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I know what miracles are. I know because I see them happen every day\u2014and because some of them happen to me. I guess you could say that I\u2019m proof, or my life is proof, or, for that matter, my very existence, is proof. There have been so many miracles in my life that choosing just one to write about and calling it the \u201cbiggest\u201d would be like loving one of my children more than the other.<\/p>\n
I loved my husband, Randy Michael Connolly, until death did us part. So much so that it felt as if I\u2019d died with him. By the time December 2013 rolled around, I\u2019d been praying for my own death for a little over a year, although I still hadn\u2019t conjured the nerve to take my own life, and realized I might never find that nerve, no matter how devastated I was. The only thing that could possibly keep me going, I determined, was a miracle.<\/p>\n
I wanted, I needed, some kind of concrete, measurable evidence that he was still with me, just as he\u2019d promised he\u2019d be as he was dying.<\/p>\n
Night after night of crying myself to sleep had mitigated neither my desperation nor my depression. Nor had knowing that there were people around me who were hearing Randy, in spirit form, clearly and irrefutably. Sure, I appreciated their loving messages, as indirect as they were. But what about me? I was his wife, dammit. Didn\u2019t I deserve to hear those messages straight from the source?<\/p>\n
Then, one night, a night like all the rest where I\u2019d passed out after hours of tossing and turning and abject anguish (I don\u2019t profess to be one of the stoic ones), I was awakened at 3 am by a loud\u2014booming\u2014voice that said, \u201cGet out your pen and get writing. We\u2019re going to write a book.\u201d<\/p>\n
I can\u2019t tell you why and I can\u2019t tell you how, but I knew in every cell of my being that this disembodied vocalization belonged to my husband (and not only because I was alone in the house). What I did not realize was that the result of this mandate, and the ensuing half hour of notebook scribblings, would be the basis for our first \u201cghostwritten\u201d book together, Crossing the Rubicon: Love Poems Past the Point of No Return<\/em>.<\/p>\n You might think I\u2019m going to say the miracle was that Randy, in spirit form, woke me up and downloaded a book of poems, along with an almost instant comprehension and precisely worded description about how to form a new relationship with your loved one after death, and how to write about it so others would understand and benefit.<\/p>\n You might think it was that since that night I\u2019ve been able to communicate with Randy, and the dead brother of manicurist, and the dead wife of my father\u2019s best friend, and many other spirit beings who so much want to communicate with their own loved ones.<\/p>\n Either way, you\u2019d be right.<\/p>\n But, honestly? The most profound and shocking miracle is that without the gift of Randy\u2019s dying, I would never have discovered, or perhaps I should say uncovered, the brilliant conscious creation practice that has become my way of life.<\/p>\n Is it possible to recognize a miracle\u2014a blessing, even\u2014while you feel you\u2019re being ripped to shreds? When your soul can\u2019t see the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel even if it were wrapped in the glow of every star in the sky? When your heart is gasping for breath in order to survive one more minute, one more hour, one more day?<\/p>\n My answer?<\/p>\n For me, on that night, even as I wrote in the dark, sobbing over the pages of an old lined notebook, bleary-eyed from lack of sleep, fear, grief<\/a>, and the sense that I had been abandoned to fend for myself in a world I could no longer make sense of, I was concomitantly aware that I was feeling something I\u2019d never felt before.<\/p>\n Even in that state of complete overwhelm, I knew I was experiencing something so enormous, so rock-me-to-the-core powerful, that while I couldn\u2019t name it at the time, I could feel it blooming inside me, as evidential as the scar on the inside of my thigh, the one I\u2019d gotten in a motorcycle mishap in high school. It seemed as if I\u2019d always had this thing that was burgeoning\u2014always known it, always felt it\u2014but would never again fail to recognize it and cherish it.<\/p>\n The wave of unconditional love that flowed through me arrived in the form of complete phrases and rhymes and prose: an unabridged conversation. It arose in the vibration of truth, through the voice of my dead husband. It emerged in the resonance of wisdom, as a new kind of knowledge I was being invited to believe in, accept, and share. It emanated with the awareness that, even as I wept and the lead in my pencil dwindled to a stub, I would never be the same again.<\/p>\n Because nothing has been the same since that night.<\/p>\n I no longer have any need to pretend that I have it all under control, or that life makes sense. I don\u2019t and it doesn\u2019t. Which is precisely what makes miracles so\u2026miraculous.<\/p>\n I now understand that all our attempts to control, fix, cajole, maneuver, manipulate, push, and pray are nothing more than miracle-blockers<\/em>. When viewed through the lens of retrospection, miracles are the fruit of faith, not force.<\/p>\n When I met Randy after my first 40 years on the planet, I knew that<\/em> was a miracle. The circumstances were too bizarre, too completely without precedent. We agreed that we were two of the truly fortunate ones. We\u2019d prayed for a miracle. We\u2019d gotten it. End of story.<\/p>\n Which compelled to ask, What does that say about our supposed miracle? Was I wrong? Were we wrong? Was this some kind of a joke, a faux miracle? Had I been deceived? If God wanted me to be happy, why take away the one person who made me happy? <\/em><\/p>\n Could something that once looked like a miracle of light and love turn into something so sinister and dark, something so obviously not <\/em>miraculous?<\/p>\n I did not know the answer then. But these questions are what goaded me on, deep into realms that I\u2019d never previously tapped. I explored karma, life after \u201cdeath,\u201d past lives, meditation, and conscious creation. I acquiesced into what has been so aptly called the dark night of the soul. I allowed myself to be held by those who\u2019d had similar experiences and encouraged me to believe that I would come out the other side\u2026whole again.<\/p>\n I eventually learned that my sensitivity was simply code for being an HSP<\/a>, a Highly Sensitive Person, and medium for the spirit world, and that tapping into that ability would prepare me for becoming a facilitator for other HSPs.<\/p>\n Finally, ultimately, I learned that miracles are in the eye of the beholder, like these:<\/p>\n The biggest<\/em> miracle of all, you ask?<\/p>\n That\u2019s easy.<\/p>\n There is life after death. On both sides of the veil.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/p>\n * * * *<\/p>\n MY SPECIAL OFFER THIS MONTH<\/p>\n Purchase a copy of Crossing the Rubicon<\/em> and receive the complete audiobook version, read by Heidi<\/p>\nA celestial life.<\/h3>\n
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Turns out, it\u2019s true.<\/h3>\n
Then he died.<\/h3>\n
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