Conversation with Kristina Amelong, author What My Brother Knew
First, can you tell us about your brother, Jay? What kind of kid was he, and what was your relationship like with him?
Jay was extraordinary. Even as a child, he had magnetic, wise-beyond-his-years energy that could draw you in. He was curious, creative, and had an unusual ability to connect deeply with the people and world around him. We were close in the way siblings often are—sharing secrets, squabbling, and building dreams together—but there was also a reverence I held for him. I didn’t fully understand it at the time, but Jay had a clarity about life and death that was rare, almost otherworldly.
Jay had a stunningly accurate prediction of his own death – he said a green car would hit him while riding his bike. Do you remember the moment you made the connection that what he had foreseen had actually unfolded? Did others believe you when you spoke about Jay’s premonition?
The moment it happened was surreal. I didn’t just make the connection—it slammed into me like a wave. I remember the details, how eerily they matched what Jay had said. It was both devastating and bizarrely affirming, as if he had known something none of us could comprehend. At first, I hesitated to talk about it—the idea of a 13-year-old predicting his death is still hard to grasp. When I finally did, people had mixed reactions. Some believed me, while others thought it was just grief playing tricks with my memory.
How did this prediction — and Jay’s passing — shape your understanding of life, death and the unexplained? How did it impact your philosophical and spiritual beliefs?
It completely unraveled and rewove my understanding of existence. Jay’s premonition forced me to question everything I thought I knew about reality, time, and consciousness. Over time, it pushed me toward exploring philosophies like Donald Hoffman’s theory of Conscious Realism, quantum physics, and the concept of a cosmic tapestry where everything is interconnected. It also deepened my appreciation for the mystery of life and death—how they aren’t opposites but intertwined aspects of the same infinite process.
At one point in your life, you realized that you hadn’t talked about Jay’s death in depth with anyone who actually knew him. What was it like to reconnect with friends who grew up with him?
Reconnecting was both painful and healing. It felt like opening an old wound, but at the same time, it allowed me to see Jay through others’ eyes. Hearing their stories and memories created a fuller picture of who he was and how his presence touched those around him. It also reminded me that grief isn’t linear—it’s a shared experience that evolves over time.
Do you believe in signs and synchronicities, moments of insight from the universe? How can we recognize and interpret those signs? How do you discern which signs to embrace as meaningful and which to chalk up to mere coincidence?
Absolutely. I believe signs and synchronicities are the universe’s way of communicating with us, guiding us toward growth and understanding. Recognizing them requires stillness, presence, and trust in your intuition. To discern their meaning, I ask myself whether the experience resonates deeply or aligns with something I’ve been contemplating. When a “sign” feels alive with meaning, I embrace it as a gift.
What role did nature play in your spiritual awakening? Is this an approach others can rely on in their own journey through grief and emotional transformation?
Nature was and still is my sanctuary—a place where I feel held and understood. Walking on frozen lakes with my dogs or tending flowers in my backyard connects me to something larger than myself. Nature’s cycles of growth, decay, and renewal mirrored my own healing process. I think anyone can find solace and transformation in nature. It reminds us of our place in the world and the rhythms that unite all living things.
How does your book explore self love and compassion?
The journey of healing from trauma and loss demands self-love and compassion. My memoir is, in many ways, a love letter to my younger self—acknowledging her pain, celebrating her resilience, and forgiving her struggles. By sharing my story, I hope to show readers that self-compassion is the foundation for deeper healing and connection.
How did you stay motivated on your spiritual journey without becoming cynical? Did you experience moments of reluctance, doubt and frustration? How did you handle that?
Of course! There were times I felt lost, doubted my path, or wanted to give up—some of those are in the memoir. I learned to lean into those moments instead of resisting them. Practices like contemplative writing, photography, and connecting with supportive communities helped me navigate the uncertainty. Sometimes I was able to meet a new teacher at a critical moment. I always tried to remember the bigger picture: that growth and transformation are possible, even and especially in the darkest times, and every being is on an eternal journey.
Why do you think many people fear death so much? Should we?
I think fear of death stems from the unknown and from our attachment to the material world. But what if death isn’t an end, but a transition? Jay’s story taught me that death holds a profound mystery—one that underscores the beauty of life. Instead of fearing it, we can view it as a teacher, inviting us to live more fully.
What do you think happens when we die? How did you come to that belief?
I believe consciousness continues in some form, woven into the fabric of the universe. Jay’s premonition and the synchronicities I’ve experienced have shown me that there’s more to existence than we can see or understand. So much is unknown, and my belief isn’t rigid; it’s an evolving understanding, open to awe and discovery. I do know without a doubt that, as my teacher Dr. Marc Gafni says, we live in an intimate universe and our stories are chapter and verse in the universe’s story.
While writing this book, you learned a lot about your brother, his life and his death. Are there still unanswered questions that linger in your mind?
Yes, and I think there always will be. Jay’s death left me with questions that might never be answered, but I’ve learned to find peace in the not-knowing. It’s in the space of mystery that we can connect most deeply with the meaning behind our existence.
What do you hope readers take away from your book?
Jay. His story. I want readers to really feel and believe that each life is part of a profound mystery, that who we are matters. I hope readers feel less alone in their pain and more connected to the beautiful and unknown qualities of life. I want them to see that healing is possible, that love transcends even the greatest tragedy, and that every loss, no matter how painful, has the potential to illuminate a path forward.
How have you changed since you wrote the book?
Writing “What My Brother Knew” was a profound experience, but since finishing it, I’ve been reluctant to reread it. My writing has always felt like a ghost I’m afraid to meet—a reflection of my pain and resilience that feels too raw to revisit. For years, I avoided it, afraid of being haunted by the emotions it might stir.
When I finally reread it, something shifted. Instead of fear, I felt relief. I came to re-embrace the profundity of holding Jay’s story on my own for so many years. Jay wanted us to know what he knew—that his premonition, his life, and even his death are gifts he shared to awaken something in us. Now that the book is about to be published, I feel like I’m not walking alone anymore. Jay’s story no longer lives only in my body; it’s taken shape in the form of a book and soon it will live in the hands and hearts of others. Sharing Jay with the world is bringing ever greater healing.