A personal reflection from a Psychic Medium on grief, legacy, and connection beyond death

Recently, my mother gave me several of my father’s personal belongings—many years after his death. Among them was his wallet.

I had seen it before, but I had never really gone through it. Not with time, perspective, and the tenderness that only comes later. Recently, I finally opened it and looked closely at what my father carried with him every day.

Before I even looked inside, the wallet itself told a story.

My father made it by hand. He tooled the leather, chose the design, dyed it, and stitched it himself—carefully, deliberately. This was not a purchased object. It was something he created, something meant to last, something meant to be carried close to the body.

And he did carry it—for decades.

What Was Inside My Father’s Wallet

Inside were the ordinary artifacts of a working life:

• Old credit cards, long expired
• A Sears card
• A JCPenney card

Practical items. Familiar items. The quiet evidence of responsibility and routine.

But then there were the unexpected things.

Photographs.

• Pictures of my mother
• Pictures of his father
• Pictures of his five granddaughters

And tucked carefully inside—creased and worn from time—was a newspaper clipping of his father’s obituary.

That stopped me.

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An Obituary Carried for a Lifetime

My grandfather died when my father was just two years old. My dad never truly knew him. There were no memories passed down through stories or shared experiences.

And yet, my father carried his father with him every day of his adult life.

In his wallet.

Alongside his pilot’s license.
Alongside his postal service training certification.
Alongside the proof of the life he built largely on his own.

The obituary wasn’t just paper.

It was connection.
It was lineage.
It was belonging.

Grief, Time, and Outliving Our Parents

My father died when he was 59.

I am 69 years old now—ten years older than my father ever lived to be.

That realization landed not just emotionally, but physically. It reshaped my understanding of time, inheritance, and the invisible threads that bind generations together.

As a Psychic Medium, I often witness how love continues after death. But this moment reminded me of something deeply human and quietly profound:

We carry our dead with us long before we join them.

My father carried the father he never really knew.
I carry the father I knew—and now understand in a new way.

The SPIRITUAL Meaning of Objects Left Behind

In mediumship work, people often expect dramatic signs—visions, voices, undeniable moments. But more often, love shows up quietly.

In wallets.
In drawers.
In objects people keep without quite knowing why.

Personal items hold energy, memory, and intention. They carry emotional and spiritual fingerprints. They are vessels of love.

That handmade leather wallet—stitched by my father’s hands—carried his identity, his responsibilities, his memories, and his ancestors.

Love doesn’t disappear when someone dies.
It changes form.
It becomes quieter—but no less present.

A Gentle Invitation

My work as a Psychic Medium is rooted in moments like this—where love, memory, and spirit intersect in ordinary, tangible ways. Mediumship is not about spectacle. It’s about listening deeply to what remains, what lingers, and what still wants to be known.

If you are grieving, remembering, or feeling the presence of someone who has died, know this:

Connection does not require memory to exist.
Love does not require a body to endure.

Sometimes, it lives quietly—waiting in a wallet—until the right moment to be seen.