The past few years have felt like an intricate web of symbols, messages, and ancestral energy guiding me through grief and self-discovery. Dylan’s death in August 2022 shattered me, but in the aftermath, life began weaving together experiences that I can't fully explain, as if I am being guided by an unseen force—perhaps Mother Edna, my great-great-grandmother, whose presence has become central to my shamanic journey work. Perhaps Dylan is with her.
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It started in March 2023, when I saw a shamanic healer who helped me uncover a profound truth. During the session, I spoke about Dylan and the unbearable weight of his absence. The healer told me there was a grandmother spirit present—a powerful healer from my paternal lineage, though not from my dad’s side. I was confused at first, thinking paternal meant my father’s family. However, she insisted it wasn’t coming from him. She explained it came through my mother’s paternal side, which was surprising since my mom was adopted and I knew little about her biological family.
Later, I spoke with Nana, my maternal grandmother, and the pieces began to fall into place. Nana remembered a woman named Edna, my great-great-grandmother, who she considered a healer. She tied ribbons around babies’ ankles to protect and heal them, quietly practicing traditions that had been passed down through generations. I had never heard of her before, yet her presence now felt unmistakable. I began calling her Mother Edna, and in my journey work, I often sensed her guiding me.
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The journey took a literal turn in October 2024, when Jimmy and I went on a cruise to Haiti. We were struggling in our marriage, on the brink of divorce, and this trip was a last effort to reconnect. What I didn’t realize at the time was how significant this trip would be for my spiritual journey.
I decided to stop in Biloxi as part of my solo journey from Texas to Florida for the cruise. I wanted to visit Mother Edna’s grave. I thought if I could stand by her grave, maybe I would feel closer to her, find some answers, or at least feel grounded.
But I never found her grave. I couldn’t connect with the family members who might have guided me at the time. I didn’t know them, and they didn’t know me. My mom's adoption had distanced us from that side of the family. Yet, despite the disappointment of not finding her, something unexpected happened—I won money, enough to feel like I was being given a sign of support, however small. It was as though I didn’t need to find her grave physically; her presence was already with me.
This brief success lifted my spirits as I continued on to Florida for the cruise, where even more layers of symbolism would continue to unfold.
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You see, years earlier, when Dylan was a teenager, my ex and I had traveled to Haiti and explored a cave with underground water. It was a magical, otherworldly place. So it felt only natural when I began my shamanic journey work after Dylan’s death that the cave would become central to my inner landscape. In my mind’s eye, I saw Dylan there, waiting for me. At the time, I didn’t consciously connect it to the actual cave I had visited in Haiti—my memory of the location had faded.
But on that October 2024 cruise, we docked near the same region in Haiti. It wasn’t until I looked back at photos that I realized the cave I had envisioned in my journey work was the very one I had visited in 2013. The symbolism was undeniable. Haiti, a place of deep spiritual meaning for me, had become a focal point in both my external and internal worlds.
It felt like the universe was leading me back to that place, even though I hadn’t planned for it. This time, the context was different. Haiti was in turmoil, emerging from civil unrest, and nature seemed to mirror that instability. During that trip a hurricane with multiple tornadoes would strike Port Canaveral, where my car was parked. A rare and violent event that echoed the emotional storms inside me.
I thought about the book I had been trying so hard to write, A New World, and my sense of loneliness at having no clue how to write it. I thought about the tears that would pour down as I wrote. An unsettling fear that took over with no apparent cause, as I reread each chapter to edit.
My mind spiraled back connecting the dots within my own inner journey work and reality. It was in Port Canaveral, 5 years earlier, Dylan and Jimmy had been stung by the jelly fish. With that memory was a long standing family joke. It was also the same place we had seen a Peacock walking around, another symbol from my inner journey work. Dylan's higher self, in the work with my Applied Shamanic Counselor, was a Peacock.
The synchronicities didn’t stop. Birds had already begun dying in front of me since Jimmy and I moved into the yellow house. It was a house we had dreamed of. Yet, I had never been able to shake the dead Woodpecker we found dead after it flew into our patio door. A welcome gift, for us, as new home owners? Than on the cruise I would tell Jimmy "that poor bird is going to die" a few moments before it flew into the ship. Jimmy just stared, mouth open as it hit the floor by our feet. It felt as if these dying birds were messengers, their presence both ominous and profound. Were my ancestors trying to get my attention?
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After returning from the cruise, I decided to take a 23andMe DNA test, driven by a growing need to understand my roots and health concerns, which continued to worsen. I never even made the connection to the number 23 until recently. What I found was interesting. The results revealed that I have a genetic predisposition to non-alcoholic fatty liver disease. Over a year of unexplainable symptoms, recurring images of a time clock, and panic that I was dying, they would finally diagnosis me with fatty liver disease. During this time, I would also reach out to a stranger that the DNA site confirmed was a blood relative. I got to spend hours on the phone with a first cousin I had never known. The conversation flowed so seamlessly. He was closely connected to Mother Edna, his grandmother, he shared stories of how she had cared for him after he was hurt in a fire as a young child.
This connection to fire struck me deeply. Fire has always been a recurring theme—Dylan was a welder, a master of fire and metal. I’ve experienced fire symbolically in so many ways in the last few months. I had just watched my new apartment go up in fire November 22nd!
Though I can’t share every detail of my cousin’s journey, his story and our connection to his grandmother reminded me of the deep, generational patterns that I am now facing myself.
He also mentioned a connection to water. I couldn’t help but connect this to my own journeys with water—the cave in Haiti, hurricanes, and the deep emotional waters I’ve navigated since Dylan’s passing.
Most days it's hard to wrap my mind around how strong the connection to fire and water is in my life. Dustin is a water sign, me and Dylan are fire signs. I've always said they are like night and day. The themes of the sun and moon, both matching their personality and astrological signs.
Now the number 23 was leading me to family, to my ancestors.
Could it all be connected? Am I reading into things? My mind tries to process it all but my rationale mind continues to find ways to say it's impossible.
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Now, here I sit tonight, way past my bedtime, with signs pointing toward a similar path that mirrored my cousins journey: a diagnosis of liver disease and the possibility of something more. It’s overwhelming, this web of fire, water, ancestry, and death that continues to unfold around me. And yet, there is also guidance. Mother Edna is with me, as are the echoes of Dylan.
This isn’t just a medical journey. It’s one of ancestral healing, of understanding how my life is connected to those who came before me. I am being asked to heal not only myself but the trauma and gifts passed down through generations. These symbols, these connections, may feel far-fetched to others, but to me, they seem undeniable.
I still don’t fully know where this path leads or what it all means, but I will continue following the signs with faith, courage, and reverence for those guiding me from the other side.
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Life has been speaking to me through symbols for years, but now I am finally starting to listen. Mother Edna, Dylan, and my ancestors are teaching me that healing is a process that transcends time and space. I trust that, as I walk this path, I am being supported and protected in ways I am only beginning to comprehend.
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