So I’m having another Joan Rivers moment… can we talk?

I’m kind of iffy on the supernatural.

Do I believe there are other planes of existence? Probably.
Do I think there are moments where those things brush against our normal existence? Honestly… yes, I do.

I think most people live somewhere in that uncomfortable middle ground. Even people who loudly claim they do not believe in anything supernatural still hesitate before saying something is absolutely impossible. Maybe that’s because most of us were raised with some version of spirituality, religion, or the idea that there are things larger than ourselves that we simply do not understand.

I personally think that if there is a God, judgment probably has very little to do with rituals or denominations and a lot more to do with whether you lived your life in a way that showed basic humanity toward other people.

But this is not really a religious discussion.

Someone mentioned to me recently that maybe people are uneasy about coming to my house because of what happened here. To be fair, I can understand that. A death changes a place. Trauma changes a place. Even when there was no malicious intent, violence still leaves an imprint behind.

I worried about that myself for a while.

Not because I thought my house was haunted in the movie sense of the word, but because grief itself feels heavy. It changes the atmosphere of a room. It changes you. There were times after Jacob died when the house felt spiritually turbulent, and maybe that was just my own mind trying to process loss.

Or maybe it was something else.

Honestly, I do not know.

I had a rabbi come bless the house. I also had a shaman come through and do the same thing. Was it necessary? Maybe not. But it brought me comfort, and sometimes comfort matters more than certainty. Maybe that was me covering all my bases. Maybe it was simply me trying to feel safe again in my own home.

I left organized religion years ago for many reasons, most of which I have written about here before. I have not completely lost my spirituality, but my trust in organized religion is almost nonexistent these days.

Still, I learned something important working in healthcare.

As a provider, you cannot dismiss a patient’s spirituality simply because you do not personally share it.

Working in Catholic hospitals taught me that very quickly. I could spend an hour trying to calm a frightened patient, explaining things gently, reassuring them, answering every question imaginable, and still watch them remain terrified. Then the priest would walk into the room and suddenly everything changed. Their breathing slowed. Their fear settled. They felt safe.

That mattered.

Spirituality is part of patient care whether medical people like admitting it or not. A patient’s beliefs — religious or otherwise — affect how they process illness, fear, pain, and even recovery itself.

I did not need to personally believe exactly what they believed in order to respect it.

I prayed with patients who asked me to pray with them. I sat quietly while families performed rituals. I held hands during last rites. None of that harmed patient care. If anything, it often improved it because people felt heard instead of dismissed.

Nursing has always been about caring for the patient’s response to illness and treatment, not simply the illness itself.

People often think nurses only carry out tasks, but nursing has always been deeply centered on human response. Fear. Grief. Anxiety. Hope. Relief. Acceptance. Those things matter just as much as blood pressure readings and lab values.

That philosophy shaped how I practiced as a nurse practitioner as well.

The role of the nurse practitioner has always felt unique to me because it blends medical diagnosis and treatment with the nursing focus on how the patient is emotionally and psychologically experiencing what is happening to them. It is not better or worse than physicians or physician assistants. It is simply a different lens through which patient care is approached.

And honestly, maybe that is why I still wrestle with spirituality the way I do.

Healthcare teaches you very quickly that human beings need more than medications and procedures. Sometimes they need hope. Sometimes they need meaning. Sometimes they simply need permission to not feel alone.

Maybe that is all spirituality really is.

Not ghosts.
Not demons.
Not necessarily even religion.

Maybe it is simply the lingering imprint we leave on one another.

Maybe it is my mom still crossing my mind at random moments when I need guidance. Maybe it is hearing Jacob’s laugh in my memory so clearly that for half a second it feels real. Maybe it is the dog still checking the hallway sometimes like someone familiar should be walking through the door.

I do not know what happens after death.

I only know that people leave pieces of themselves behind in the places they loved and in the people who loved them.

And maybe that is haunting enough.