Psych-ick

I have a confession to make.  But first I need to give you a little background info.

This is Theresa Caputo. aka: The Long Island Medium

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She’s had a “reality” show for five years, and cameras follow her big blonde life as she is “spontaneously” forced by spirits to stop and pass messages onto strangers from their dearly departed loved ones.  I used to watch it quite a bit while Ben sat in the office and yelled out things like, “I can’t believe you watch that crap!”  He wasn’t a fan of “reality” tv unless it involved cooking.

But many times over the years when I would watch her and Ben would freak out, I would say, “Listen, if you were to die I would hunt that woman down and you had better come through loud and clear!!”  Seriously.  We actually did have those conversations long before Ben ever got sick.

Anyway, a few weeks after he passed away I was scrolling through Facebook and there she was – coming to Abbotsford.  (Here’s where my confession comes in).  I actually looked around the room guiltily while I contemplated buying tickets.  I knew what Ben thought of “psychics” while he was alive, but maybe this was a sign?  (I will also admit to hearing Ben say “It’s not a sign.  You are finding meaning where there is none, because you desperately want there to be some meaning.”  Sigh.  I know him so well, and he was so damn practical.)  Anyway, I shoved that little voice out of my head and bought two tickets before I could change my mind.  I think I heard him weeping quietly when I entered my credit card information.

Since that moment I have been waiting anxiously for June 5th.  I constantly told Ben to make sure he mentioned the burned out spotlight in the back yard, because that was the only thing I could think of that I haven’t mentioned on social media.

Please, please come through to Theresa Caputo and tell me you are ok.

Well, June 5th finally rolled around and I tucked one of Ben’s Titan guitar picks in my bra (just incase he preferred to have her mention that) and off I went with high hopes to see The Long Island Medium.  Out loud I said I was just going for the entertainment, but deep down I hoped….

Anyway, as you can tell from the title of this post, it was not all that it was cracked up to be.  Not even close.  It wasn’t even entertaining because my heart broke when I saw all the desperate people (much like myself, I suppose) who were there holding their breath for any type of sign from the person they had lost.

Within about 90 seconds of the start of her “readings” I could feel the embarrassment creeping up the back of my neck for having spent money to watch a woman who can only be referred to as a complete and utter fraud.  I can’t even be bothered to relay the ridiculousness of her “readings” but I will say that I could have done a way better job than she did.  She merely utilized basic interview techniques and and the knowledge that people want to believe.  Every person she “read” handed her everything she needed.

I think I could have tolerated it a bit better if I believed that she believed what she was saying.  But she doesn’t.  Anyone with any  any skill at all in eliciting information from people would agree that she is not hearing spirit voices.  She isn’t hearing anything except the “ka-ching” of the register as she spends all the cash she sucks out of sad people on bling and Louboutin shoes.

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If I had five minutes with her I would be interested in asking her if she has lied to her own children all their lives, or if she has forced them to be complicit in her fraud.  Either way, she’s a shitty person and Ben is saying “I told you so.”

Sigh.  I really wanted it to be real.

Shortly after that incident I did a little grocery shopping, and while I was in the store I tripped over my own feet and broke my finger.  Of course I did.  I had to breathe deeply for about 10 minutes while I struggled not to toss my cookies all over the floor.  I knew my finger was broken, but since I’d been wrong about The Long Island Fraud I thought that maybe I was wrong about this too, so I didn’t go to the doctor.  Instead I went to work the next morning and fought back tears anytime someone so much as glanced in the direction of my finger.  Just the ripple of air caused by their eye moment made my finger hurt.  I swear.

By 10:30 it was too much and off I went to the hospital for an xray.  While I was there the nurse decided she needed to review every medication that I had ever taken.  It was a long list that she had extracted from the computer and I didn’t even remember ever having taken most of them.  Finally she got to the end of the list and said, “Mirena?”  Mirena?  Mirena?!  I looked at her and said, “A Mirena is an IUD.  I did not break my vagina, I broke my finger, so I doubt it matters if I still have a Mirena.”  I swear I said that.  Not even making it up.

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The xray results came back.  Broken.  What a surprise.  I was right.  (Did I ever mention that I recently asked Dr B to just give me a prescription pad so I can write my own prescriptions, since I always diagnose myself anyway?  He didn’t give me one.  No idea why.)

Anyway, the nurse went to splint my finger, and as she cut the tape straight across and wrapped it around the splint she smiled and chuckled.  I asked her what she was chuckling over and she told me to look.  So I did, and this is what I saw:

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See that perfect little heart sitting right on top?  I swear she did not do that.  She just peeled the roll of tape back and cut it straight across.  I was watching the whole time.

Theresa Caputo be damned.  I’ll take that as a sign from Ben.

My tattoos are healing nicely …

… and I broke every proper parenting rule and allowed Jaime to do this …

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That is her very fresh tattoo.  Do NOT tell my parents!  Lol.  It has healed nicely since this picture was taken and looks really good, especially the “Love Dad” part.  That is Ben’s signature transposed forever on Jaime.

And now we await Father’s Day. Last year we were here.  I wish I could have that day back again, despite how sick Ben was.  And now we await Father’s Day.

Raegan turned me onto this song.  

We miss you Ben.  We love you.  The house is empty without the sound of your guitar.  xoxoxo

Post script …. I just realized that I broke my finger before the psych-ick show.  Wierd how I have lost all track of time and can’t keep these things straight

5 thoughts on “Psych-ick

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