Living in the I Don’t Know

Nearly 14 years ago, I decided to let go of everything I ever believed - good, bad, right, wrong, tradition, religion…

And to go to the I don’t know.

I felt like I got flung off into outer space, and I didn’t know anyone who was living like that except Cory, who was across the country and unavailable to me in the ways I needed.

Since then, I’ve come to learn that as Cory said, “Uncertainty is essential and my path to freedom.”

If I already knew the future, there would be no need for me to be present because I would just follow the plan and go about my business as usual.

Living in the I don’t know requires me to be present to ascertain the next right step.

When I AM present, I AM operating from my divine limitless nature as Presence itself.

But the mind always wants to know and is constantly asking the question why because it wants to figure things out.

And yet — the mind can never make the body feel safe.

The body will only feel safe as it appreciates and accepts everything in this moment.

So I’ve learned to be present and to trust and that’s how I AM setting myself free moment by moment.

When Loved Ones Let Us Know They’re Near

About three months after Cory passed, our family gathered one evening around a fire, still tender and finding our footing in a world that no longer looked the same.

Earlier that day, Cory’s father had run a marathon, and as night fell, we sat together talking quietly about Cory, about running, and about the way movement had always been part of how he expressed himself.

My son read a poem he had written about Cory—running and dancing with him.

I was moved to tears, overwhelmed by gratitude for this circle of love and for the way Cory was still so present among us.

I shared one of Cory’s old posts and a video of him running and dancing, reflecting on life and on what the process had taught him.

As we sat there, something unusual happened.

Out of nowhere, we heard the sound of heavy rain rushing through the trees.

It was so distinct that I stood up and held my arms out, expecting to feel drops on my skin—but there was nothing.

The sky above us was completely clear.

There had been no wind before, and as quickly as it began, the sound built into a strong, unmistakable rush of wind that swept through the trees surrounding us.

It lasted only seconds.

Then everything was calm again.

No rain. No clouds. Just stillness.

What mattered was that we all experienced it together.

We all knew the air had been still before.

We all heard it.

We all felt it.

In that moment, there was no questioning. No interpreting. Just presence.

Our loved ones are constantly trying to communicate with us—in quiet ways, in unexpected ways, and sometimes in ways so clear they stop us in our tracks.

This was just one of the many ways Cory was speaking to us, reminding us that he was still near, still part of our lives, still moving with us.

He was there.

And we knew it.

What I Wish Others Knew When I Was Going Through the Depths of Grief

Losing my son, Cory, was the most gut-wrenching and traumatic experience of my life.

Thankfully, he came to me quickly as my Spirit Guide and has supported me masterfully from the other side.

But during that time—when I needed other humans the most—many didn’t have the energy or capacity to be there for me.

I was a mirror for the pain they didn’t want to feel.

And though I know they cared deeply, they simply didn’t know what to say or do… so they avoided me.

I want to share what would have truly helped me, in hopes that when you meet someone walking through deep grief, you’ll feel more confident reaching out in ways that genuinely support them.

1️⃣ Let Them Feel

After Cory passed, I knew instinctively to allow myself to feel everything.

Most people aren’t comfortable with that—because they can barely hold their own feelings, let alone someone else’s.

The best way to support someone who’s grieving is to let them feel without trying to make them feel better.

Their sadness isn’t wrong.

What creates suffering is resisting the grief.

Avoid sugarcoating or offering silver linings like, “He’s in a better place.”

Instead, try:

“I’m so sorry. I’m here for you. You can share whatever feels right, and I’ll listen.”

2️⃣ Let Them Remember

I needed to know that Cory’s life mattered—that he was special, that he was still here in some way.

But most people avoided talking about him, afraid it would upset me.

In truth, that silence hurt even more.

Let people talk about their loved ones, even if it brings tears.

Remembering them keeps them alive in our hearts—and it heals.

The next time you meet someone grieving, ask:

“Tell me about them. What were they like? How did they live?”

That simple invitation can make their whole day.

3️⃣ Let Them Be

There is no timeline for grief.

Don’t rush someone through it.

The most supportive thing you can do is allow them to have their own experience—while reminding them you’re there, no matter what.

People don’t need to be fixed.

They need loving, nonjudgmental presence.

They don’t need advice; they need to know you understand.

Simply listening with compassion is far more healing than suggesting solutions or therapies.

Wisdom and perspective can come later—after presence and understanding have been offered.

4️⃣ Let Them Know They’re Not Alone

One of the most healing things you can say is simple and true:

“Though you feel alone, you are not alone. I’m here with you.”

The Day I Lost My Son and Began to Find MySelf

Eleven years ago today, I woke to a phone call from the Harris County Medical Examiner’s office informing me that my son, Cory, had died.

The news hit like a lightning strike — shocking, disorienting, and utterly devastating.

And yet, even in that moment of heartbreak, I felt mysteriously held and supported by something larger than myself.

Within days, Cory began revealing himself as my Spirit Guide, and we embarked on a journey that has been nothing short of epic.

Through the depths of my grief, I learned how to love myself.

Through unimaginable loss, I discovered that death is only an illusion — that when souls leave their human bodies, they simply shift into another dimension of being.

I AM no longer afraid of death, because I know now that it is merely the other side of the coin of life.

Throughout my own life, I’ve experienced many deaths and rebirths — the natural rhythm of transformation that all living things must pass through.

There must be a deconstruction before a reconstruction, a letting go before renewal.

Today, I feel profound gratitude — for my continued connection with Cory, for the life we co-create across the veil, and for the opportunity to share this journey with others who are walking through their own grief and awakening.

I would not change a thing.

Every moment has brought me to this beautiful life I now live — a life rooted in love, freedom, and truth.

If it weren’t for Cory and the work we’ve done together, I would not be the woman I AM today.

So today, I celebrate Cory.

I celebrate myself.

And I celebrate the sacred, ongoing partnership we share.