Thank you for sharing something so intimate, yet universal. Most might not know the courage it takes to get on here and share this with us, but I do, and I know many others feel and can relate to your experience and story. It’s a reminder to all of us who’ve loved and lost that we’re never truly alone, we just have to listen differently, and believe deeply enough to see the colours again.
Aww… I’m touched you went back to read this. Just goes to show, you never know when that one person will stumble on something you wrote and find resonance. ♥️
This is one of the most profoundly moving pieces I’ve read in a long time. It’s a testament to how love, when true, transcends time, form, and even death itself. Your words and experiences carry the stillness of grief, but also the gentle awakening that follows when we learn to see the signs not as coincidences, but as continuations.
The way you describe Finn’s presence in the dream, the song, the bees, the rainbows, and the smallest of moments, others might not recognise or be aware of, speaks to a truth many feel but few can express. Just as you said, it’s about softening enough to receive. The rainbows, the bees, the music, they’re all part of that sacred dialogue between seen and unseen, life and afterlife, heart and soul.
I have been through my own grief journey in my own way, and I am still healing. It was relieving and healing to read how you’ve turned loss into a living language of connection. Music becomes communion. Sundays become sacred. One thing I have learnt from my experience, this heartfelt article and have added to my gold jar is that grief isn’t about letting go, it's about learning to hold differently.
Grief is a journey. Each one must enter their own valley of darkness. But death is not the ending we’ve been taught. Finn died and wants me to write about it so that we can help people. Doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking. Learning to hold it all differently, that’s the healing. 💔
We are with you in this journey as much as you decide to tag us along; you are not alone. I am with you in this journey. Thank you, Finn, thank you, Venus, for putting Finn's word in the most beautiful and soul-filling way possible. These words are sure light in the valley of darkness. We can certainly learn from people's experiences and also how they overcome obstacles. I am learning quite a few. I pray God comforts you when nobody is there, Sis. Keep holding it differently, you are the difference.
Thanks for sharing these posts with me. I needed time with them before I could respond.
What you wrote feels like prayer written in static. Like standing inside the wreckage of a stained-glass heart that still insists on catching light. You remind me that grief isn’t absence….it’s presence turned inside out.
After Ava died, I stopped asking where heaven was. I started realizing I was already standing in it, half-broken, half-awake. The proof wasn’t in miracles but in the tremors: a song on shuffle that lands like a whisper; her tee in my hands still warm from the sun; the air thickening just before the storm, like she’s trying to get through.
You call it a chariot. I think of my own car, how sometimes I drive the same backroads we once took at midnight. I swear she rides shotgun, silent but unmistakable. The streetlights blur, and for a second the whole world looks like it’s breathing in her color. Maybe love never dies, maybe it just changes its address.
Most people want grief to be polite, tidy, cured. But some of us know better. We know it’s sacred disobedience; the way we keep talking to the dead, keep answering, keep listening. The world says that’s madness. I call it devotion.
Your story reminds me what Ava tried to teach me without words: that love doesn’t stay buried. It resurrects through the smallest things. Through music. Through sunlight. Through a silence that hums with her name.
So yes…keep writing from that threshold. Keep holding the mirror to the unseen. Because some of us are still here, watching for the flicker, waiting for the next proof that the dead are never done loving us.
Wow. I am so honored you chose to share your story here with me. And I hope you can also take your beautiful and poignant comment and make your own post about it too. Because you get it. And you’re are also a very talented writer.
There is a book called, ‘Signs’ that was sent to me ‘by mistake’ (for in the intro to the book the psychic medium says you are only reading if because you were guided to be) so I got read it before Finn’s diagnosis. And I was so glad I had that as a reference. It is story after story like ours. And it’s beautiful to read. For, like you so eloquently put, from your beloved, Ava, “Love doesn’t stay buried.”
this is so beautiful. thank you for sharing. and I love how you interpret/see signs from Finn how you do. I think we all see/interpret signs differently. like your sister needing other signs for herself...and I am glad that you are still so connected to him even though he's no longer here physically! that's beautiful 💓
Thank you for sharing something so intimate, yet universal. Most might not know the courage it takes to get on here and share this with us, but I do, and I know many others feel and can relate to your experience and story. It’s a reminder to all of us who’ve loved and lost that we’re never truly alone, we just have to listen differently, and believe deeply enough to see the colours again.
I’m so glad we are connecting here. There is so much to be healed and shared by those of us brave enough to show up and put it on the page.
I promise I didn't cry listening to the audio you attached to this lovely, heartfelt article.
Aww… I’m touched you went back to read this. Just goes to show, you never know when that one person will stumble on something you wrote and find resonance. ♥️
This is one of the most profoundly moving pieces I’ve read in a long time. It’s a testament to how love, when true, transcends time, form, and even death itself. Your words and experiences carry the stillness of grief, but also the gentle awakening that follows when we learn to see the signs not as coincidences, but as continuations.
The way you describe Finn’s presence in the dream, the song, the bees, the rainbows, and the smallest of moments, others might not recognise or be aware of, speaks to a truth many feel but few can express. Just as you said, it’s about softening enough to receive. The rainbows, the bees, the music, they’re all part of that sacred dialogue between seen and unseen, life and afterlife, heart and soul.
I have been through my own grief journey in my own way, and I am still healing. It was relieving and healing to read how you’ve turned loss into a living language of connection. Music becomes communion. Sundays become sacred. One thing I have learnt from my experience, this heartfelt article and have added to my gold jar is that grief isn’t about letting go, it's about learning to hold differently.
Grief is a journey. Each one must enter their own valley of darkness. But death is not the ending we’ve been taught. Finn died and wants me to write about it so that we can help people. Doesn’t make it any less heartbreaking. Learning to hold it all differently, that’s the healing. 💔
We are with you in this journey as much as you decide to tag us along; you are not alone. I am with you in this journey. Thank you, Finn, thank you, Venus, for putting Finn's word in the most beautiful and soul-filling way possible. These words are sure light in the valley of darkness. We can certainly learn from people's experiences and also how they overcome obstacles. I am learning quite a few. I pray God comforts you when nobody is there, Sis. Keep holding it differently, you are the difference.
Thanks for sharing these posts with me. I needed time with them before I could respond.
What you wrote feels like prayer written in static. Like standing inside the wreckage of a stained-glass heart that still insists on catching light. You remind me that grief isn’t absence….it’s presence turned inside out.
After Ava died, I stopped asking where heaven was. I started realizing I was already standing in it, half-broken, half-awake. The proof wasn’t in miracles but in the tremors: a song on shuffle that lands like a whisper; her tee in my hands still warm from the sun; the air thickening just before the storm, like she’s trying to get through.
You call it a chariot. I think of my own car, how sometimes I drive the same backroads we once took at midnight. I swear she rides shotgun, silent but unmistakable. The streetlights blur, and for a second the whole world looks like it’s breathing in her color. Maybe love never dies, maybe it just changes its address.
Most people want grief to be polite, tidy, cured. But some of us know better. We know it’s sacred disobedience; the way we keep talking to the dead, keep answering, keep listening. The world says that’s madness. I call it devotion.
Your story reminds me what Ava tried to teach me without words: that love doesn’t stay buried. It resurrects through the smallest things. Through music. Through sunlight. Through a silence that hums with her name.
So yes…keep writing from that threshold. Keep holding the mirror to the unseen. Because some of us are still here, watching for the flicker, waiting for the next proof that the dead are never done loving us.
Wow. I am so honored you chose to share your story here with me. And I hope you can also take your beautiful and poignant comment and make your own post about it too. Because you get it. And you’re are also a very talented writer.
There is a book called, ‘Signs’ that was sent to me ‘by mistake’ (for in the intro to the book the psychic medium says you are only reading if because you were guided to be) so I got read it before Finn’s diagnosis. And I was so glad I had that as a reference. It is story after story like ours. And it’s beautiful to read. For, like you so eloquently put, from your beloved, Ava, “Love doesn’t stay buried.”
Thank you for sharing. It resonates, even though it is not a husband I miss. It is too early days and chaotic to connect. I hope one day I can 🌈
this is so beautiful. thank you for sharing. and I love how you interpret/see signs from Finn how you do. I think we all see/interpret signs differently. like your sister needing other signs for herself...and I am glad that you are still so connected to him even though he's no longer here physically! that's beautiful 💓