Hello From the Other Side
Earlier this year, Nora had an intense spiritual experience- she was able to talk to her dead husband via a medium. Today she tells us about that experience.
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If you have anxiety, depression or any sense of the world around you, you know that not *everything* is going to be okay. In fact, many things aren’t okay and never will be! But instead of falling into the pit of despair, we’re bringing you a little OK for your day. Every weekday, we’ll bring you one okay thing to help you start, end or endure your day with the opposite of a doom scroll.
Created and hosted by Nora McInerny.
Find Nora’s weekly newsletter here.
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Share your OK thing at 612.568.4441 or by emailing IGTBO@feelingsand.co.
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The IGTBO team is Nora McInerny, Claire McInerny, Marcel Malekebu, Amanda Romani Grace Barry and Michelle Plantan.
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The transcript for this episode can be found here.
Find all our shows and our store at www.feelingsand.co.
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Transcripts may not appear in their final version and are subject to change.
In January 2024, I talked to my first husband. The one who died in November 2014. Whose initial I wear around my neck. Whose writing I wear on my wrists. Whose soul I carry tucked inside of my own.
I have spoken with him before; short, accurate and resonant messages randomly delivered by two different mediums, visits in dreams where he is both dead and also alive and ready to tell me something important. He shows up for me in numbers (666), in the sky (hawks), in obscure songs that hit the radio at the exact same moment.
I am not the most woo of people, but I did grow up Catholic, and there’s a mysticism to that religion that does make sense to me: pray to a saint, pray for your dead loved ones, remember them with lit candles and rosaries. The veil between what is now and what is next is sometimes thin, and I have seen through it only a few times. When I told my stern father, on his death bed, that he’d been a good dad, he’d looked at me with childlike disbelief. Softened by the specter of death, he’d whispered and incredulous, “really?” He died a few hours later.
Weeks later, when Aaron took his very last breath and I felt a keyhole to the universe opening up. When our son — unprompted — stood on his tiny picnic table in the backyard of a home Aaron had never lived in and said, “I’m waving to Papa! He’s the sky. He’s the grass. He’s the clouds.”
I didn’t know what, exactly, I was getting into last night. I knew that my friend Amanda had invited me to an event in Burbank, that I’d bought a ticket, and that I’d be meeting some of her friends. I didn’t know that Laura Lynne Jackson was a celebrated medium, or really why we were there. I brought a notebook and got there early like a good girl, and then I had the most intense spiritual experience of my entire life.
Aaron was there. He was hilarious. And in front of ~150 people I asked questions I didn’t know I had and got answers I didn’t know I needed and validation of what I knew in my heart and soul: that he had guided me to Matthew, that the baby we lost was never meant for me on Earth, but for him in the other world, that he’s a part of this family, and he loves us. All of us.
It felt like hours. It was minutes.
And 12 hours later, I walked into a random coffee shop and the music switched to the artist we’d seen on our very first date and electricity shot down my spine.
(I kept my sunglasses on inside).
Aaron told me before he died, “It’s going to be okay,” and I thought, “that’s the brain cancer talking, buddy, because no, things will never be okay again!”
My father told me, hours before he died, “we never really leave one another.”
One was an agnostic who regularly wore a SATAN tank top. One was Very Catholic.
Both were right.
Any medium will tell you that they’re never your loved ones’ first choice, that your dead people are always here, always watching (note to self: stop picking your nose, Aaron really hated it!).
The ones you love still love you. Are always sending you little signs and messages that you are loved. You are held. You are — believe it or not — going to be okay.
xo,
Nora
If you like my writing, you might like my newsletter, which is linked in the description. The post we’re linking to also includes photos that go along with this essay.