Now I understand why she's so present

I've made an effort to stay grounded today and avoid getting too bogged down in the memories of the long, confusing, and tedious day we spent in the ER last year. Part of that effort was a leisurely visit to a wonderful independent bookstore just a few blocks away.

I don't go to the bookstore often enough. Today's excuse was to buy a belated birthday present, but really I just wanted to get lost in the sense of possibility and the intellectual stimulation that a good bookstore offers. Elliott Bay Books is a landmark in Seattle, around since 1973, and in my neighborhood since it moved up here from Pioneer Square in 2010. Many of us in the neighborhood think the store did us a personal favor, and they've thrived in our pedestrian-rich community. They kept their sense of history, and their new space has the same warm-yet-airy, comfy, settled feeling that the old one did. It's a dangerous place for the wallet, but an exciting place for the mind.

I found the book I'll give away and went searching for treasures for myself. I bought some puzzle books (O'ekaki and kenken), and then turned my attention to the bargain books. I'm drawn to the bargain books because I come from several generations of people who are pained by buying things at full price. Besides, these are all the books that were on the "new" tables just a few years ago; they're still good books. But mainly I like the bargain books because so many categories occupy a small space; it's a ripe area for cross-pollination, especially when I'm not sure what I'm in the mood for. I lingered over a small but thorough history of Seattle's early days, which includes some intriguing photos, and then added it to my stack. I read an entire book of poetry, a testament of grief at the loss of a spouse, standing there with my eyes wet with tears, and then decided that if the book had held me that way in a bookstore, it should go home with me.

Poetry was right next to self-help, and I saw a book titled Spirited, with a subtitle about finding guides. Given my current state, I can't resist flipping through such a book, even though I still have little respect for much of the genre. This one was written by a woman who makes her living as a medium, and it appears that the book is designed to help people connect with loved ones they've lost. I didn't spent that much time with it, figuring I'd put it on hold at the library and see if it has anything for me. Despite all that I've experienced with Sandy in the past year — and in some respects, because of all I've experienced — I remain skeptical of those who claim to have special access to the other side. So I thought I'd read a little bit about contacting the dead and see if it resonated. (I also skimmed the front of the book where she won my respect by addressing the likelihood that I'd be skeptical.)

She talked a bit about how energy works, and how incredibly hard it is for spirits to contact us and to hold contact for long. She said that our energy is slow, dragged down by our physical forms, and the spirits we're trying to contact have fast energy, as they're free of encumbrance. According to her, we have to speed up our energy and they have to slow theirs down if we're to bridge the gap. That makes some sense to me, given that I've learned there's a particular state of sleep I need to be in to have a visitation dream, for example.

But the next part is the part that made me cackle. She said that contact depends in large part on who you're hoping to hear from. She said that our personalities don't change when we die, and that those who were boisterous and talkative, craving the center of attention, are the ones who are easiest to contact. If someone was quiet, reserved, unassuming in life, it can be quite difficult to reach them later.

As I finished writing this, I said, "Okay, honey, what picture
exemplifies your being boisterous?" and as I asked that, this
is the photo that appeared on the screensaver. She's right!
It's blurry, but that's because she and our niece were being
boisterous, after all. Hurrah for exuberance!

I've marveled at how much contact I've had with Sandy this year — and that she's had with others, as well. I've assumed that my own connection is the result of some fortunate combination of me being a bit of an empath in general and of her never being subtle. But as I've described my experiences to people, I sometimes feel bad, guilty that I've had such a strong connection to her when others long for one with the people they've lost. It makes sense, though, that Sandy would remain a stronge presence in the world. And even though I was sometimes embarrassed by the things she'd say in public (!), I'm now so grateful that she was such an over-the-top extrovert Leo who loved nothing more than to hold court, sharing her thoughts and knowledge with a captivated crowd (a captive audience would do nicely, too).

This new bit of information even resonates for me when it comes to cats. For several months after Prudence died, she appeared in my dreams, but other cats haven't come to me after their deaths. Prudence (Pissy) followed me around incessantly, and she was so social that when she heard someone approaching the front door, she'd leap through her cat door to run around and greet them on the porch. Though she hated to have her tummy rubbed, she expected it to be admired, and she'd run in front of people repeatedly as they passed our house, lying down and wriggling on the sidewalk to show off her belly, and then jumping up when they passed her to get ahead of them and do it again. It makes sense that she'd still be looking for attention and admiration after her sudden death.

A few days before she died, Sandy looked at me sadly and said, "We're going to miss each other so much." I agreed, but secretly I thought then that I'd be the one missing her; I didn't think she'd get to miss me, or have any feelings at all. I thought she'd be truly gone, her energy dissolved and recombining with other life. I was so wonderfully wrong. She misses me; she worries about friends and family; she still has strong opinions. She's Sandy, whole and real, and apparently enjoying her newfound omniscience. And to think I might not know any of that if she'd been the quiet type!