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Hardly 24 hours after my mother died, someone walked up to me with the soul (yes soul) purpose of telling me that they were “angry” with me.

 

They felt further entitled to pour out the details, as though I had any capacity whosoever to indulge such a “sharing” at that particular moment in my life.

 

The more I reflected on that emotional ambush in the days after the funeral, the more I tried to empathise, the more I tried to see it from their perspective, the more I rationalised that death brings “complex emotions”, I realised that I was asking the impossible of myself.

 

I had to STOP! stop

 

My job was to grieve.

To honour my own tears.

To sit with my own pain.

To validate my own loss.

 

Instead, I was diverted to a lower spectrum of emotions that sought to distract me. 

 

And, I indulged them. Sadly. 

 

Now that all that is in the past, my heart wants to go back there again. To that very point in my life.

 

The voice is gently asking me to lift off the Band-Aid I smacked on the emotional wound and to face what’s been festering there. 

 

And, again I will indulge. Gladly this time. 

 

You see, for me there is real therapy in dissecting the pieces, relooking the complexities with a view to disinfecting the wound in order to clear the inflammation.

 

I know, right? Whooooo volunteers to reopen their own wounds?

 

I do. And, I wish you the courage to do the same.

 

Rip off the Band-Aid! Sure it will hurt for one sick second, but once that initial rip is over, you’re on your way! Then, look at the wound, see it in all its gory complexity and then plot an enlightened way forward.

 

Hey, real healing is a great prospect and it may be just on the other side of your fear.

 

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2016

 

Aluta continua, as they say. This road is indeed still long…. (for me) but gosh am I ready!

 

 

 

 

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