Bobby to Martin? Martin’s being persistent.”