Navigating Loss: A Journey of Love, Spirit, and Healing
Read Time: estimated 6–8 minutes Losing a loved one is one of life’s hardest challenges, and this year, on November 2, 2024, I lost my dad Alan Goldstone. He was 81 years old—just 19 days shy of his 82nd birthday. He always had impeccable timing in life, and even his passing carried his unique flair for cutting things close. While it was his time to go, the process of saying goodbye was far from easy. As much as I’d love to tell you that being a energy worker gave me a “get out of grief free” card, the truth is, I felt and still feel every bit of it. But grief isn’t just about pain—it’s about love, reflection, and sometimes even laughter amidst the tears. My dad’s life, filled with strength, struggles, and humour, reminded me that even in loss, we can find moments of light. A Life Marked by Resilience (and a Stubborn Streak) From as long as I can remember, my dad wasn’t the healthiest man. At just 40 years old, he was diagnosed with Chronic Fatigue Syndrome (ME, Yuppie Flu). That marked the beginning of a long journey of ups and downs in his health. By the time he reached his late 70s, life decided to up the ante by throwing Progressive Supranuclear Palsy (PSP) into the mix. PSP is a rare neurological condition—a fancy way of saying, “Your brain is trying to pull a fast one on you.” It’s cruel and relentless, stealing mobility, balance, and the ability to live independently. My dad, a once-proud and dashing man, became confined to a chair, watching TV and trying to outsmart his condition with sheer willpower (and, let’s be honest, a good dose of grumpiness). He adored his grandchildren and lived for their visits. Even when he couldn’t do much else, his face lit up whenever they were around. That love kept him going, but I could see the toll PSP had taken. As a family, we worked hard to give him as much dignity and comfort as possible, knowing how much he valued those things. Did I Get a Heads-Up from Spirit? Here’s where people always get curious. As an energy worker and spirit messenger, many assume I get advance notice when a loved one’s time is near. I’d love to say I had a big cosmic “Heads up! Dad’s checking out soon!” message, but no, I didn’t. Spirit doesn’t always work that way. Instead, they leave breadcrumbs. Little clues. Subtle hints. The problem? I was so busy juggling earthly life—caring for him, supporting my family, and trying to keep my sense of humor intact—that I missed the signs until later. Looking back, I can see them clearly. But in the moment, I was as clueless as anyone else. (Let’s face it—sometimes spirit’s signs are like those Ikea instructions. You don’t know what they mean until it’s already built… or broken.) A Proud Legacy (and the Men Who Don’t Last as Long) My dad came from a line of incredibly strong-willed people, especially the women. His grandmother lived to 97, his mother to 96, and his two aunts are still going strong at 100 and 102. The men? Well, let’s just say they didn’t quite match those numbers. (It’s like the universe decided to give the longevity genes to the women and leave the men out of the deal.) But while the men in my family may not live as long, they live deeply. My dad was no exception. He loved fiercely, fought valiantly against every health challenge, and carried himself with as much dignity as his body allowed. Even in his final days, he made sure his family felt his love, especially his grandchildren, who were his greatest joy. Grieving as a Lightworker Let me bust a myth here: Just because I’m a lightworker doesn’t mean I don’t cry into my tea (or wine, depending on the day) when grief hits. Yes, I have a spiritual connection to the higher realms, but that doesn’t make me immune to the very human feelings of loss. When my dad passed, my first instinct wasn’t to wallow in my own grief—it was to help my children process theirs. They adored their granddad, and the loss hit them hard. With the help of spirit, I found the strength to lift them up, which, in turn, helped me heal too. But let me tell you, even as a spiritual worker, I’ve had moments where I shook my fist at the heavens and asked, “Really? This is the plan?” It’s okay to feel that way. Spirit knows we’re human, and they’re not offended by our emotions. Finding Humor Amidst the Tears One thing my dad taught me was the power of humor, even in the darkest times. After his passing, I couldn’t help but chuckle at some of the little quirks he left behind. Like how he’d stockpile biscuits “just in case” and how his remote control was practically glued to his hand. Grief doesn’t always have to be solemn. Sometimes, remembering the little funny moments—the quirks, the jokes, the times they made you roll your eyes—can bring comfort. It’s those moments that remind you they’re still with you, in spirit and in memory. Support for Carers: You’re Not Alone If you’re caring for someone with PSP, Parkinson’s, or any other debilitating condition, know that you’re not alone. In the UK, Parkinson’s UK offers fantastic resources for carers, from helplines to local support groups. They also provide practical advice for handling the emotional and physical toll of caregiving. Across the pond in the USA, organizations like The Parkinson’s Foundation and Cure PSP are there to support you with education, advocacy, and community. Caring for someone with a condition like PSP is a marathon, not a sprint. It’s okay to ask for help, whether from family, friends, or support organizations. You don’t have to do it all on your own. Trusting Spirit and Moving Forward If you’re grieving, you may be desperate
