Going Through My Dad’s Things: Grief, Memory and the Love That Remains
There are some parts of grief that you know are going to be difficult.
And then there are the parts nobody really prepares you for.
A few days ago, I was back in London going through my dad's possessions.
Dad passed unexpectedly last October, and for various reasons the family home had remained largely as it was. Drawers still contained his things. Cupboards were full. Clothes were hanging where he'd left them.
And when the time finally came to start sorting through everything, I don't think I realised quite what that would feel like.
There is something incredibly strange about going through the physical remnants of somebody's life.
You find yourself making decisions about objects that, a year earlier, wouldn't have required a second thought.
Keep.
Donate.
Throw away.
Take home.
And suddenly a completely ordinary object isn't ordinary anymore.
Because it was theirs.
When an object becomes a memory
My dad was a tremendously private person.
We loved each other very much, although we were also incredibly different and certainly didn't always see eye to eye.
Going through some of his things therefore felt strangely intimate. At times, almost as though I was intruding into parts of his life that he'd never particularly invited anybody into while he was here.
Then I opened drawers and found cards I'd given him over the years.
Photographs.
Little things he'd kept.
And I discovered that he'd carried a photograph of me in his wallet.
That one got me.
Because grief has this extraordinary ability to bring enormous emotion into the smallest things.
A photograph in a wallet can suddenly say something that perhaps wasn't always easily said in words.
And amongst all the heaviness, there were moments that made us smile too.
My dad was the sort of man whose house you'd want to find yourself in if there were ever a zombie apocalypse.
He bought everything in bulk.
The amount of baked beans, hand soap and various supplies we discovered was quite remarkable. There was almost a part of me thinking, I can't possibly throw all of this away only to go home and buy exactly the same thing from Sainsbury's next week.
That's grief too.
It isn't one emotion.
It can be heartbreaking one minute and unexpectedly funny the next.
Grief doesn't move in a straight line
Something the experience reminded me of is just how non-linear grief is.
We often talk about grief as though we're gradually moving away from something.
Days become weeks. Weeks become months. Presumably, therefore, we're getting further from the pain.
I'm not sure that's how it works.
You can feel quite strong for a period of time and then open a drawer, smell something familiar, hear a piece of music or discover an old photograph and suddenly find yourself transported somewhere completely different.
Going through Dad's possessions felt, at moments, like opening the door back onto those earliest days of grief.
But perhaps that isn't going backwards.
Perhaps it's simply another part of loving somebody.
The things people leave behind
Working as a medium means that grief is never very far away from what I do.
People come for mediumship readings for many different reasons, but very often there is somebody they love and miss at the heart of it.
Sometimes that person has been in the spirit world for many years.
Sometimes the grief is much more recent.
And experiencing the passing of my own dad hasn't suddenly given me all the answers about grief. If anything, it has probably made me even more aware that every person's experience of it is deeply individual.
Being a medium doesn't exempt you from being human.
I can believe wholeheartedly in the continuation of consciousness and still miss someone's physical presence.
I can have experiences that strengthen my belief that life continues and still wish I could pick up the phone.
I think those two things can exist together.
What mediumship can offer in grief
I've always believed that the most meaningful mediumship is about far more than simply saying, “Your loved one is here.”
For me, evidence matters.
Personality matters.
Memories matter.
The little things that make somebody unmistakably them matter.
Because those are often the things that can shift mediumship from an abstract belief in an afterlife into a deeply personal experience of connection.
A mannerism.
A relationship.
A memory nobody else would understand.
A particular object.
Something they used to say.
The way they made you feel.
When those details come forward naturally within a reading, something can happen that is difficult to put neatly into words.
I don't think mediumship removes grief, and I would never want to suggest that a reading is a replacement for grieving or for professional support when somebody needs it.
But I do believe mediumship can sometimes bring comfort within grief.
It can offer another perspective on separation.
And, at its best, it can remind somebody that while a relationship has changed enormously, love itself has not simply disappeared.
Do possessions hold energy?
Going through Dad's things also made me think about something that has fascinated people involved in mediumship for a very long time: our energetic relationship with physical objects.
Within psychic and mediumistic work, you may hear the term psychometry — receiving impressions or information while holding an object connected with somebody.
I've experienced enough through mediumship to remain very open-minded about what objects may hold, trigger or allow us to access.
But I also think there is something simpler happening.
We give objects meaning.
A watch isn't simply a watch if you remember it being on your dad's wrist every day.
A chair isn't simply furniture if you can picture somebody sitting in it.
A handwritten note is no longer just ink on paper.
Our memories live alongside these objects.
Perhaps that's why deciding what to keep can feel so difficult.
We can almost fear that by releasing the possession, we're releasing a little bit more of the person.
Yet over the last few days I've found myself coming back to one thought.
The possession isn't the love.
The photograph may awaken it.
The jumper may remind you of it.
The card may take you straight back to a particular Christmas or birthday.
But the love was never contained inside the object in the first place.
Mediumship has become more personal for me
Dad's passing has inevitably changed my relationship with my own mediumship too.
Since he went to the spirit world, I've had experiences through other mediums that have helped me understand aspects of him differently — including parts of his life and personality that perhaps I didn't fully understand while he was physically here.
And recently I've been spending much more time with my own mediumship.
I've been giving readings, demonstrating mediumship publicly and allowing myself to become more curious about what communication with the spirit world might actually be capable of when we stop trying to force it into neat boxes.
One of the biggest changes I've noticed is simply that I'm relaxing.
I'm trusting more.
I'm trying less desperately to “get it right”.
And, strangely enough, the less I try to manufacture something impressive, the more vivid and natural the experience seems to become.
There is still so much about consciousness, spirit and the nature of life that I don't pretend to understand.
That's part of what keeps me fascinated by it.
Maybe we don't have to let go of love
People sometimes use the words moving on when talking about grief.
I've never particularly liked that expression.
I'm not sure we're supposed to move on from people we love.
Maybe we move with them.
Their physical presence changes.
Our relationship with them changes.
Eventually their possessions may move into different homes, be passed onto other people, donated, worn, used or finally let go.
But the relationship they helped create within us doesn't have to be thrown away with the contents of a cupboard.
I'm still working that out myself.
Grief has taught me many things already and I'm certain it has more to teach me.
But after several exhausting days of boxes, drawers, vans, photographs, trainers, memories — and enough baked beans to survive the end of civilisation — perhaps this is the thought I want to hold onto most:
We don't need to hold onto everything in order to hold onto someone.
Love was never living in the things.
Love is what remains.
If you're considering a mediumship reading
If you feel drawn to explore a connection with somebody you love in the spirit world, I offer private mediumship readings from Bristol and online via Zoom.
My intention is always to approach the work naturally, compassionately and without forcing an outcome, allowing evidence, memories, personality and communication to unfold in the way they need to.
You can find out more about my mediumship readings, psychic tarot readings and psychic & mediumship blend readings through the Readings section of my website.
And if grief feels overwhelming or you feel you need additional support, please seek appropriate bereavement or professional support alongside any spiritual exploration.
Listen to the Soul Sync episode
This Insight was inspired by a recent short solo episode of Soul Sync, recorded after returning from London and sorting through my dad's belongings.
In the episode I talk more personally about those few days, the strange emotions attached to possessions, the changes happening within my own life and where my mediumship is taking me.
The episode closes with the beautiful Love by Noa Bentor.