I wake up trying to stop this feeling inside me, filled with worry.
I start my morning standing in the kitchen, and I feel this massive being standing to my right. I pause, automatically grabbing my phone to text my daughter to check in and see how she’s doing—trying not to have her feel my worry.
She responds with:
“Hi Mom! I’m doing so good, I love my new place and I’m excited to be here. I love you!”
I tried to allow that response to help me shake this terrible worry and continued through my day.
That night, as I’m in between asleep and awake, I hear her crying:
“Mom… Mom… I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”
I kick that out of my mind, thinking I’m just worrying and it’s not real.
I wake up, trying hard to kick this feeling out of my field and move through it—praying it’s just fear.
I get a call while I’m sitting in the living room, sipping my tea. It’s her best friend, Annysia, calling—as she had just moved into Annysia’s house by the ocean. I immediately prepare myself for the wave.
She shares that she found Brooke on the bathroom floor. Gone.
All of my worst fears have come true.
My beautiful baby, my best friend, a part of my soul… has left this earth.
One cannot describe the immense pain your body, mind, and spirit feel in that moment. It hit me like a train, and I fell to the ground. I couldn’t scream—I wanted to—but all I could do was catch my breath through the tears and call out to her to see if she’s okay.
I spent the next few days strong for her, thinking I have to help her through this on the other side, just as I taught her in life—what to do and not to do if she were to cross over. I’ve lost my dearest and closest friends before, and Brooke witnessed what I experienced helping them through their transitions.
She was screaming, crying—I could hear her like she was right next to me, in my mind, in my ears, in my field.
I told her:
“Honey, I love you. It’s okay—we’re going to get through this together. Please don’t go see your body. You know what Mia (my best friend, and I’ll share more of that later) went through after she left hers. You don’t want to see that. I’m not mad at you. I love you. We’re in this together.”
I spend my life now talking to her every day, as she helps steer and guide me in ways that never stop amazing me. She warns me of things to come, and I know she’s right here—she proves it every single day.
Life as we knew it changed forever.
And I refuse to wallow in grief.
I would much rather use this lesson to help myself and others grow a deeper connection to the spirit world—to help others who have felt this pain, whether they’re here in the physical or in another dimension.
This is my path.
This is our path.
Thank you forever, my beautiful girl.
