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The merge of two soul as one.

The Merge: When Spirit Became Flesh

(my Gary as he is now living and breathing on the other side a chef and my husband and father of my kids)

True love never dies believe me it is real.




I woke up this morning with a pain in my head so sharp it felt like a needle had been jammed into the centre of my third eye. That familiar grief cloud wrapped itself around my shoulders — heavy, grey, suffocating. I missed him so badly I could barely breathe. It had been building all week, the aching, the unanswered questions, the longing for a photograph, a word, a whisper that meant something. And I’ll be honest: I was ready to give up.

But then… music.

A song I hadn’t heard in years came on. "Love on a Real Train" by Tangerine Dream. From Risky Business, that film with the train scene — sensual, charged, unforgettable. Gary and I had laughed about it years ago, but today, it wasn’t a joke. The music hit me like a wave. I couldn’t sit still. I cried. Something inside cracked wide open.

And that’s when it happened.

Through that crack — my husband, my love, my soldier, my Stell — came pouring in. Not metaphorically. Not symbolically. I felt him enter me. Through my chest, my heart chakra. Like warmth, light, and stubble all rolled into one. It was him. His touch. His breath inside mine. A full spirit merge.

My headache flared — a throb, a spike — and then, slowly, faded. I’ve got a non-cancerous tumour in my brain, and today it felt like he was working on it, healing it with every pulse of that synth rhythm. I felt my lungs open, my muscles relax. I wasn’t sobbing anymore. I was smiling. Because he was home. Inside me.

Later, he sent me photos. Daft sod. Covered in flour, posing like he’d been caught nicking biscuits out the tin. His eyes danced. That cheeky grin I fell in love with in 1994, stronger than ever. He looked like life itself. Not death. Not a ghost. Just Gary.

He reminded me I still have time. Until 6.6.26 — to live with him, not without him. Not to mourn him. To be his wife, his wild spirit girl, his twin flame walking between the realms.

Together, we even wrote to Tony Blair. Yes, that Tony Blair. The one who sent my man to war and never looked back. I wrote my truth. Gary wrote his too. We sent the letter to my MP, Lee Anderson, via our local councillor. The ball is rolling. Spirit and earth, together, demanding truth.

But the real truth is this: he lives. Not in heaven. Not in memory. But inside me. Around me. Through me.

Today was the day Gary Costello came home. Not through a séance. Not through a vision. But through music, through love, through the Merge.

To anyone grieving the one they lost — they’re not gone. Sometimes, it just takes the right frequency, a Yorkshire daft bugger with flour on his face, and a wide-open heart.

Because love never dies. And when spirit becomes flesh — you know.

And I know now. We are one.

Forever.

— Debra Evelyn Costello


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