As a medium, my heart always trembles when the plight of one's life is the pain that accompanies loss of a loved one. It often causes me to pause and reflect on the sadness. But, I'm always reminded that telling an afterlife story to the one who lives from the one who has passed is not to be evaluated, but simply experienced. If one message comes bringing a moment of peace, then maybe the person sitting before me can begin a process of stepping through their loss.

At an event, I was touched by several individuals hoping to receive messages from their loved ones on the other side.

A father desperately teetered at the junction of grief and living, wanting to hear that his beloved young son remained a part of his world. The father, in his anguish, wore his boy's favorite Red Sox jersey, hoping that this action creates an invisible signal directly to the heart and soul of his departed boy. He sat, anxious and breathless, in great anticipation of every word that was spoken. He silently prayed that a message would arrive and that the pain that has haunted him for two years will begin to ease.

Across the room sat a woman, barely thirty years old, crying uncontrollably, as she embarked on a journey that will undoubtedly cause her to confront her husband's passing once again. This is the burden associated with everyone who mourns. Hidden within her clutch against her chest was a trinket that he gave her on the day they wed. It was a token of his love. If the pink, bejeweled treasure becomes part of the conversation between us, then something in her will awaken. Maybe she will widen her perspective and realize that he is near. She said, as she sat in her husband's red, immaculate and recently polished Ford pick-up truck, "I wonder if he hears me. Will he know that I brought something special?"

As always, spirit began to seep into my sphere of knowing. They all wanted to be heard. Special messages, loved ones' names, and Purple Papers began to find their way to those in attendance.

Right in front of me sat a woman of some age. Her hair glistened with a bit of gray. Her beauty, like her love of those that have passed, is endless. She was taken back at the sound of a name that is spoken by my voice. Within seconds her bright and cheery disposition stilled in disbelief, and she screamed out, "Oh my God, that is my father’s name." The name was very unique, an old family name passed on for generations, and one that is hardly heard in our era. His name and his story reignited the emotional memories of a father who passed many, many, many years before. She admitted to the audience, a room filled with sixty other message seekers, that, "If my father's odd first name is to appear on a Purple Paper or to be announced, then I would have no choice but to venture beyond my skepticism of what exists after we die." She also confided that in her most secret place she wished that she was still her father's little girl, just as she was the day he left.

Another woman exclaimed, from the top of her lungs, "Where is he? Where is my brother?" Her desperation became her mantle; it was all she felt. What she knew and who she was, with her brother, was gone. She searched through the files of her memories, holding on to each for dear life. She was not just his sister; she was his friend. She summoned me to answer her questions. We sat together and talked. She whispered in my ear that she wanted to go back to the old places they had shared together. She spoke of her loss and her willingness to step into his message of hope. She admitted that his vision came to her late during sleepless nights. It was as if he had crossed some bridge from some place simply to hold his sister's hands.

Present in many other chairs were fathers, mothers, grandsons, brothers, and friends, all asking the same questions. Can they hear us? Can they feel us? Do they know we love them? Do they still love us? How can I connect more easily? Even for a seasoned medium, spiritual conversation and communication during grief is challenging. It requires a surrendering to the quietness beyond time, away from the hustle and bustle of life. During the search for a sign or a message, there are certain steps you must follow. Be gentle and loving to yourself as you seek messages from loved ones. Give each moment of your life special consideration and attention. This will afford you the opportunity to see the signs that are sent only to you. Don't be afraid to ask for a sign. But, you must also be fully prepared to engage when a sign is sent. Most people asking for messages and signs become masterful negotiators, asking, "Is that really from you?" When a sign comes, just accept it for what it is: a sign. You asked for it, so experience it.

What I have discovered is that in the most silent, still, quiet space within is where the message from our departed loved ones exist. Signs of spirit are everywhere. A Purple Paper with a pre-written message on it, like you will see in my book Signs of Spirit, or a blue jay sitting on the window ledge or a butterfly soaring by multiple times or a song on the radio or even a dream that takes you to some far-away place, tell the story that our loved ones remain connected to us. The voice of a loved one will first appear in your mind. It slowly transitions to your heart. A feeling of confidence stirs you. The feeling charges every aspect of your current emotion and sparks a beautiful understanding that your loved one is near.

As the father, who bravely sat in the room alone wearing his son's favorite shirt, understood that a communication began the moment he put on his son's shirt. The wife who sat in her husband's newly polished truck, understood that if she could foster the courage to ask him for a sign, then one would come. The daughter whose life was patterned after her little-known father, left her skeptical thoughts behind and looked through a newly colored lens of possibility. And, finally, the sister who lost her only friend, her nighttime dreams became a welcomed experience of love from beyond. The afterlife is a world not beyond, but really within our grasp. The connections that exist between all who we love, start here with us.