My grandmother killed herself when I was two years old.  My whole life the idea of her suicide haunted me.  Years later, the family discovered that my grandfather was an abusive man, verbally, emotionally, physically, and sexually.  I felt like I had some answers to my questions about her death as soon as that information came out in the open, but I still yearned to understand her more.  So I went to see a psychic.

I’ve seen a couple psychics before.  They never really made much sense to me, but they were little parlor tricks at carnivals and what not.  This time I did my research beforehand.  I talked to a few good friends, got their recommendations, looked online, and finally made an appointment with a woman who I believed really knew her stuff.

A week passed before my appointment.  I was nervous walking up to her door.  I knocked and this normal, average, every day woman opened the door.  She was just like anyone you’d see on the street.  I would never have guessed her occupation.  Madame Cecilia invited me into her house, which looked like my mom had decorated it.  Not a hint of the occult.  It was really cozy.

We sat on her couch and had a cup of tea.  I didn’t give her any hints as to why I was there.  She started talking about my boyfriend, and how I shouldn’t trust him so much.  I didn’t think much about it at the time, because I had no reason not to trust him, but later that month, I found out he had been cheating on me.

Then Cecilia talked about an older female figure, who was afraid to come close, as she seemed embarrassed.  Cecilia talked about this place in between death and heaven, for those who were too sad or too confused to know how to move on.  She said that this female was in that place, that she was depressed.  My grandmother had been depressed in life, all her life.  Cecilia talked about how this womans life was nothing like what she had intended for it, and that her relationships with family and friends felt like she had nothing to do with them, like she was not herself, unable to snap out of a fog.  Now she was in this place, wasn’t completely aware of the situation she was in, and was still unable to come out of the fog.

It was very hard for me to hear this, but I knew she was right.  This was how I always felt about my grandmother, how I had always envisioned her afterlife.

Everything else she said that day made sense to me.  I was happy that I had done my research.  it was money well spent, and I got some closure that I needed.  Whether or not she was legitimate, it felt that way to me.