Living in New Orleans there is always an underlying thickness in the air. It is likely the humidity but in many parts of the Big Easy you cannot look away from the eerie vibes that lurk behind a random corner or French Quarter alley.
I personally have always been fascinated by the things that we have no answers for.
One of the first things I did when I moved to New Orleans over 20 years ago was go to Jackson Square, late at night and walk the perimeter in search for a psychic that I gravitated towards.
The words he uttered so long ago- I definitely needed to heed, but my outcome today would certainly seem quite different.
From that day on I was fascinated by psychics. Not all of them, because some really do feed off of people’s emotions and are likely to cause more harm than good.
But, sometimes? You find someone that can open that door.
They don’t just open it, but their ability to translate the silence in a such a way- almost like a painter is to a canvas, allowing our hearts to find peace, in the unlikeliest of places.
I lost my brother 17 years ago, and the events surrounding his passing are all but clear.
Sure, time moves on. Wounds heal into calluses and brittle emotions get buried-but there has and always will be painful questions and agonizing torment while always longing for answers.
I first saw psychic/medium, Kim Russo on A&E about 10 years ago on her tv shows, “Celebrity Ghost Stories” and
“A Haunting of…”
The way she can compassionately translate what she is feeling, hearing, seeing, smelling- it is absolutely mind blowing.
Week after week, I would get off of work on Friday nights only to run home (before babies obvz) and shower so I could eat cereal and watch Kim Russo.
Celebrity after celebrity, she was able to hammer out their own problems, allowing each of them the opportunity to understand why they may feel the way that they do- and HOW they personally have the power to learn and grow from their own pain and circumstances.
The pain that I have personally held on to and experienced has never gone away. Only covered in suspicion about what really happened 17 years ago in my old bedroom.
I have so many terrible memories growing up in my dad’s house. Glass shattering was always a fixture in the background at some point.
Those memories will remain very tender and incredibly fragile.
Usually the magnitude of that trauma isn’t truly felt until we walk through the flames ourselves.
The burns never heal. Somehow, they just get buried. Buried in grief. Buried in anger, in betrayal. In sadness.
I know that today, if I close my eyes and reflect- deeply and calmly, I know my daddy loved us. He was angry, mean, immature & lost.
And we were the ones suffering from it.
My mama did the best she could, with what she had.
And that message rings in my heart so bright.
If Ms. Kim was able to teach me anything, it’s that hanging on to the festering anger is so much more draining of my own possible positive capabilities.
She was able to give my heart the insurmountable peace that me and my brother have needed for 17 years.
In grief, blaming others can sometime get where we need to be mentally. But is that morally right? Not only for the person we are blaming- but for ourselves.
I cannot hold on to that festering anger anymore. I was able to release it- back to wherever the hell it came from. That is not me.
Today, I love. I accept. I own. And I am not who I was 17 years ago.
If psychics and mediums have the specific power to unlocking our forgotten peace that’s been barricaded and locked away for decades- then, why not seek out the ones gifted enough to help us?
I have watched Ms. Kim Russo for years. To have her own explanation of what happened to me gives me closure, but most importantly- it gives me peace.
Thank you, Ms Kim. From the bottom of my heart.
You have such a powerful gift. Your voice, your candor and ability to speak for the unspoken.
I am still beaming and I believe I always will- because of our talk.
My family sends you Nola Love- forever and always!
If you would like to listen to our Interview – I’d be honored.