I met with a psychic for the first time last week. It’s something I’ve always wanted to try, and there’s a shop around the corner with one of those neon palms in the window advertising $10 readings. An Ifa priestess reached out to me on Instagram saying she’d been contacted by my guides but there are a lot of scams on IG so I didn’t respond. But when a friend mentioned that she found a psychic through her cousin, I figured the woman must be legit. I often write about ghosts and believe I saw one as a child so despite childhood warnings from my mother to avoid ouija boards, I made an appointment and kept an open mind. There were two options for the session—she’s a medium and I guess some folks only want to communicate with loved ones who have passed on. Not me. I wanted the second option—a chance to ask about my future—but I agreed we could admit any ancestors who happened to “stop by.” And before we even began, my father apparently started knocking on the psychic’s door. I wish I could “see” what her mind looks like. We started out on Zoom but had to switch to the phone after encountering technical difficulties. She would close her eyes, press a finger to both her temples, and listen before opening her eyes and reporting back to me. It took a little while to figure out who was speaking, which made me wonder if the dead just wait on the other side, desperate to find someone who can see/hear them. My father seems quite enlightened now and I was happy to hear that he had reconciled with his own father. He apologized more than once—something he NEVER did in life—and I wrote everything down but still felt somewhat annoyed. As in life, my needs seemed to come second to my father’s; stopping by to say “hello” or “I’m sorry” is one thing, but I didn’t think he’d dominate the hour and definitely didn’t expect to be tasked with finding my estranged brother—whose estrangement stems at least in part from the abuse he sustained at my father’s hands when he was a boy. I’ve searched for Denzil myself in the past and always said I would hire a private investigator someday. But because of my session with the psychic, that day was today! I don’t know what she’ll find but my expectations are quite low and I’ve set a cap on what I’m willing to spend. The psychic said she could see my father holding a birth certificate and he repeated the need to trace family, even take a DNA test. During the session I thought about my favorite film adaptation of Dickens’s A Christmas Carol when Marley’s ghost laments his inability to help those he might have helped in life. It’s a good reminder to do what you can for others and say what you have to say while you can…