What an extraordinary gift it was to serve as a conduit for Agnes, who chose to speak to her beloved granddaughter, Katt, during a Mediumship Development Circle I attended. The practice was in Automatic Writing. A favourite way of connecting to spirit for me!
With Katt’s permission, I share her grandmother’s message with you.
In it, Grandma Agnes takes us back to an afternoon in the hospital during her final days, when Katt came to sit beside her. Though Agnes appeared unable to speak, resting quietly in her physical body, she wants Katt to know this:
She was aware. She could feel her. She could hear her.
I close my eyes and breathe deeply, inviting a spirit forward for Katt. In a vision, I see a woman lying on a hospital bed. The head of the bed was slightly raised, a light blanket neatly folded across her chest. The Spirit suggests she would prefer to imagine herself sitting up in a chair, though truth be told she finds herself lying still.
“Are you listening?” she asks me. “I am here tonight.”
Turning her focus to speak to Katt, this gentle woman whispers, “I’d like to talk to you about the last time we spoke. That I could feel your hand holding mine, though I was too weak to squeeze you tight. That I could hear your voice talking to me, though I was unable to speak.”
Opening to curiosity, I take in the details of her appearance. She looks neatly dressed, though I understand this is her playful imagining. In reality, her arm stretches across the blanket toward a younger woman (Katt), who gently cradles the elder’s hand in her upturned palm.
In this moment, the spirit places something where the two hands meet. A small, black rectangular box.
Now, the spirit sits up in a chair, looking at the younger woman, smiling warmly. She has placed the box purposely as a symbol of connection between the two. The box looks black, but I hear her whisper, “Red.” Perhaps the box is red inside?
Resting again on the bed with her head raised slightly, the elder woman shares something important. She tells me her body is still and un-moving. “Like a stiff mask,” she gently explains. It is no longer somewhere she can move. Only something she remains within.
“I am tired now,” she tells me. Too tired to want to expend energy animating her outer form. Yet, as I look on, something shifts. I see her spirit rise behind her body. With joy she shares these words:
“I am free behind the mask of this body. I am free now to laugh and dance. I am no longer trapped, locked in one place, though you can’t hear me say so. Know that. Celebrate with me. I am dancing in the light! And I see you there, holding my hand close to your heart (metaphorically). We are one, you and I. Dance with me!”
The spirit of this gentle soul had risen behind her immobile body as a young woman again. Brilliant smile, sparkling eyes, basked in warm yellow light, rising up—free!
“Let this be your truth,” she says. “That we are one, with the joy of all eternity well within our grasp, in heaven and on earth. Dance with me. Let the world know there is no such thing as separation. Let’s live that way, you and me. We know each other well, and in that way, know the rhythm of time and space runs in circles. There is life, and then there is life—one and the same.
“Let your eyes see the whole of it. There you will find me! Amen to your open, loving heart. A gift to all on both sides of the veil.”
~
Later, Katt sends me a picture of the lacquer box her Grandmother mentioned.
If you recall, I saw a black box with the word, ‘red’ gently whispered. Now we can see Agnes referred to a sea of red, both inside and outside the box! I was so grateful to Agnes for the clarity with which she presented something Katt would remember as precious between them.
Katt says:
“My Grandmother’s name was Agnes. She was an incredibly intelligent woman; a teacher who worked full time at the Alberta School for the Deaf…very progressive for that day and age! She was a music prodigy––very gifted, and also taught piano. My Grandmother was an absolutely amazing, strong woman. Parkinson’s (ah, the ‘mask’ comment makes sense to me now) and arthritis locked her into her body, which took away the ability to play music, and in the end, crossing was the kindest thing that could have happened to her.
“Love her very much!”
This experience with Agnes reminds me how much spirit can communicate, even when the body is silent. Through a simple gesture—a hand held, a box placed, a color whispered—Agnes shared love, presence, and memory in a way that was tangible for Katt. It’s a beautiful reminder that the connections we carry with those we love never truly fade; they simply take new forms, waiting for moments of recognition, joy, and shared remembrance.
With love and gratitude,
Catherine ~