 I'm sitting somewhere I never imagined I'd be, doing something I never thought I'd do. I'm leaning towards her, beads of sweat building across my forehead. My arms are millimetres from hers. My pulse accelerates. My pupils enlarge. I don't blink. Neither does she. It's well intense. It's December 2019, and I'm sitting opposite a psychic medium in a one-on-one reading at a professional networking event for gay men. And, to my alarm, I've just realised: I'm crying. In public! In front of potential future husbands! The shame! As the tears tickle my face, I suddenly realise: I didn't cry like this over my dad's death in 2015 until months, if not years, after he died. I couldn't believe the medium's words had provoked such a strong reaction in me – after all, I didn't believe in them, or their ability to contact those who have passed. In fact, I was only there because I made a promise to my younger sister, Taren. After our dad died suddenly in 2015, her psychic intrigue intensified. She's hired 10 different mediums in her lifetime – many of them after his death to, as she saw it, 'bring him back' in the room. Up until this point, I'd ribbed her for her psychic addiction. Told her they were clearly bulls**t. But after we lost dad, I knew I had to tread more carefully. His sudden death was unexpected and painful. It left us blindsided. We handled our grief completely differently. I coped by throwing myself into life, absorbing distractions, and refusing to wallow. I'd also perceived that some of my more secular friends seemed to have a blind spot when it came to psychics and mediums (Picture: Gary Nunn) I felt the urgency to live more keenly than ever – even booking a solo trip around Japan. Meanwhile, my sister withdrew from life to mourn him, and hired mediums to stay 'connected' to him. I was concerned she was being freeze-framed in 'denial' or 'bargaining', the firs){kind=link}
NEWS… BUT NOT AS YOU KNOW IT
I’m sitting somewhere I never imagined I’d be, doing something I never thought I’d do.
I’m leaning towards her, beads of sweat building across my forehead. My arms are millimetres from hers. My pulse accelerates. My pupils enlarge. I don’t blink. Neither does she.
It’s well intense.
It’s December 2019, and I’m sitting opposite a psychic medium in a one-on-one reading at a professional networking event for gay men.