Ruby Powder

1998-2024

Thank you for taking a moment to meet my Ruby.

Ruby Powder is Forever 25.  She is the second oldest of four siblings, a beloved sister, and truly the heartbeat of our family. She loved deeply, laughed loudly, and showed compassion long before she even knew what compassion was. In kindergarten she was chosen to comfort a little girl who cried each morning, and from that gentle beginning, Ruby became a quiet healer; someone who made others feel safe, seen, and understood.

Ruby was gentle, funny, quirky, and wonderfully herself.
Crocs in every colour.
Sunglasses by the dozen.
Michael Myers everything.
Dancing as much as she could.
She loved big and lived big in every way she could.

But Ruby also carried a private battle. For over 10 years of a silent, inward-turning mental illness that few ever saw. She advocated, spoke publicly so others felt seen, she tried and she fought. She also hid her pain behind kindness and humour, behind helping others, behind a heart that tried so hard to make the world around her better. She was a warrior. She fought harder than anyone I’ve ever known. And like any illness, mental illness can take lives. It took hers.

There is no shame in how she left this world; only honour for how courageously she stayed.

The best way to honour Ruby is to live as she lived:
with compassion, with kindness, and with laughter.
She sat with people in crisis. She rescued animals. She validated feelings. She made strangers smile. She was silly and bubbly and beautifully unique. That is how she wanted to be remembered, not for her suffering, but for her light.

I would choose her again and again, even knowing the ending. Having Ruby for 25 years was a gift beyond words.

A ripple that will continue through every life touched by her story.

How My Daughter Became My Teacher

For as long as I can remember, I’ve believed that life continues beyond this one. When my brother Kelly passed to Spirit in 1990, I found comfort in knowing love never ends. My sister, Arlene Mills, has walked her mediumship path with grace for years, and I’ve always admired her – never imagining that my own path was quietly being woven.

When Ruby passed in 2024, my world shattered. But in the deepest grief, something unexpected happened –  Ruby reached for me.
Not just in signs, but in teachings… in nudges… in the quietest whispers of my heart.

In the stillness of meditation, I didn’t just feel her; I began learning from her.
She became my guide.
My mentor.
My teacher.

What began as a desperate longing to know my daughter was okay became a doorway of love. Every time Spirit steps forward, Ruby is there – always on my left side – opening doors I never would have walked through alone. I am still walking with my daughter, just differently now, learning to communicate in a new way and trusting her as she leads me in this sacred work.

I never set out to become a medium. But Ruby, in her gentle, determined way, taught me how to listen, how to trust, and how to follow the path she continues to place before me. In saying yes, I discovered healing; not only for myself, but for others seeking connection, comfort, and hope.

At the heart of everything I do is this truth:
Love does not die. It simply changes form.

There is a bridge between here and Heaven, and my work, guided by Ruby, is to shine light on that bridge for anyone who needs it. She is the thread woven through my books, my advocacy, my healing, and now my mediumship practice. Through her, I have learned we are never truly alone.

Ruby’s presence, guidance, and teachings are woven through everything I create. The coping skills in Bella and the Bossy Driver and the Bella Series are all grounding, talking to our worry, learning coping strategies and tools, all grew from what I learned through Ruby’s struggles and supporting her. My Rambling On collections are shaped by the love, grief, and hope she continues to teach me, softening my words and widening the light I can offer others.

My books are all written to help people connect to know they are not alone, simple yet strong ways to feel seen, heard and supported. Ruby is also the reason I speak so openly as a mental health advocate – in schools, events, festivals, and community spaces – sharing her story to help break the silence around the battles people carry quietly. Everything I do – my readings, my books, my advocacy, my public speaking –  is connected by one thread: Ruby is still teaching me how to help others.

And as my daughter lights the way, I’ll continue to follow.
We can walk together.

-Tammy

xoxoxo

What Mental Illness Looks Like

We will never understand the depths of someone’s heartache, pain, depression, anxiety, struggles. Thank God we do not. I cannot imagine living it day after day after day. 

Too many people are quietly struggling. 

This is what mental illness looks like from Ruby’s perspective. 

She painted this around 2020 to 2021. 

The depths of this painting are absolutely incredible and deep. I have always been so impressed by how she could paint her feelings. (Luckily we have many, many paintings by her). 

In this painting, called it something along the lines of “Falling into Depression.”

She described it to me as the sun is sunshine, the darkness over the sun is the internal struggle, and her falling is the fall into the hands of depression. 

She tried to stay up in the sunshine, the bright, happy place where she wanted to be—and I suppose, where she felt people expected her to be.

The black on the sun is the darkness of mental illness, the negative dialogue she told herself, the self-harm, the shame settling in. 

The blue hands at the bottom are the hands of depression that are just waiting for her to fall and catch her, and in her words, “welcome her home”. 

In the hands of depression is where she was gripped by depression, engulfed by those hands. And those hands wanted to keep her there, but she fought to get out of their grip. Fought to escape that grip that holds so tightly. And she did. She escaped many times. 

The person falling is her, having no control of how she felt. Just falling and falling fast into those hands of depression. 

This is what many people with mental illness struggle with and live with. 

This is why I say she was a warrior. She crawled out of those clutches many times. She said each time she would come out exhausted because it was so much work.

Like her, MANY people do this and continue to. 

We need to change the view of depression, chronic anxiety, and mental health illness. Because when the fall is happening, that is where we want our loved ones to yell so we can throw a lifeline, something to catch them before the hands grab hold. But the fall keeps them quiet. How do we get them to yell for help?

The narrative around mental health must change.

Obviously I do not have the answers. But I will keep advocating and keep sharing until we learn more. Because nothing is learned behind closed doors. 

The hands won. She lost her battle with mental illness. She tried and she fought. But it won. 

I believe though, by sharing in compassion, person by person, we will be the change. 

And perhaps we can save people who are quietly struggling. 

How we be the change? Read books on the topic, talk to others who are struggling, listen to podcasts on the topic, learn how to talk without shame, learn the art of validation talk, learn to just listen. Just listen, not advise. Listen and then say, “What can I do to support you?” (Ruby loved this one). 

I let my guard down. I did not see the black start to set in. I did not see the fall. And by the time the blue hands had clutched onto her, I believe it told her to put on a mask to hide it. I did not see and this time and I guess she did not have the strength to fight it. 

I pray to God we can be the change for others. 

She had a beautiful way of describing her feelings.