A few weeks ago I made the mistake of watching “Long Island Medium.” Never again. I'm just not good with this stuff.
Theresa Caputo says the deceased are all around. They make their presence known through birds, scent, flowers, signs, and occasionally touch. Is she real? Is she fake? I can say with a loud, resounding vote of confidence… who knows?
Besides talking to families who’ve lost loved ones (which seems to bring comfort), she likes to make surprise visits to local Long Island establishments. “I feel a choking sensation,” she says to some poor guy standing in a deli line. “Did a relative pass who hung himself?” He gives a bewildered shrug while trying to order pastrami on rye. People in her town must see her coming and flee.
Watching these shows is not my problem. I can make fun of her with the best of them. It’s later, at 3:00 a.m. when I get into trouble. I lie in
bed, eyes wide open, covers pulled to my chin.
The dead are all around, she said? They
communicate through touch? Did
I just feel the blanket move? Was that
my imagination or Grandpa Doyle hogging the covers? I make my way to the bathroom, convinced spirits are about. Something
brushed my ankle! Could that be Floyd, my
long-deceased cat? Oh God, what was that
sound from the living room? Is Grandma
Larson fluffing the pillows?
I try and stay calm, but its too late. I'm starting to cross "the line." We all have it, that place where we know not
to go further. Some people (like wimpy me) find the line
easier to access than others. The line
is that place between this world and that, the material and the spiritual, and maybe
sanity and craziness. It doesn’t take
much for me to come against the line and when I feel it, I back away.
I stumbled back to bed, pulled the covers over my head and vowed never to watch “Long Island Medium” again. Maybe we’re not supposed to know what’s on the other side or why we're here or past lives. Maybe it’s better we humans stay out of the loop. And I’m okay with that. I really don't need to know. I'll sleep better. From now on, I will stay the course. No more spooky shows, no more getting close to the line. And for God’s sake, avoid Long Island delis.

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