Last week I went to see Julie, who is a Reiki practitioner and I asked her about my sister, Diana. “Where is she?” I asked.

Julie took out her metal prongs and it wasn’t long after she had begun her ritual that the prongs sprung wide open. “She’s on the other side,” Julie said. “You’ll be able to feel her presence at the commemorative lunch.” Julie rubbed her arm. “I can feel the energy so strongly.”

I’m having my family over this Saturday to mark the one year anniversary of my sister’s death. These essays on grief are a tribute to her. A year of mourning.

“Ask your sister to give you a sign. Not just an ordinary sign but one that will make you know.”

Electrical impulses. I remember after her death, we all sat in the hallway waiting for the nurse to prepare her for the last visiting. None of us knew what to say. Then, suddenly, the fluorescent lights above us went out. The only ones among rows and rows of other lighting the hallway.

“I remember once reading that the dead communicate through electricity. I don’t know if others felt it but I felt my sister’s essence flash above us. She had left her body but there was something else.

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