Channeling Erik

March17th

44 Comments

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, everyone, Irish or otherwise. Let’s send some of our luck wrapped in love and light to the folks in Japan and all those brave men and women there to help. Blog member, Shawna, sent me the most recent Divine Openings newsletter, and one section in particular really struck a chord. I’d like to share it with all of you too:

There are two ways you can help the Japanese after the Tsunami. The first is non-physical: Do not call them victims. There are no victims anywhere, only those who are not yet fully aware. See only solutions and possibilities, and keep your vibration as high as you can. That’s the way The Presence sees it. Intend not to dip into the lower emotions about it, which only adds to the lower vibration and actually impedes recovery. 

This paragraph has completely shifted my paradigm about disasters and victimhood in general. I used to think that the pity and empathic sadness I felt for those enduring struggles, disasters or tragedies was a noble thing, but no. I was wrong. It’s hard to separate the pity from feelings of compassion, but it can and should be done. The fear I once attached to my outpouring of love for victims must be replaced by love and a positive outlook that, in the end, everything and everyone turns out to be just fine. Now, I feel I can truly help in a spiritual way.

The last couple of days, I’ve been going through a bit of a rough patch. As I sit here on the couch typing away, I realize that I’m still in my robe. That might not seem odd to you, but it’s nearly noon here, and I just don’t do the whole “robes at noon” thing. Of course this is the nature of the beast that is grief. I usually scamper furiously in my little hamster wheel, then stop and fall off a cliff. Waves of grief are like pressure relief valves that prevent us from being eaten up from the inside out. What bothers me the most lately is how all of the other family members don’t seem to talk about Erik like I do. No one says, “I miss Erik,” or “Remember the time when he did such and such,” or “I wish he was here enjoying this day with us.” It’s like he’s invisible in our family, or worse–it’s like he’s vanished from our lives forever. For me, thoughts of Erik consume every idle moment, perhaps because I’m afraid to lose him again. After all, those thoughts, those memories are all I have left of him, tangibly speaking. Of course everyone grieves differently. I know that. But I feel really lonely sometimes being the only one who grieves so opening. And as the months pass, I think, “Geez, shouldn’t I feel better now?” But I don’t, so that makes me wonder if I’ll ever “get over this” or if I’m just plain nuts. That in and of itself is depressing. I can’t bear the thought of Erik disappearing from the hearts of  Medhus family.

Channeling Transcript

Me: Let’s see if you have additional information for this question, Sweetie. When do souls enter the body, at conception, at birth, or one of the above?

(Pause)

Jamie (giggling): He said, “D, all of the above!”

Jamie and I both laugh hard.

Erik: It’s some spirits’ lesson to start from the beginning to transition into the cellular development of a fetus.

Me: Okay.

Erik: So their process starts long before conception.

Me: Oh, wow!

Erik: Yeah, because they have to work their way down, um, work their vibration down to a human vibration, a cellular vibration. It’s very pure, very clean, but it’s a hard achievement. Most spirits I’ve seen ride sidesaddle.

Jamie giggles hard at Erik’s description.

Jamie: That’s such a funny visual. He says they ride sidesaddle on the belly until the baby is, um—not fully developed, but mostly developed, so that the spirit can merge.

Erik: There are rare occasions when the baby is born and the spirit is not fully attached, but that can happen.

Me: Interesting!

Erik: But mostly, um—

(Long pause. I guess at this point, Erik has decided not to finish his sentence. That pesky ADHD must cross over with us!)

Me: So I guess it can happen any time during that process. So when they’re babies, can they just come in and out of the body, you know, whenever they want?

Erik: Yes, as babies, as infants. What we call “dream state” where you can change your focus and just project your imagination, your intent—

Me: Uh huh.

Erik: That’s an out of body experience for a child. They can go in and out of the body much easier than a teenager or an adult can. Then, when people get really, really old, a lot of times they can do that same thing a lot easier than they could before.

Me: It’s like they’re gearing up to go Home.

Erik: Yeah, something like that.

 

Don’t forget the call tonight! See yesterday’s entry for the details!

 

 

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  • Stephanie

    Hugs Elisa – I’m so sorry that you feel your family seems to be “forgetting” Erik. It sucks that grief is such a solitary, lonely experience.

    I wish I could say something to take away your pain. :-(
    Stephanie

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      You’re sweet, Stephanie, but I guess all of us bereaved need to lean into the pain to get through it. Love you!

  • Teri Hannigan

    Maybe your family is afraid to express their grief out of concern for you. What they might not realize is that it has the effect of making you feel like a freak. Do you talk with them face to face about what you’re feeling, or do you try to protect them from the depth of your grief? You’re a very caring person, and it’s a fine line to tread. It could also be that they don’t express their grief because they feel the dam might burst and all hell will break loose. Right now, they appear to be managing because you are the poster child for grief (so to speak), and you are expressing it for the whole family.

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      Hey Ter-Ter! I encourage them to talk all the time, but I can’t do it much because even a question like, “How are you coping with things” makes them super annoyed. But I’ve told them time and time again that if and when they want to talk, I’m here for them, that grief may be painful, but it needs to be expressed eventually, that everyone has their own journey through grief, sometimes months, sometimes decades, and it’s all okay. I think they mostly talk to their closest friends. I agree they’re afraid to upset me, but it’s so weird because they know I can handle almost anything. I do grieve opening, but I don’t fall apart in front of them. I cry, tell them how much I miss Erik, how grateful I am to have them, etc. And if they look concerned, I let them know that what I’m expressing is completely normal for me, that everyone has their own normal, and that these waves will continue to come, but between the waves is what I want them to concentrate on and enjoy. Maybe it is the fear of the dam breaking loose. I also think it helps them to hear about Erik’s antics. The other day, Lukas was coming out of the bathroom near the utility room, closing the door behind him and I heard him say, “WHOA!” I asked him what was up and he said something or someone was holding the door so he couldn’t close it. Erik punking his bro no doubt.

      Are you glowing in the dark yet? Come over the Texas, Girl. Escape the gamma rays (or whatever they are) for a while! Love you, big sis.

  • Tracy Lamont

    Hi Elisa,
    Having a rough few days huh? They just come out of nowhere, don’t they? I’m sure everyone in the family thinks about Erik, several times a day, they just maybe don’t want to verbalise it. Maybe they think they’ll upset you or something. You will all deal with it differently.
    You have been on my mind a lot. I even dreamed of you last night! [See e-mail I sent you earlier today].
    Stay strong. We are all here for you.
    Sending you the biggest (((((HUG)))) XXXXX

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      I’m fine, Tracy. I just vent a lot. Sending you love too, because I know this is a hard time for you as well. Love you!

  • iola

    Dearest Elisa,
    We are mired down this week together. I feel your pain as keenly as my own. My family was doing the same thing, until I came out and told them that I loved hearing Andy stories..that is helped me rather than hurt. Some listened, some didn’t. I feel like they are stuffing him in the old memory box and forgetting just how special and magical he made all our lives.
    I keep thinking this up and down will eventually level out, but so far, it shows no sign of doing that. My sister keeps telling me I need therapy..and I tell her I need my son back.
    Stubborn cuss, aint I?
    so stay in your robe, do what feels comforting to you until the pain subsides a bit. You are entitled to your grief, in any way you need to express or feel it. I love you. we will get to that place someday..and we are going to party all nite….maybe even all millenium! and Erik and Andy, along with all the rest can show us their cool dance moves! hugs, my dear friend

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      God you and I have the same families, girl!! Hugs to you too, Sweet Iola.

  • Joanne

    Happy St.Patrick’s Day to you all from Dublin. Elisa, I feel they haven’t forgotten, nor will they, maybe they just feel the loss or pain of loss diffrently, and are still adjusting, unsure how they can best express it. There’s plenty of wiser words from the above replies, but keep going, and on this day I offer you this:

    Postscript

    And some time make the time to drive out west
    Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
    In September or October, when the wind
    And the light are working off each other
    So that the ocean on one side is wild
    With foam and glitter, and inland among stones
    The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit
    By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans,
    Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white,
    Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads
    Tucked or cresting or busy underwater.
    Useless to think you’ll park and capture it
    More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there,
    A hurry through which known and strange things pass
    As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways
    And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.
    By Seamus Heaney.

    From THE SPIRIT LEVEL (Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1996)

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      {{{{{{{HUGS}}}}}}} to you Joanne!

  • Shannon

    Elisa, I’m so sorry you’re feeling down. I wish I was a bit closer so I could make you a cup of tea with a whisky back (well, it is St. Paddy’s Day!) and remind you that all you have to do is say, “Erik, I need a hug” and he’ll be there to hug you and remind you that he’s not gone.

    Big HUGS to you…even in your robe! Love ya!

    S.

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      Erik, I need a hug!!! (Actually, I’m a lot better now. Just a short term tsunami. Still, a hug would be wonderful.)

  • Kerrie Aus

    Dear Elisa,
    I really feel for you. What you have come up against is human nature. Humans just dont want to do, “sad,” They will find anything else they can to avoid this emotion. I have been there with my extended family. It took a big blowup for them to realise that we still do “sad,” 24/7 and always will. My inlaws were the worst and now they actually bring our David up in conversations rather than avoid mentioning him.
    I didn’t know Erik but I do now. You keep him alive Elisa.Well he is alive just in a different form. I invited Erik to visit me yesterday. I hope he answers my invitation.I thought I smelt stinky socks for a minute. So maybe he has. Love to you and yes I don’t do robes at 12 either but I have done and so what as long as we get through the day that is an achievement in it self.Love and light to youxx

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      You’re awesome Kerrie! How have you been holding up these last couple of days. Iola and I seem to have grief waves at the same time, so I’m wondering if we all eventually get in sync.

  • Carol

    “Everyone grieves differently” is a saying that I am so sick and tired of hearing. Yes, it’s true. You and I (and everyone else) knows it. I think we should introduce the saying, “Moms grieve differently that everyone else”. We want everyone to talk about our baby every day; we never get tired of hearing new “stories”, maybe glimpsing a photo we hadn’t seen before, hearing other people say, “We remember”. It seems that there is almost a fear attached…we so desperately want to know that our child will forever live on in the hearts of others that we feel we need some sort of validation of that from those who knew him/her. “Do you still think of —-?”

    I’m a bit farther out on the grief cycle than you (Elisa), Chris died 6/1/2008. I’ve read it takes about 5 years before a parent begins to feel a new sense of “normal” in their life. I can easily see that. I also read the second year is worse than the first and I’ve found that to be true. The first year was such a tragic blur and there was such an anxiety tied to every event, “How will I handle my first Mother’s Day without him?”, “How do I honor the first anniversary of his death?”, “How do I get through the holidays?”. I was a wreck about these things but when the days actually came I always felt a serene peace that assured me Chris was there, too.

    The second year hit me differently…your posts remind me of my feelings. The phone calls from Chris’ friends became less frequent. People started to go through the motions of daily life again. I felt that they were moving on and I was still stuck with a heart that was missing a huge chunk…the space my son filled. If I did manage to go out somewhere, people would check me out when they thought I wasn’t looking…curious to see how I was coping. They wouldn’t initiate talking to me about Chris, fearful it would make me cry and bring sad memories (as if we ever get a break from it). I worried constantly about my daughters…my kids were all so close and I knew their lives had been devastated also. Initially, they were open and shared their feelings about what had happened. The second year, they didn’t want to talk about Chris as much. They later told me that they were just trying hard to move forward with life; trying to find a balance between remembering and picking up the pieces. They had their innocense in life robbed from them through the loss of a sibling and they felt “different” from most of their peers.

    Me? Heck, year 2 I was just beginning to realize that I would not be seeing my child again for the rest of my earthly life. My anxiety from the first year of how I would handle holidays, Chris’ death anniversary, etc. went away. My thoughts instead became, “I can’t believe it’s been 2 years.” The reality of losing my child was just beginning to hit me and the pain that I felt was different than the first year; in many ways it was much sadder. I missed my kid. I missed smelling his hair, touching his face, rubbing his head as he nuzzled into my neck. The LOSS felt more real. This sad and lonely stage of grieving came to me when so many around me were beginning to move forward.

    Eventually, people (your children included) will start to bring up Erik’s name more and maybe share a memory. Give them time to adjust to their loss. Nurture yourself at this time and allow yourself to go through “the process”. It DOES get easier to survive a day…all 24 hours of it. (I’ll admit my evenings are still difficult.) I hear by year 3 things start to ease up a bit. I’ve got a little over 2 months to go…I hope they’re right.

    My love goes out to you all.

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      Carol, that’s just what my husband said last night: it’s harder for the mom. I’ve seen this in other families who have lost kids too. Of course in most cases, we’ve spent more time with our children. Consider the nine month head start. More face time, snuggle time, idle time, play time, story time, etc. Also, teleologically and biologically, we’re the ones who are most responsible for their protection. After all, it’s the mother bear who comes charging at you when you approach her cubs. As irrational as it sounds, sometimes we feel we’ve failed our child by not saving them from the clutches of death. Spiritually, I think there’s also a special bond, an astral umbilical cord that never severs, even after they die. No wonder it’s so hard. Yes, we do grieve differently, but boy, we mom’s get the short stick in that whole rap.

      I see what you mean by how hard the second year is. I’ve heard that from other parents before I was anywhere near the end of year one and I thought, “Huh? How can it be any worse?” But it is worse and for all the reasons you mention. We’ll get past this together though. We have each others’ love and support and we’ll see our kids on the other side in due time.

  • Lisa Potter

    Elisa
    I totally hear you about the grief and how you feel you are the only one still talking about Erik in your family. I love and appreciate that you are willing to share these deepest and most challenging emotions. Your willingness to share is so healing and will help so many. Other moms will see themselves in you and feel acknowledged during such traumatic loss. Thank you. You are such a gift to so many.

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      As are you, Lisa. XOXO

  • Carol

    Regarding ties between a child and mother after death;
    You’ll like this, Elisa. I read some where that the mother-child bond is never severed…even at death. The reference said that we remain connected by a thin, gold strand…which stays intact until we meet up again on the other side.

    Truth or not…I accept it! It gives me comfort so I believe it. What a loving thought.

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      That’s totally what I envision, too, Carol! (only I saw it as translucent, opalescent, and silvery. I’m glad it’s tough as nails–kind of like us, huh?

  • Laura

    Elisa,

    Don’t worry, you’re not crazy. This blog has opened my eyes to a lot of things I knew, but didn’t know, ya know? My son is 18 and he is my world. I can’t begin to imagine what it’s like to lose a child and I don’t want to ever find out. However, I think you are going to be just fine. I sometimes wonder if you’re being allowed to grieve, because you still have such a strong connection with Eric. Maybe that’s why you wonder why no one else in the family thinks and talks the way you do about him. But really, I think nothing but good can come from it, so don’t worry, it’ll all come out in the wash. I noticed Eric likes to use one of my favorite lines “D, all of the above!” I find that amusing.

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      Yep, Laura, everything always turns out fine.

  • Suzie

    Elisa (and all the other Mums who have lost out there),
    I love you and thank you so much for sharing. When I read your posts, I think ‘yes, yes, yes – I’m there too’. Your experience and words of support and comfort are so helpful. I often read and want to respond, but my grief makes my mind all ‘fuzzy’ and I find it hard to put words together to write a response. So thank you everyone. And hugs to you all from Suzie

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      Welcome to my fog, Suzie. My words get all jumbled up too, but it matches my brain so perfectly! Hugs back to you!

  • Stanley

    Hello Elisa,

    I can understand how it can hurt to feel like a family member is being forgotton. From my own research I was able to learn that I was about 6 or 7 when my sister. She died a few months later due to several complications. All this discovered slowly over the years. My point of sharing this, my family only talked about her when directly asked, and only few details at a time. There has only ever been one single picture with her in it, and strangly it’s a family picture, but yet I am not in it. Anyway, it often seems like people choose not to discuss deaths to avoid pain. Where as others deal better by discussing them and keeping their memory alive. Me and Sandra, we share memories of our friends Pam and Darien on a almost daily basis. I think it just comes down to each person. How they deal with their grief. But you are by far not strange for wishing to share memories about Erik. It keeps their memory alive.

    -Stanley

  • Nancy Antia

    Dear Elisa,

    Nobody seems to remember Santi as I do. Nobody ever has from the beginning till this very day. My father’s kept his feelings deep inside him since Santi’s death and my mother cries everytime I mention him, something I’d prefer she wouldn’t do, of course. As to the rest of the family, I choose not to say a word because it’d be a waste of time and effort in a lost cause.(I lost it after many, many battles where I almost lost my own life – emotionally speaking).
    I’ll tell you what I’ve learned about grieving alone. The most important thing I realized when I thought I was totally alone with my grief was that I wasn’t. It’s a very real perception that you are never left alone, that there’s always somebody around that can be your higher self, Santi himself in my case, the angels that surround you or even God “in person”. To be honest, discovering I was never alone was a sort of by-product of what I did first. I’d sit down and stay still concentrated in my heart(true feelings)weeping in silence. I was feeling completely lost, devastated and hopeless. In other words, I was a human wreck. I still feel pretty much the same I should say but there’s a difference: as I exercised myself in going deep inside, I found out it’s a peaceful, loving shelter not only for me but for Santi and the people I love. The more I did this, the more I felt I was overcoming my feelings of self pity and sheer loneliness. I realized my love for my son was going to be there for me for ever and that I could reach him through my heart whenever I needed it. Somehow I managed to have a close relationship with Santi using my own inner resources, mainly LOVE. Why should I worry about others not mentioning him or not remembering anecdotal episodes as frequently as I do?

    Elisa, do away with time. Please, please please! You’re never going to be the same person as you were before Erik’s transition. Sadness, loneliness, even despair will be there all the time, sometimes in a milder way than others but these feelings will never leave you. Why do you want so desperately to get rid of them? They’re part of you and me and possibly part of every parent on earth who lost a child. We became survivors of a loss at the very moment we knew our sons had departed and that’s what we’re going to be the rest of our lives. For all that, believe me there’s lots of joy when you realize you’re never alone. You’ll feel the sweetness of glory when you stop counting the times the rest of the family members mention Erik’s name and you can concentrate in your feelings no matter which they can be. Feelings are the first to pay attention to the synthesis of things. They’re like the horizon’s line.

    Erik has a place in my heart.I’ve thanked him many, many times for what he did for us, for Santi and I. I’ve laughed at his jokes and have made comments about the way you two speak, so hillarious. I’m not sure if he ‘s heard me or not. Though I’d love to have a personal contact with him, I celebrate that I met him and that somehow I have a relationship with him.

    Lots of love,

    Nancy

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      Beautifully put, Nancy. I’m going to try as you suggest–to tap into that which is inside–that quiet shelter of love and connection. Maybe that’s our Higher Self. Tapping into that is the same as tapping into All That Is. I guess then, you feel connected to everything. And the glue that connects it all is Love.

  • Skoshi

    As I’ve been reading this, Prince William came on the news. He’s in New Zealand where they had the quake, and is saying, “My mother used to say grief is the price of love.” That’s quite a powerful price, isn’t it? I do think that mothers grieve more for their children than do siblings or parents, though of course they grieve too. There just isn’t anything else like the mother-child bond. My love to you, Elisa, and Iola, and all mothers who are separated physically from their children.

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      “Grief is the price of love.” Wow. Just wow. So true.

  • Sue

    Hi Elisa. John Edward was on the Dr. Oz show the other day. He gave 3 steps to learning how to communicate with your loved ones in spirit. That segment is on Dr. Oz’s website at
    http://www.doctoroz.com/videos/harness-your-psychic-power
    I’m trying it!

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      Thanks for sharing this, Sue. Have you read his book Infinite Quest that he mentioned on the show?

  • john joseph

    Speaking of how-to’s, I started Jane Greer’s “Afterlife Connections” in the library yesterday. I haven’t gotten to the applied stuff yet because I had to leave and don’t have borrowing privileges at this out-of-town place. Her link is posted on Craig Hogan’s website, though, so that was good enough for me.

    I don’t just uncritically read everyone and can pretty much tell within a few minutes whether I want to spend time with a writer. Sue, I enjoyed the Jonathan Edwards link, especially the part about “if a loved one goes deaf, do you stop communicating?” I think this is something that needs to be hammered home to people who try to tell you someone is gone and you must move on. First off, how DARE they, secondly, the more we learn about ADC, the more we will muzzle this insensitive clod who just can’t face the idea of mortality themselves (of course, we’ve got good news for them, if not for us: they’re going to be around forever).

    OK that wasn’t kind but if one more person asks “how old was your father?” I’m going to just hurl.

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      John, just tell them he’s around 498,786,340 years old. A youngster when compared to the national debt! YAY!!

  • Sue

    No, I haven’t read it, but I do get a month’s membership now and then to the Infinite Quest website and watch the videos and read the articles.

  • john joseph

    Elisa,

    You funny girl :)

  • Jane

    There are really so many profound and powerful observations shared here.

    Nancy “Feelings are the first to pay attention to the synthesis of things. They’re like the horizon’s line.”
    WOW. That was just a stunning sentence. Thank you to you and to everyone for sharing. Love and Light to all.

  • annie

    Maybe they just don’t want to be exposed to more of your hallucinatory relationship with imaginary Erik.

    I can understand your pain but it takes away from real suffering to pretend that Erik still exists.

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      Annie, I used to share your beliefs. Only until I read about the quantum physics behind the afterlife did I understand that indeed, consciousness survived death. As the great Schopenhauer said: “All truths pass through three stages: First it is ridiculed. Second, it is violently opposed. Third, it is accepted as self-evident.” Galileo and Copernicus experienced this first hand, yet look at how we view their findings? I deeply hope you keep an open mind–not accept it all blindly–but consider the possibilities. And please know that even knowing Erik exists in another dimension doesn’t take away from my real suffering. There’s plenty of that to go around, I assure you. I wish you light and love in your life. We’re here whenever you need us or wish to be a part of our family.

  • iola

    Oh Annie, how sad I am for you..how black the world must be to you.

  • avery

    Hi Elisa, it been awhile but I felt the need to respond @annie: if you don’t want to suuport elisa, and the rest of us in a quest for enlightenment, please know that there are a billion other websites for those who share your beliefs. We don’t go to them and start raining on your parade, so please have respect for us and do the same.we’re here to heal and share our thoughts without fear of judgement. All the best to you, though. I respect your opinion, I just don’t agree with the place you’re deciding to broadcast it. Love and hugs to everyone out there. Xo

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      Hallelujah, Sistah! We welcome anyone he wants to join us on our loving journey, but if you bring fear rather than love, unless you want us to help, it’s difficult to imagine why you would want to post such negative comments, Annie.

  • Mary

    Hi Elisa,one if my friends died from brain cancer ten years ago and her daughter who was 18 at the time is also my friend. I often talk about her mom when we chat on the phone or have lunch together, it keeps my friend alive to both of us. Hugs to you and your family….

    • http://drmedhus.com Elisa

      I’m so sorry. How is her daughter doing, Mary? Love and hugs.

  • Mary

    She is an amazing young woman; beautiful, talented,and courageous. When her mother became ill, she met her now husband who was her angel throughut the experience of her mother’s illness and death.
    She is a wonderful dancer and I saw her perform this past Saturday and she danced with joy in her heart!