Saturday, 12 February 2011
The pain of a loved one passing away can be excruciating. I remember the morning my mum passed away, being shocked at the extent of this pain. I remember making a decision there and then that I would get over this, I would do whatever it took to heal this pain, and I wasn't going to carry it around with me for the rest of my life. She would want me to be happy again.
I had just finished my training to be a Journey Therapist and thought this is the real challenge, put into practice what I learned. No therapy can take away the grieving process, nor would it be right to, we need this to acknowledge the depth of love we felt for that person and to heal. It just wouldn’t feel right to feel normal straight away.
I had learned that to heal and release pain we have to dare to really open into it. Our natural instinct is to run from it, avoid it, keep busy, anything to stop us feeling it. But if we stop resisting it, actually welcome it, and open into it, it can be a relief. That running away can be as overwhelming as the pain itself.
So, as I lay in bed at , after being up all night saying my farewells to my mum, I surrendered to the pain and I sobbed and wailed. I few months later my husband actually mentioned that he was concerned that I probably woke the neighbours, but knowing I needed to do this, he said nothing at the time and hoped the neighbours would understand.
A few hours later I got up and realised we needed to go the supermarket, there was no food in. I could have let my husband go, but I didn't want to be alone so I went with him. Half way round the store the pain overwhelmed me and I sobbed in the aisle. There was no one about and the moment passed again. I managed to get through the checkout, but as I walked out of the store into the morning light, the pain and shock hit me again, even stronger. As I pushed my shopping trolley I sobbed uncontrollably. I became aware of people looking at me, very uncomfortably. We have been taught as a nation to suppress our pain, hold it in, stiff upper lip, and don’t show yourself up. As I dared to express my pain, I felt like it reminded people of their own suppressed pain that they hadn't dared to release. I felt a sense of people looking at me as if I shouldn't be out, I should be hid away where no one could see me. I felt sad about that too.
When at home I discovered if I dared to go right into the core of the pain, imagining myself stepping into it like a fire, and I stopped with it, eventually it disappeared and I was left with a deep feeling of peace. Those feelings of peace were like a lifeline to me. They may only have lasted a couple of hours, but 2 hours of peace were heaven to me, they gave me the strength to carry on and the knowledge that I could cope.
In a Journey process a client can be guided into their emotions and in a nurturing environment feel comfortable to open and release them, staying with whatever feelings come up until the wisdom and love within them takes them to that place of peace and stillness. People often say they feel lighter after experiencing this, like a weight has been lifted from them.
Another part of the Journey process is what's called the 'campfire'. At this campfire you get to express anything to anyone, whether they are alive or deceased. It can be such a relief, all the things you never got to say, can be said. It can feel very real and have a huge healing impact.
Fortunately during my training I had had endless 'campfires' with my mum and told her how much I loved her and I felt her love returned to me. We weren't the sort of family that said 'I love you' so for me it was an opportunity to say those words. When she died I felt like all my affairs were in order with her, we both understood the depth of love we had for each other even though it was never said in person.
Even though I did this healing before my mum passed away, it can also be done afterwards, it is NEVER too late to heal those wounds. It is possible to feel at peace about any relationship by healing it within.
As the first Christmas without my mum approached, I felt an overwhelming feeling of dread. Then I read a book called 'Ask and it is given' by Esther and Jerry Hicks and it changed everything. Basically it said stop thinking about anything you don't wont. So I stopped thinking about dreading Christmas and focused on the present moment. Christmas came and on Christmas morning the card with just dad's name on, triggered the tears, but they came, I felt the sadness, surrendered to it and it passed. I was amazed, I actually had a nice Christmas day and all I could think is that is what my mum would have wanted. She always tried to make Christmas special for us as children and adults and she still managed to do it after she had gone.
Time has passed now and I did heal those wounds and I did get over it. I can feel her love within me always, perhaps in some ways even stronger than before. I still sometimes feel sad, but that's OK. I don't ache, I don't long, and I don't hurt. Sad is OK, but most of the time I feel happy because I know that is what she always wanted for all of us. So the greatest gift I can give to her is to be HAPPY.
With love to my mum.
Posted by Anne at 11:01