Thursday, November 15, 2018


Paving MY way through grief

The deep sadness in grief may resemble hopelessness, yet in reality, sadness walks the stepping stones of Hope to the threshold of Trust’s door. It enters after a long journey as melancholy—a tinnitus of the heart—seeking transformation and surrender to the soul.

A birthday message from Matty; words delivering a heart full of contemplation for sure. In my season of the soul, as I am guided to see the grieving process through a different lens, I make a discovery. It is a beautiful happening when Hope, invited along on this journey, becomes such an integral part of the process that slowly, silently one day it slips into integration—a part of.

The feeling in my heart as of late has been a physical sensation, a slight heaviness. Melancholia lives as an undercurrent; an observer of life, joy and laughter that continue to fill my heart. She allows the flow of that which she sees as opposite to herself and yet, with the confidence she has gained from her transformation from sorrow and deep sadness, she is not shy in making it known that acknowledgement is what she needs. She has a message that I have not been heeding, perhaps even hearing.

Melancholy is sharpening my awareness to the internal sounds and feels within my body. Within—where the soul lives—a terrain that with help can traverse what was once seen as rocky and non-fertile to rich soil waiting to be seeded, planted and given nurturance to bloom and grow. A second chance for my heart as it contemplates what the walk through the harsh conditions presented by grief have been like—and survived.

Melancholy ushers in a slower pace in this winter of grief. There is an entirely unique landscape to be experienced in winter. The browns and grays allow me to see the strength of nature’s foundation. Trees standing tall without their foliage offer up a lesson—a natural cycle has come to fulfillment. They stand as patient sentries surrounded by the loss of their leafage, confident in their knowing that this is simply a time of rest needed in preparation for the spring renewal.

My trust in this journey is strong enough to know that I need not rush through Melancholy. One thing I know for sure is there is no once-and-for-all fix to the lows that are a part of grief.  As I contemplate and become aware of my soul’s guidance on how to adapt and integrate Melancholy into my ordinary days, I will not lose sight of the moments that gift me gladdenings of the heart, for these I am forever grateful.

Wishing a peaceful Thanksgiving to all.


Friday, October 5, 2018


Truth, like all the other processes in Grief . . . comes in layers.

Integrity and vulnerability . . . which comes first?
Am I staying in truth if I tell my story with ommissions?
Why do these ommissions feel like gentle lies?
What are the qualities of personal integrity?
Why am I feeling embarrassment when looking into the mirror of vulnerability?

These questions are finding a place in my heart as the chaos in my mind is searching for answers. My mind remembers that the soul holds the answers and a simple ask of “Help Please” begins to unfurl clarity.

My dilemma arose in the time from my last post to this one. I was on a happiness, joyful high in coming home from Memphis. I had been surrounded by friends, new and old met through heart-connections of a shared sorrow. I told OUR story, Matty’s and mine and the Love in the presentation room was palpable—the Love we have for our children and they for us; the Love for each other born of grief and tears and broken hearts, healing in the arms of compassion. The ache was nowhere to be found—unrealistic and ready to make itself known in the most cruel of ways. The crash hit hard.  Thrown to the curb by Grief, back to the days of when I lived in angst of hearing THAT question “How are you today?” And I peered at this new feeling of embarrassment, laughed at by guilt and shame, and asked “Why?”. And Why answered that my vulnerability in the past only felt as if it came easy because it rose from a heap of hurt that had nothing left to lose. Raw felt normal and vulnerable allowed my pain to release itself through the cracks in my heart, making space for healing that was blind as to where it needed to go.

And then a poem by Nayyirah Waheed beckoned to me:

}and if your gift is to make people. feel.
something. do not cover that in
apology. do not lie to accommodate
others’ fear of feeling.”

And I remembered the times when you, my heart friends, followers and readers of Voice of Grief wrote to me to let me know I was given a gift of putting into words what you were feeling and unable to express and how words, when leaned into, were a help in your own journeys.

And I asked myself again “What is Voice of Grief’s purpose?” And I feel Matty as these words are penned: “We are holding space for an opening to a conversation filled with hope for a new dawn in understanding grief . . . from the processing by the bereaved and from the lens of loved ones, friends, neighbors, co-workers, and passers-by standing on the periphery of grief . . . for those with a desire to run in, be with, help out and for those who can do nothing but simply run away”.

And I find courage from this memory and now see what it looks like in its infancy—unsteady on its feet, wondering how many starts, stops and falls will occur before it reaches its old height. And I answer that angst filled question: “Just for today I’d like to be honest and say that I am struggling even though you may rather hear I’m good. Please see me, feel my heart. I am seeing the joy and the ache from a different layer of healing and I need to make peace with this new perspective”.

What I do know is that healing happens in our story-sharing, when we weave what we’ve learned from our struggles, our spills, our rises and shines. When the weft and the warp of our experiences create a net so solid, secure and stable; it becomes able to hold the risks and rewards of speaking from a place of vulnerability. From a space of courage, opening the heart and releasing that which is honest and true; revealing that feelings of uncomfortable-ness touch an emotional freedom within that then casts out an invitation, an opportunity for other hearts to identify and connect with.

I am leaning into the wise words of a friend right now, a heart-connected sister Beth D’Angelo, until I am able to write the next chapter of my story. She is the creator of many things, one of which is her Grow Hope Project. In a recent conversation regarding storytelling, Beth shared insight into who she is. With her permission to share, I’d like to introduce you to Beth in her own words.

}I am a storyteller, a story collector as well as a secret keeper. I have been “privy” to the shadow side of human responses and have chosen the light side to live in. This duality makes it simple and deeply complex at the same time. Grow Hope was a silent message to me in February 2004. Sean’s accident was February 21. .  .  . I wrote two days later, “Grow Hope, Mom”. How does one connect that to today? A breath at a time. I have been asked to grow hope in another, by showing what it looks like to honor and let go of the details of tragedy. Ugh some days!! OMG in others! I want both!”

Here’s Beth D’Angelo’s story:
“On Becoming” 

Okay, I said it.
I don’t trust you.
I thought I did.
I leaned into the unknown, the uncertainty, the upside down-ness of it all.
I surrendered, studied how to live life on life’s terms – I fell, I got up, I spoke up and I did all this magnificently well despite what they thought.
I did what was asked of me.
I played small.  I played big.  I took risks and listened to wisdom.
I threw down the shields, the swords, and the falseness and I stood naked.
I showed my flaws, my wounds…I shut up, I spoke up, and choked down the urge to defend my position.
I never said anything against you.  I never felt you did anything “to me” but only “for” me.

I felt you beside me until….
Until I got exhausted from doing and trying.
I looked at those who say they are by my side;
I felt the eggshells that broke under my weight.
I looked the other way, practiced forgiveness, and what sprang up was a new bouquet of self-righteousness and judgement.  And I hated what I was holding.

I lost it today.
I broke.
I spoke from that brokenness – in the face of what should be gratitude.
I shared with another.
I chose to be real and to wail – to speak what needed to be released; that I am still expecting from others what they cannot give.
I thought if I played to the best of my ability to do, think, speak on the level that would bring favor in your eyes, that just maybe I’d get a reprieve….
I lost trust that I could care.
I don’t care anymore.
I lost it today.  I sobbed for myself.
I am afraid.
I don’t know what to do with what I am supposed to do.
I just don’t know what to do.

I spoke with a soul sister.
She suggested I step back and just rest in it.
She said that this is the slow process of accepting those things about myself.
That it doesn’t mean the things I don’t like about myself will go away, that I will accept the good and the bad – all of me.

This is the edge of what surrender looks like.
It is different from its’ shadow, “giving up”.
There is something rare, raw and vulnerable in surrendering.
This is not easy, nor is it comfortable and it is certainly not enjoyable.

So here I am.
The edge.
If I peer over too far, I feel something might push me…without my permission.
Without my permission-yes, I know that one.
The deepest, darkest, the greatest fear is in that bottom I cannot see.
That bottom justifies life’s bullshit with a sweetness that is intoxicating.
I feel it’s calling – the false, the lies and betrayal is in its voice…
That voice has become stronger, more fierce…..has taken up more space than it should; filling the crowded corners with overwhelming layers of not enough and all those should have been’s…..

But I have grown stronger as well.
I have turned my body to face the uncertainty-to see and feel and hear just what is calling my name and it isn’t down there-its up there-in the light, the breeze, on silent wings….
In the process of dropping falseness and masks; courage, resilience and hope held up their arms to ward off what wants to claim as theirs.

I have outgrown what served so well for so long and this newness is not asking more of what I am-rather-it is asking me to be exactly what I am.
I thought I stopped caring and trusting-but I haven’t….
I have been involved in the unwrapping-the unfolding, the undoing of careful assembly work for decades….

It is not you that I don’t trust.
It is me.
I don’t know how to trust all that I know to be – the natural, authentic.. the me.
My imaginary fears are just as real as real is real.
And that makes no sense and all sense…..

I said it.
I don’t trust me.
to stand long-term in my vulnerability.  The “what if’s” are intent on tangling me up.
It has nothing to do with you.
It has everything to do with me….
I take that back, God.  I do trust you – I am just scared that I will fall and be lost.
That I will be lost in the uncertainty and the belonging I yearn for and fight against.

However, I am willing to be willing to stay open; to learn what being off-balance feels like so I stand in that space that frightens me so.
I am willing to question with curiosity; to soften the details of my story; to lean into what is being offered as “life embellishments”.
Okay, I said it.
I am willing because….I am still standing…and this is one amazing reason to continue staying open and trusting the journey.

Written by Beth D’Angelo, 2018

Wednesday, August 29, 2018



“You can’t connect the dots by looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards. So you have to trust that the dots will somehow connect in your future. You have to trust in something . . . because believing that the dots will connect down the road will give you the confidence to follow your heart even when it leads you off the well worn path . . . “
From Steve Jobs commencement address at Stanford 2005

I love looking at these letters and numbers. Simple, easy to see where the dots lay and when connected give life to Matty’s initials (Matthew Laurent Allard) and the #13, our validation number from Matt. Add the sparkles and Matty’s initials go through a rebirth of sorts. Something bright and shiny creating an air of excitement, catching my attention—letting me know that simple is grand when I turn my awareness switch on. This is what I experienced at the BPUSA conference earlier this month. The following drawing tells a true soul story, one that is continuing to be revealed to me.

Matty's message at BPUSA continues to sit so strongly with me. I ask . . . is this not a validation of soul planning, of a life contract predetermined prior to birth and of a message that continues to show the beauty and gifts from grief?

At 10 or 11years old, Matty was guided to place the word “Coo” prominently in the middle of his art to be recognized 25+ years later after his transition . . . an event taking place the first Father’s Day after his passing. It all began with the mid-week sighting of a mourning dove by my husband and I. Matty as a young boy had a deep connection to mourning doves. They were his natural alarm, gently waking him mornings for many months and years of his life.  I knew that I wanted to publish a special tribute to Matt in the Voice of Grief blog for this Father’s Day, one that was not to be physically spent with his family. I wanted to show the differing sides of Matty as he grew, something Addy and Bear may appreciate as they grew older. Bruce and I watched the single dove standing in our driveway and I asked him, “do you think that could be Matt’s energy sending us a sign?”  The question was followed by a poem, words that came not from my own thoughts but inspired words that simply flowed. Inspired words that I was getting use to receiving, on this day themed around the mourning dove. 


The Sun, the Moon,
The Rain, the Breeze.
The Stars, the Sky
Our Magick Tree.
You see them.
You hear them.
You feel them.
They are real.

A Daddy’s Love,
His kisses,
His hugs,
His wishes for you are real.

Things are different now,
Between you and me.
. . . Just for a little while.

You can’t see me
Or hear me.
Or feel me,
From the Outside.
But . . . 
If you open your heart,
Be very quiet and still,
And close your eyes,
You’ll feel me.
You’ll hear me.
You’ll see me.
I’m on the Inside now.

When you see a Mourning Dove,
Listen for its’ Coo.
I’ve come home to build a nest
And live right next to you.
That flutter you feel in your heart
Is me Hugging you.
When you feel a tickle in your ear.
I’m Whispering sweet things to you.

I’m a thought,
A nudge,
I’m in your Dreams.
My Love is all around you.
I’ll protect you,
I’ll guide you
Call out my name.
Whenever you need.

I’m by your side always,
I’m your Daddy.
I Love you.
I’m your Forever Thing.

Inspired by Matty in Spirit

Pictures of young Matty, a poem Addy’s daycare teacher had given to her written for her Daddy, adult Matty holding his niece for the first time . . . love captured in a collage.  I remembered that my brother had really liked Matty's drawing and he had gifted it to him. I knew that he had held onto it all these years and it would make a nice addition to our Matty tribute. I hadn’t seen the art in all this time and do not remember the word “coo” from its first creation. I asked Ray to send a digital copy and I posted it early Father’s Day morning. It wasn’t until 6:00 pm that I noticed the word “coo” in the middle of the drawing. I had been intrigued by Matty’s use of color and the outlines in black he incorporated that made everything pop, and that was where my focus lay that day. When I paused and took in the entire piece of artwork, I saw the “coo” for the first time. I asked if anyone else had seen this message hidden to me and many were surprised as it was the first thing they associated with Matty’s poem.

This story continues to be one of my favorites and I brought it with me to BPUSA to share as an example of one of Matty’s signs and inspired words.

What happened next, took my breath away. The teddy bear, not ready to be noticed sitting in the middle "O" since I had posted in 2015 (or 25+ years prior for that matter) was made visible and brought to everyone's attention at  my workshop presentation by another—Dorcas Williams, a heart-connected Mom that I met for the very first time at the conference attending my presentation. Dorcas’ soul shines brightly and she is a treasure to anyone lucky enough to cross paths with her. She was looking at Matty’s art projected onto a 10’ screen and asked about the teddy bear in the center of the “O”?  The room paused to take a look at what was taking up residence in the “O”. I was stunned! Dorcas led me to a new discovery and was giving me the opportunity to tell the rest of this soul story. Up to this point, I had not made mention of Matty’s children by name; Addalyn is his daughter’s and Bear is his son’s.  Matty was quiet about his spiritual experiences. After much questioning and pushback on legally naming his son Bear he told me he had had a vision and was guided to name his son Bear. The gasps and wow’s were audible. What had we all been privy to?

We were witnesses to the layers of events that transpired to show us the truth in Matty's life contract; his soul speaking to him, recognized or not at 10 years old, unveiling a validation of a major future event in his life. His free will exercised prior to his birth in this earthly life, nudged and reminded of subconsciously or not by his soul as his pastels turned a piece of paper into a validation made clear by his Spirit in my today. His artwork seen in 2015 came to me as a sign, it is what my heart was ready and waiting for then. In 2018, my soul was ready for more and Matty affirmed through another, not just for me but for a room filled with attendees waiting to hear about “What is Grief Teaching Me?”  Grief is teaching me and in this instance an entire room, that insight can be delivered when least expected. Signs and synchronicities can and do involve a number of people. Messages can be meant for more than one. He was presenting a lesson in soul awakening, teaching us to see with our hearts connected to our souls connected to Spirit. Proof of our soul contracts . . . a modern day unfurling. Hindsight—connecting the dots, looking backwards to see the beautiful outline of the big picture the look forward was bringing forth. An example of patience, how an open mind and heart and TRUSTING spirit that insight is presented not on our time but at a time for the highest good. We experienced the beauty in what grief has to offer. A gift received that gives meaning and understanding to the hard, hard emotional pain and suffering that comes with physical death, yet births spiritual growth and healing as part of the process. It added a divine seal to our purpose, Matty and I. It carries me from survive to thrive and lights up the tools of belief, awareness and experience. It has laid to rest the questions of whofor, whatfor, wherefor, whyfor, whenfor that swirled in my human heart.

My observation, my noticing does not deliver me to definitive conclusions to the questions of the ages asked and debated regarding the workings of consciousness, the soul or essence and what transpires after death. These questions, posed for centuries by the great philosophers, theosophists, scientists and physicists, continue to offer more than enough fodder for debate. I have a soul and I am having soul experiences. I cannot simply look at my world through a single lens, a human lens and gain insight. I can ask my soul the important questions and have been blessed with a glimpse into a soul remembrance yet I do not have expectations that by simply asking, all will be revealed. There is beauty in the mystery and gifts bestowed that soften some of life’s tragedies. There are no words in the human vocabulary, nor human experiences, nor human intelligence alone that can answer man’s existential questions.  Spirit holds the key to the door, that when unlocked, will transcend human understanding, defining through a sense of everlasting knowing that which Spirit only is meant to experience. I am re-living, re-seeing, experiencing anew events on my own grief journey seen through my human lens over the last few years. I am now being given the opportunity to reexamine my grief journey with a view gained while peering through my spiritual lens as Matty in spirit guides me to new insights. The process, the journey, the transformation continues. For now, I will soak in the feelings of awe, wonder, Love and comfort that Spirit allows me to walk with; grateful for the deepening understanding and sharing of our soul stories. We heal as we share, of this I am sure.

I trust Matty’s Spirit, my soul, my intuition, the divine mysteries held in life, death, and the in-between. Steve Jobs quote are sage words defining “hindsight” for me as I traverse this zig-zaggedy path in reconnecting with Matty in Spirit. I have asked some BIG questions and have received some BIG answers albeit not delivered in English to my right ear! This is the biggest puzzle I have ever attempted to piece together. I discover that the pieces have not all come in one box; rather, are doled out when needed, when the timing is right. Some pieces aren’t even in the box and may be delivered by someone nudged to give me the next piece not even knowing they were holding a very important part of this puzzle. The puzzle may not be solely meant for me but may be intended for viewing, for reflection and acceptance by others as well. It’s not important that I am in possession of every piece of the puzzle. The outline reveals a good, great glimpse of the big picture.

Hindsight allows me to connect the dots and my new memories with Matty, through his signs and synchronicities, now have a “remember when” ring to them.  “Remember Mom when I said this . . . or showed you that?” This is our new language—our new form of communication my, son and I—on-going communications that I am brought back to for deeper meaning as my heart is open and my soul is ready. He’s showing me how to look at things differently yet feel the strong connection that was and still is. Remembering his words, his motivation in Spirit to me, a universal message from Spirit to you from your beloved—blessing us all if we allow:
“As your broken heart heals, as you are in your long goodbye to the me that was . . . You create space for the me that still and always is right next to you, sitting in your heart . . . Keep going. I’m here. I will lead you to find your soul, your higher self. This is the you who is with me now. Then you can know we are together still . . . even between the signs. "
From Matty in Spirit to Rachel Pearson Spring 2018
With much Love,


Sunday, August 19, 2018



Transformation, arriving like a gentle giant—slowly, unexpectedly with the force of unassuming power. Felt physically in my heart space as a compression and when unfurled, expands my Love and understanding beyond the walls that encase the travails of my journey. There are no boundaries to divine Love . . . mine is an open heart ready to receive and welcome change.

Where to begin? Have I ever mentioned that I view my healing journey not in linear time—minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, but in seasons? Seasons like the four seasons experienced in New England but not necessarily following the order of our natural earthly divisions. Grief arrived in WINTER for me. Literally, Matthew passed in January, yet it was the mind and body numbing cold; the physical feel of the cold, the frosted breath that would catch in my throat, the inability to get warmth to my core, the sounds of sorrow crunching my lungs with every inhale. Winter’s gloom had a hold on me—my heart, my mind, my body, my spirit. It took a long period to get to Spring that first year. Winter has reappeared out of order, ushered in with a trigger, after Spring and Summer, at the moment of the Fall harvest put on hold until the cold was tended to. 

Winters are never as raw and cold as that first Winter. They feel more temperate, like a North Carolina winter these days. The seasons bring forth change and a transformation to my landscape. I find myself in a Spring of my grief. I have mourned and grieved with every ounce of my human spirit. The very hard emotional work has planted seeds for lessons in grief to bloom as can only be seen through the eyes of my spiritual lens. I continue to be made aware of the dualities that make up my earthly life. I live however, between two worlds. 

My spirit human is ready to be guided to a new understanding of what these dualities look like when experienced by soul spirit as I continue on in human breath. This is all very new to me. It feels like a merging. What comes to mind is a comparison of how the body heals a bruise. I cannot tell you medically how bruising is defined or the processes the body goes though in healing. I do know that a bruise speaks to me of injury when I see an explosion of color on my skin and I am able to observe some kind of absorption taking place within, resulting in the colors fading back to nothing, leaving no mark. I do not have to be privy to the intricacies of how my body heals. I have a great reverence for the human body, its Creator and if healed, my lessons will continue until I complete what I have come here to learn, in the capacity I am meant to serve.  I imagine that grief sitting in my heart is akin to bruising. The light that went out of my eyes, the tears that fell, the breath that was short, the color that left my face, the posture that was hunched—these were outward, physical signs that grief was sitting in my heart. As the seasons of grief flow through my heart, Joy and Love are slowly absorbing my grief. In so doing, my grief has transformed. It still sits in my heart and like a bruise can re-appear when triggered, when the heart is hurting. The absorption has created more space for beauty to enter, for the clarity that fuels my emotional and spiritual growth and makes room for embracing divine messages that affirm eternal Life, Love and an appreciation for the mystery of my God and the ONENESS of our Everlife Home.

The rain and humidity finally broke today and I could feel the change happening in my body starting yesterday. Never before have I associated what was happening internally and physically to me with what Nature was delivering externally. A conversation with a friend this week brought up questions of what and why was I holding onto? Why was I creating a damp, heavy, internal emotional environment so strong that it affected my sense of smell? Why was my body holding fluids making me feel like a soaked sponge? What was it going to take to wring this out of me? The great resources of silence and reflection brought me to new insights on the connection between my inner and outer worlds. A first lesson requiring a look through my spiritual lens, gaining a better understanding of ONENESS, the absorption, the merging of myself with a cycle in Nature. In response to asking Matty/Spirit for guidance earlier this year, the following words were brought forth:  
As your broken heart heals, as you are in your long goodbye to the me that was . . . You create space for the me that still and always is right next to you, sitting in your heart.
This is a cliché that I live in your heart? A worn-out line in love songs, or a feel-good mantra? No, this is not cliché. This is truth and the poets, the artists . . . they always know first. They often know, not knowing what they even know.
Keep going. I’m here. I will lead you to find your soul, your higher self. This is the you who is with me now. Then you can know we are together still . . . even between the signs” 

~Matty inspired word through Rachel Pearson, Spirit Messenger

A message from my son in spirit that feels like a continuing conversation, synchronicities that continue to circle his words of wisdom . . . how can this be? Belief in the divine order of life, the soul plan, trust, an open heart and a soul nudged to remembering will lead me to where I need to be. I have a beautiful story to tell that comes out of my presentation at the BPUSA Conference this year that will affirm Matty’s words once again.

These spirit inspired words I’ve written in this post serve as a forward, an introduction to the upcoming story . . . yes, “I’ve”. I have had a very uncomfortable time in the past trying to figure out what my role is in the words and messages that I scribe and add to from Matty in spirit. Many have helped me to see, and the phrase that brings clarity is “I am the instrument but the connection is mine”. I believe this is what Matty has been waiting for. Acknowledgment and acceptance of my part in our combined purpose; planting seeds for a shift in perspective with Grief. Certainly for me as I walk my unique journey and with hope that some things resonate within others, allowing for a change in perception that suffering need not last for this earthly lifetime, re-connecting with our beloved is very real and tangible and living lives through the soul’s remembrance of Divine Love will create a change in thoughts. Thoughts that have the power to create. Thoughts are energy and I wonder and imagine what all of we— heart-connected through the passing of a loved one—experiencing a shift and knowing that Love never dies, gathering and building good thoughts as Love expands our human hearts, cheered on by our souls as we live our lives as the best Humans we can possibly be—is this what is meant by changing the world one thought at a time? Through all the pain and sorrow, allowing for the beauty and the gifts, can we create a new modern day wonder to be added to the ancient 7 Wonders of the World?

. . . stay tuned, the story will be next and coming soon.

Much Love,


Monday, June 18, 2018


The Luna Moth—Actius luna

Have you ever been visited by a creature from a wonder tale? Something so beautiful it takes your breath away? Something that feels as though it dropped in to surround you and fill you up with a magical, mystical feel? Something so precious you know there is a special message connected to it?

This is our wonder tale. Bampy and I enjoyed a very family-centric weekend with all four grands delighting us with their laughter, joy, innate happiness, offering us continuous glimpses of the invisible bond of love they have for each other. Yes, the referee suit went on when the band of cousins dissolved into chaos and called for an instant replay to determine if a refresher course on sharing was in order however, these moments were few and far in-between. Bruce and I are rewarded with watching how “best friends” care for each other—our wish for Jason and Matty now handed down to the next generation.

Jaelyn was the first to notice the big yellow butterfly that was hovering at the top of one of our trees in the backyard. It was mid-morning and we were playing a game of Lawn Memory Match. She said it was her Poppy saying hello and Addy chimed in that is was her Daddy too. Energies were combined because what followed later in the day and into the next morning was pure Love—new memories for all. I love seeing the reaction of small children when beauty touches their hearts. The butterfly sighting opened all eyes and placed them on alert for the fascinating life that lives in nature.

The Bug Lover—the Curious One

In early afternoon, our bug lover Jordyn spotted a very large light green butterly (or moth??) on the back side of the house. It was hanging below eye-level for the littles. I had never before seen an insect like this and its beauty mesmerized me. I was filled with a feeling of peace and calm, gentleness—an indescribable feeling that stilled time. We all became engaged with this magical visitor. Jordyn, ever so curious, inspected the winged creature.  It flitted from the stone of the house to my lap and the glee I heard, oh how I wish I would have had time to record! But that’s the thing about memories—everlasting ones. You can visit the scene as if you were there whenever you wish to recall. It’s as if the heart has a storage bank that captures the precious moments of the day at the exact time the memory is made. Four children, embraced by sunlight and a warm breeze, hands clapping and feet bouncing. No words, simply joy heard in the ripples of laughter. I asked for a stick so that we could help our new friend to a safer spot. In a flash I was handed a twig, a once living part of a backyard tree. Severed and blown to the ground, its new purpose came to life—transformed into an emergency transport vehicle, sirens blaring to the nearest silver birch where safety and a perfect view was secured for our new visitor.
THE SPY SQUATS, Addy's name for the gang.
Imagination in full play. Not quite an ad-adult (this is her word for adult)
words sometimes get recreated and mispronounced!
There were moments of play and they’d each come back to the tree to see and pepper this insect with questions. Where did you come from? How come you’re still here? Are you dead? Are you sleeping? Are you watching us play? And a bit of gratitude: We’re so excited to have you here. After a few hours, and stunned that this beautiful specimen was still with us, I had a moment to research what exactly had graced us this Saturday morn and afternoon. Google, the wise sage of the unseen world of connections, brought up photos of the Luna Moth. I learned its Latin species name is Actius luna. This particular species is native to certain areas in North America and the temperature of their terrain determines the numbers of generations produced yearly. In New England, one generation is produced and an insect emerges from its cocoon in late May to mid June. Most of life happens in the larva and pupa stages for the Luna Moth. Sightings are rare as the Luna Moth is nocturnal, attracted to the light of the moon. If you want to experience the sight of this insect, a flashlilght is your friend, it is suggested. Be sure to leave the back porch light on is another. The moth will eclose as an adult with a life span of a week. It does not have a mouth—its purpose is to mate. I imagine it has an additional purpose which is to continue to release beauty, gentleness and pure love into a world that is soiled by unkindness, hatred, disrespect and violence.

It has no mouth. This knowledge alone made me aware of so many emotions and feelings running around my heart knocking at my soul’s door.  Matty’s energy. Wordless communication of Love. I instinctively knew that a powerful  message was going to be delivered but the time wasn’t yet right. It was the correct time however, to stay in the moment with our Luna Moth, listen intently as my heart waited. I could feel Love being poured into me. Comfort. My soul whispering a long held memory “I’m coming home, Mom . . . I’m coming home.”  

We checked in on our guest before bedtime and he (yes, a male Luna Moth) remained hanging from his resting place. When the sun rose on Sunday, Father’s Day our Luna Moth was found a bit higher up on the trunk of the tree. What tales could he tell us about his nighttime excursions or was he simply gaining a higher view to watch over the children as they bunked up on a futon and air mattresses sprinkled throughout the living room. They think it’s an adventure to move bedding around so that they can all be together. Cousin Love. There is something so special about it. It’s like a magical memory, imprinted on the heart. An unseen wonder and a forever connection with the ability to be recalled regardless of the number of years gone by. The kids were elated as they peered at their buddy from the inside. He was now a part of our Father’s Day celebration. 

My first question of the day, Jordyn asking “Gammy, Gammy, Gammy are you my grandmother”? Yes, I answered and to this she gave me a big smile and a wish of “Happy Father’s Day”. Bampy was greeted with their impromptu singing of Happy Father’s Day to the tune of Happy Birthday to you. From the mouths of babes . . . tiny mouths that communicate Love from the inside to the outside. Our friend the Luna Moth communicating from the inside to the inside. There is so much about communication that can be learned from having an open heart. 

Nikki came early to pick up her two, Addy and Bear. Bear greeted her with the words “Momma, Momma, you can’t wait to see our butterfly”. He brought her to the window and she was able to see and feel for the first time the mystical quality and beauty of a Luna Moth. As Nikki was taking in the sight, her Apple Watch rang and a photo of the Moth that I had texted her the day before popped up on her screen. The second time within a few weeks that Matty has sent an uninitiated, validating message through our texting. Soon after Nikki had taken in this experience, the Luna Moth flew away.

The Luna Moth visitation—a first for all of us. A first not mired in sadness with missing Matty on a special day. His spirit ushered in the joy of the day. A first with Matty and the unseen symbolism of the Luna Moth. We are all healing. This is our rebirth. The transformative ability of Spirit to guide us to Love—a Love that needs no words. A Love that protects. A Love that is birthed from our soul and gifted to our heart while we continue to live our very best human experience.

This poem came up in my search of the Luna Moth. We are all free to interpret our messages received.

Luna Moth II

There is a chance however small
That you may live to see another dawn
There is in you
I see
a mute understanding of how
a moment is
when in your lover’s embrace
you forget how much your stomach aches.
        Yolanda G. McAdam
Shared from Ms. McAdam’s blog Scribblings, The Luna Moth − Two Poems April 29, 2014


Hello Readers . . . 2018 has been filled with new lessons in healing from Matty. What is grief teaching me?, the wisdom of words shared from across the veil have been posted directly to my Facebook page Voice of Grief and not all here on the blog. I am traveling my journey to healing at a much different pace than that first fateful year of learning Matty had physically died in an auto accident. I have enjoyed the heart-connections made over the sharing of our stories. Facebook however, is not sharing the posts with all of you who have “Liked” the page. Please take a moment to subscribe via email (an icon of an envelope appears after my name in the last line of this post allowing you to subscribe) after reading this blog post. Looks like a website is in my future so that Matty’s inspirations can be fully shared with all of you.

If you’d like to catch up on What’s grief teaching me?, please click on the link below.  
Thank you for all the support, comfort and healing you’ve brought to me over the last 3+ years.

With much Love,


Saturday, April 7, 2018


Photographs and videos of Matty, mediums I thoroughly enjoy as my past continues to be a bridge to my present. In moving forward in my grief, I needed to visualize what my son in spirit may look like . . . impossible to know as my eyes see the human being. However, my soul yearns for the spirit to spirit connection and that I can try and see as my soul is carried along with the human side of me, nourished by breath and Love in this human experience.

Golden Light . . . free, not earthbound.
I can imagine!

I’ve been thinking a lot lately Matthew, about how you may look in Spirit. I came across this GIF file the other day and it made my heart skip a beat. I believe this may be you. Fly free, fly high, soar my Sweetheart—you’re not earthbound anymore! I hear, I read that death is nothing more than a transformation of energy to a different dimension—Heaven. Look at the transformations this bird goes through! Infinite orbs of golden light—shining, twinkling, changing shape and size. Are these your memories, your personality and character traits? Are you held together by Love? Consciousness, the soul does not have a physical body, yet I can see you, through you, around you. You are here, then there. Are you everywhere—a thought, a breath, a scent, a vision of beauty, a sound? Looks as though you are spreading light? Is this how we feel you—does your Love leave a trail of laughter and joy, are you filling our hearts with comfort, our souls with peace? Your energy appears forceful, strong, determined. You are Light you are Love—you continue to live in our hearts, our souls, in the Beyond. We are connected, we are One.

GIF by Aesthetics C o l o r s
from Voice of Grief blogpost "Golden Light Forever'mor