I clearly remember the first time that I saw someone die.

I was six years old it was Christmas day and it was snowing that morning.  My family did not observe Christmas as it was deemed a pagan holiday and only sinners participated in that sham of a holiday (I’ll have to write about growing up in WCG one day) but, I was a little girl that wanted to celebrate Christmas and receive gifts.  Since that was not going to happen, I woke up early and sat at the kitchen window to watch the snow fall.  If I remember correctly, it was about 7:00 am and the only one that seemed to be awake was me.  From the kitchen window in our apartment, you could see across long distances in the winter because the trees were bare and the highrisers of NYC were yet to be built.

In the distance, I could see a person dressed in dark colors walking through the snow.  What caught my attention was that this person wasn’t walking in a straight line.  As the figure got closer to the building, I could see it was a man.  He eventually made it to the apartment building and when he got close enough he looked up at the windows and called out someone’s name before collapsing into the snow.  He left behind him a trail of blood.  I remember looking at him laying in the snow and it took my young mind a solid minute to grasp that the man needed help.  I went into my parents bedroom and woke up my father and told him what I saw.   My dad jumped up and came to the window, then he yelled for my mother to call the police and he ran out of the apartment.   I was sent to my room and later that evening I was gently told by my mother that the young man had passed away.  I had known for hours that he died.  His name was Jeremy and he told me that he had been stabbed in the stomach and he had hoped to get to his mother’s house so he could get help.   It was a white and red Christmas that day and probably one of the few Christmas days that I remember every detail of.

Since that day, I have literally witnessed far too many deaths up close and personal.  Now in the year 2016, thanks to to social media and technology, I get to witness death near and far each and every single day.

I had no idea on that day that one day I would talk to spirits and deliver their messages to the living.  I had no clue that not many people could communicate with people who have passed away.  How would a 6 year old living in the projects of NYC know these things?   How would I know that this would be part of my path one day?

Over the years the one thing that remains a constant with those that have crossed over and those that are about to cross is love.  LOVE, the one thing that the living seem to forget about until it is absent or far too late.  The latest mass shooting in Orlando, FL has me feeling many things as I write this blog entry tonight.  There was hatred, fear, violence and LOVE.  Those beautiful men and women sent texts and called those that they loved one last time and, those that loved time reached out frantically with whatever means they had to find their son/daughter/friend/brother/sister/lover.

By no means am I trying to over simplify what happened this past weekend but LOVE or lack thereof, drives so many things today.  In my pain and grief over so many lives lost to violence, I wish there was more love and compassion in the world.  I wish my 6 year old self could have found out who Jeremy’s mother was and what apartment she lived in so that I could tell her that he said he loved her and said he was sorry.

I wish, I wish, I wish there was far more love in the world.  Life and Death are part of the circle of life, no one has a choice about these twins but love, love is a choice.

I choose love and I hope that whomever reads this chooses love too.  AW/ALC-9/2017

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