I’m sitting on my porch, in an attempt to pour words onto paper from my heart. It’s October 16, 2018, the day my son Trey left this world, exactly three years ago.
Thinking back to that day, I’m amazed how quickly life circumstances can shift, and how different my life is today, compared to what it was before that fateful day. Three years is not a very long time. I feel like Trey and I were just sitting on the porch together, talking and laughing.
Today, I’m noticing the trauma that is still alive in my body. While my logical mind understands that I have moved through the intensity of that immense grief, the muscle memory inside my body still holds every emotion: Panic, dread, dissociation, confusion and chaos — which I can feel swirling inside of me. I’m in awe of the power of my body to recall the exact emotions of that experience from three years ago, and it has surfaced on this exact day, for the past two years.
I’m simply sitting with the awareness of this feeling, just noticing, with a clear awareness that I don’t exist in that grief state anymore, while allowing my body to feel what it needs to feel.
The most confusing part of this experience is the fragmentation I feel. The pain of missing Trey in his human form, coupled with a profound knowingness that he fulfilled what his soul designed for his life — which was crucial for his soul’s development — and therefore incredibly exciting. Isn’t that what we’re all hoping to achieve?
Trey and I stay inextricably connected. The logical distinction between then and now is that Trey is not here in the physical body, and I’m no longer actively practicing parenthood. The spiritual distinction: Our roles have shifted; my son is now my spiritual teacher.
I used to tell Trey that we had traveled together for many lifetimes. He now constantly reminds me of this fact, through synchronicities which occur daily. It feels like he’s grooming me for something. I don’t know what, but I’m enjoying the journey.
It was only when I released the intense grief associated with his parting that I could access him fully — and he shows up in surprising ways. I see him in the sparkling eyes and smiles of random strangers and loved ones. He sends me messages through numbers, animals and objects. I often notice the unmistakable scent of his cologne. I hear his messages through songs and in soft whispers when I’m meditating. I feel him in the wind and in the warmth of the sun. And I sense his presence with the divine inspiration I receive.
The one message I receive consistently from Trey is this: It doesn’t actually matter what action I choose to take in the world — it only matters that I do it with joy and with the intention to anchor the consciousness of Oneness with every thought, action and interaction. I try to set this intention with every energetic exchange; with every person and living thing I cross paths with — something I could only practice after I let go of the grief.
The inspiration I receive comes in waves of joy and lots of goosebumps. And the level of joy I feel often brings me to tears.
One day last spring, I was sitting on my porch, typing away on my laptop when I witnessed a truly magical moment. All at once, the clouds parted and the sun shone incredibly bright, a rainbow appeared, a warm breeze blew, all the birds began to sing in unison and a tiny, white butterfly landed on my keyboard. The recognition of the interconnection of nature in that moment filled my heart with joy.
I sat in peaceful silence, smiling, and pondering the tiny miracle I had just witnessed. In that moment, I felt connected to everything.
Then the came the inspiration. “Spread this awareness.”
“How?” I asked myself. “Bring teachers together to help spread this consciousness,” I thought.
I shook my head and chuckled, then I asked aloud, “Really?”
I heard very clearly, “Yes.”
My entire body began tingling and goosebumps spread from my the top of my head, down to my toes. And I sat giggling from the overwhelming joy that filled me up in that moment.
“OK!” I laughed. “I’ll give it a try and see what I can do.”
I immediately began writing — about Oneness, the concepts and philosophies, and the names of experts and teachers who I felt would be open to serving in this way. I reached out to some amazing human beings, and then began receiving contacts for more experts and teachers who would eventually commit to participating in something. In what? I wasn’t sure. But everyone I spoke with felt the excitement, too.
Here I am, six months later, wrapping up logistics for the virtual event: Anchoring the Consciousness of Oneness World Summit. I had no idea if this would actually happen — or what it would look like if it did.
Since then, I’ve continued to move forward with planning, but only when inspiration would come. I didn’t question it — I just acted when I was moved to do so. Each action I took to move this event forward was divinely inspired. It has been a joyous journey and I am honored that this endeavor is now being supported by so many healers with incredible messages to share.
I visited Albert Moore today, a summit speaker and a dear friend who I love and respect so much. He reminded me that my emotional body recalls the trauma of October 16, three years ago.
“The emotional body is the first layer right outside of the physical body, so it’s what we have easiest access to,” Albert said. “The next layer is the mental body, and behind that is the spiritual body. Every emotion you felt then still exists within every cell in your body.”
He explained how dancing to shamanic drumming can release the stuck trauma from cells, so that the trauma can be replaced, not only with the mental awareness, but the Knowing from my heart space that Trey is with me in every moment.
“There is no separation,” Albert said. “The ego remembers the trauma as a loss, but since we are not separate, nothing can be lost, especially love.”
Tonight, I danced. And I walked barefoot in the rain — and spent time with people who shine my light right back at me.
Thank you, Albert, for your wisdom and unwavering friendship. And thank you, Trey, for never leaving my side.
Love and light,