What Happens When We Die
A (somewhat) Rational Medium's Guide To The Afterlife
Part I: How I got here (and didn’t end up in a straight jacket)
Mediumship Didn’t Come Early. But When It Came, It Was Loud.
Most mediums start with the whole “I saw dead people when I was five” routine. I didn’t. I had a mortgage, a resume, and two kids in school before this path barged in. But the signs? They were there. Just subtle enough to ignore — until they weren’t.
I did not see it coming
I did not become a Medium until later in life — I already had teenage kids by then. Not exactly your textbook child prodigy ghost-whisperer, right? And yet, there were a few times in my life where thoughts about life after death — and what happens when we die — didn’t just cross my mind. They barged in uninvited, plopped themselves on my couch, and demanded snacks.
One time, when my older son was about two or three, he was chattering away in the backseat while I was driving with his baby brother. Then mid-sentence, he stopped and said — loudly, as only toddlers do — “No, I’m talking about BEFORE I was a baby!” I shuddered. As one does when your child casually drops a reincarnation bomb. I asked him to repeat it, and of course he got flustered and wouldn’t. But that moment stuck.
Then there was my mother. I lost her when she was only 58. And there were nights — not dreams, not wishful thinking, but real knowing — when I know she spoke to me. It always came the same way: a ringing phone I’d answer in the dream. And apparently, I’m not alone. In Messages from the Masters, Dr. Brian Weiss shares the case of a woman named Carole who received a literal phone call from her deceased father — a man who had died earlier that week — checking in on the family business.
So maybe the Other Side has better reception than we thought. The last time Mom ‘called,’ she gave me intel — not about my life here, but about life on the other side. What it was like. How it worked. At the time, I dismissed it — not because I didn’t believe her, but because it didn’t feel relevant. It wasn’t something I was thinking about then. But looking back? She was handing me a map I didn’t realize I’d need.
Not So-Imaginary Friends
About a year after her death, I saw a Medium. Among other things, she told me that my five-year-old was talking to Grandma. I came home, played it cool, and asked him. “Duh, yeah,” he said, like I’d asked him whether water was wet. I asked when he talked to her — fully expecting him to say it was in his sleep, or in a dream, or maybe once during a thunderstorm for dramatic effect. But no. He shrugged, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “I don’t know… at the bus stop, during lunch, sometimes in my room.”
“What does Grandma say?” I asked.
“Oh, the usual — pay attention to the teacher, be a good boy, finish your homework.”
Very on-brand for her. Not exactly cryptic spirit wisdom. Just classic Grandma. Then there was my close friend, hit by a car and left in a coma. I visited her every day. One morning, I woke from a dream where she clearly told me: “I’m not ready.” I knew what it meant. I rushed to the hospital. Her family was shocked to see me — they had just told the doctors they were removing life support. She held on for another week — just like she told me she would. She wasn’t ready. And when she did finally pass, it was on the anniversary of the day she first met her husband — a detail no one had even remembered until that moment.
So yes, there were hints. Nudges. Psychic Post-Its from the universe. But I brushed them aside. I had a career. I had a family. I didn’t have time for… whatever that was.
“This wasn’t a calling. It was an interruption.”
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When The Floodgates Opened
Then one day, the dam broke. And I heard the other side.
At first, I thought I had schizophrenia. Naturally. Because I did hear voices — just not like you think. Not in my head. Not telling me to do anything. They weren’t for me. They were messages for other people. Things I had no business knowing. That’s how I knew I wasn’t nuts (well, not in that way). So I did what any rational person hearing non-human voices would do: I found a school.
Learning To Listen
For the next two years, I developed my abilities — or more accurately, I tried to make sense of them. I read over a thousand books. No, that’s not hyperbole. I needed a 360-degree perspective. I went from Western to Eastern philosophies: agnostics, Kabbalah, Greek, Roman, Jewish thinkers; Buddhism, Hinduism. Memoirs of mediums (which, by the way, I could never relate to — they always start with “ever since I was a little girl…” No thanks). I read studies of near-death experiences (like On Life After Death by Elizabeth Kübler-Ross), children who remembered past lives, and past life regression work (such as Many Lives, Many Masters by Brian Weiss). Even the in-between-life studies by Michael Newton, like Journey of Souls. You name it, I devoured it.
Eventually, I hit a wall — I had nothing left to read. So when I still had questions? I did the now-obvious thing. I asked the other side.
And they answered.
Conclusion
In Part 2 of this series, I’ll share what they told me.
Because what happens when we die isn’t a metaphor. It’s an unfolding.
Read Part 2 here (coming soon).
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