The Psychic Who Started It All

If you grew up in the Fraser Valley in the 90s, there's a good chance you remember Ralph.

He lived in a small apartment in White Rock, and word of mouth about his gift spread quickly through families, friend groups, and neighbourhoods like ours. People loved him. My own friends and family made regular trips to see him — and when it was my turn, I understood why.

During my session, Ralph looked at me and said, "I have both the Georges here."

I knew instantly. My dad. My grandpa. Both named George, both present — without me saying a word.

That moment cracked something open in me. Ralph also sat with my mom, giving voice to my dad in a way that helped address things left unresolved between them. It was tender. It was real. It was unlike anything I had words for at the time.

What I did have words for was the feeling. For days after each visit, I carried this elevated, buzzing aliveness — a high vibration I couldn't quite explain but couldn't stop talking about. The closest comparison I had was the rush you feel stepping off your favourite roller coaster, that breathless mix of joy and more, please.

I didn't understand it then. Now I do. That feeling was my soul calling me toward this work.

Recently, while meditating, Ralph drifted into my thoughts. That evening, my husband and I found ourselves reminiscing about our sessions with him — and then something clicked. Ralph had always advertised as a psychic. Never a medium. Not once.

And yet.

That realization fascinated me — partly because of how much had quietly been happening in those sessions, and partly because of who I used to be. Just a few years ago, I would never have willingly walked into a mediumship session. The word alone conjured something dark and frightening in my mind.

How far I've come from that version of myself.