My husband took me to see Matt Fraser live in Edmonton.  It was a one-night stay that started at the picturesque Fairmont McDonald, where we sat in the afternoon sun with friends, drinking and sharing appetizers. A lovely few hours enjoying each other’s company and celebrating my birthday. I shared with them my excitement to see my favourite psychic.

The casino where Matt’s show was at was filled with hockey fans, casino players and people like me, hopeful to have a visit from a loved one from the other side. We enjoyed a drink before the show and met two women, who kindly shared their table.  They were also excited to see Matt and told us the story of their aunt who had departed. They asked who we wanted to see.  I said my son. As they left, one woman said to me, “I hope you see your son”. And it hit me.  We were all there for the very same reason.

The show was sold out, as were the previous two nights. The concept that thousands had paid money to sit together and potentially share their loss with hundreds of strangers was magical.  Each person attending was wishing for a visit, reassurance that their loved one was ok, that they were still here. Every single person had the same request. Every single person was in pain. Every single person came with hope. And the need to have Zane visit through Matt diminished. The comraderies of my fellow grief warriors were comfort enough. The understanding that the Universe was in control that night filled me with a peace that enabled me to “sit back and enjoy the show.” And that is what I did.

Matt did not disappoint. His readings were accurate, and the messages eased the receiver’s anguish. We laughed and cried together. There was a communal ‘oh no’ when Matt approached a woman whose boyfriend had been murdered and her baby died just after. The heart ache of loss was collectively felt. The readings were individual but the main theme that the deceased are here, watching over us, was a reassuring message for everyone.

It was a slow exit because of the vast amount of people. As we shuffled forward, a couple asked us how we enjoyed the show. He said he was not a believer and that his wife had dragged him to it. I asked who it was that they had lost. It was their daughter. 8 months ago. She was 29. The mother started to weep. I stopped and hugged her. “I am so sorry for your loss”.  He asked who we lost. We told him. And a hush fell upon us as we continued to walk, holding each other up.

This event did have a personal message for each attendee. Perhaps not from their loved one directly, but from the aura of the hundreds of souls surrounding us.  A sense of belonging, a whisper to look at the strength of each person there who lives with their eternal grief but who refuses to diminish the value their loved one had and still has in their life. The desire for connection. The innate ability to carry on. We were a part of that.  Zane was there with the other souls. The invisible electricity of so many together in the same room from both sides of the veil was an experience I had dreamed of. We were a part of a coliseum of shared grief. And of love.