I found myself watching Long Island Medium on Sunday, because you know-I would. And I got very emotional watching Theresa Caputo deliver messages from dearly departed loved ones of various strangers she encounters.
If you don’t cry watching L.I.M., you’re a stone. No, you’re a hard rock with no geological inwards. But since I’m a gem, I cry. And I cry and cry and cry, because the thought of people who I care about, sending me a message from some inexplicable space beyond my understanding-via this Long Island Medium-who has the worst, tackiest hair ever-just makes me feel emotions.
Don’t get it twisted: it’s not about Theresa’s tacky, gaudy hair; in fact, I find all of Theresa Caputo’s lovely, Long Island-ness super, super charming. It’s just about connecting with people you care about, who are no longer here on this Earth, and hearing what they have to say from beyond the grave.
What fascinates me is when and where they approach Teresa, because it’s seemingly everywhere: at the beach, at the nail salon, at the gas station, at a restaurant; “spirit” will approach Theresa pretty much anywhere. And like any good medium (Long Island or not), Theresa obligingly delivers those messages.
While I was watching Theresa deliver a message to a mother of three boys, who had recently lost her beloved husband, a “soul mate,” who completed and complimented her in every imaginable way-I felt intense empathy for her loss. I couldn’t imagine losing the love of my love so suddenly, and I pray that I won’t have to, but you never know what life will bring you.
Still, I sat there watching Theresa-deliver this lovely message, which brought a sense of peace to this woman in pain, and my mind drifted to all of my dearly departed relatives, and how much I love and miss them. And I wondered: are they around me? If so, what would they say to me? Would Teresa deliver kind words to me too if she bumped into me at a bar or something?
And then I had this horrific thought about my dead relatives seeing me naked and/or masturbating and I got kind of freaked out and hope that they aren’t ever seeing me naked and/or masturbating., because-that’s C-R-E-E-E-E-E-E-E-P-Y. But I would still love Theresa to tell me things from my deceased relatives-good, non-masturbatory things.
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