Just this evening whilst cooking dinner I decided to add cloves to the spaghetti bolognaise because I didn’t have bay leaves. The smell of the cloves reminded me of my mother’s cooking and that took me back to my childhood and seeing our family eating dinner at the kitchen table. I started crying.

There are pockets of sadness still within me.  Sometimes they bubble to the surface unexpectedly.

Maybe I could have revisited that memory with fondness and connection. But the truth is I am still sad sometimes. If I judge myself, for not being further along than I think I should be, then that just makes me feel worse. When I think, being intelligent, educated and spiritual, I should be doing better, I feel worse.

After all these years, fifteen years to be exact, there is still grief and sadness inside me. And sooner or later it all has to come out.

I know my brother is no longer in physical form. I know he died. I accept that reality. But at times I miss him. I miss his presence in my life. I miss our relationship. I miss our conversations.  I miss all the things we used to do together.

I understand my wish for us to have been in each other’s lives forever and that his sudden death has cut that time short. I know that nothing can bring him back. I cannot change nor control that reality.

I can either choose to want things to be different, which causes me pain and reinforces my hurts. Or I can acknowledge how I feel when sadness overwhelms me and release the emotion so it is not trapped in my body.

Like this morning. The muscles around my mid thoracic, at the back of my heart, were excruciatingly painful. I couldn’t move my arms or even breathe deeply without pain. I was desperate for an appointment with my physiotherapist and as luck would have it, there was an appointment available in the afternoon. My muscle tension was eased and the emotional trigger that allowed the tears, came while I cooked dinner.

Crying is a release. Writing about it is a release and an attempt to make sense of it all. Sometimes I just need to sleep, because crying releases endorphins that make me relaxed and tired. And these are not weaknesses, they help me heal. They release the grief in a safe way from my body.

My commitment to me is this:

1. to heal through honesty and with acceptance of where I’m at,
2. to recognise and acknowledge any pockets of sadness by listening to my body without judgement,
3. to surrender and allow the release of emotion, so that my body is free from the tension of holding, hiding or burying sadness and grief,
4. to seek understanding of what I am struggling with, and
5. to comfort myself so I can be light and joyful and flow with life again.

Everyone’s journey through grief is unique. I wish everyone to come to peace and heal their loss in as gentle a way as possible, with a minimum of suffering. Remember to be kind to your heart. Be kind to your inner child and be kind to your body that has carried the burden for you. Listen to the wisdom inside your body, for your body is honest and will show you what needs your attention.

Offered with love and compassion
Anna Rawlings

When I fed the dog this morning and filled her water bowl, I noticed paper in our backyard.  I went to collect it thinking the kids had left it outside. I looked at the paper and noticed it was a printed document from a website that was for accommodation in France with a Paris address. Of course I didn’t recognise the document and realised it must have blown into our backyard during the night because of the strong winds we had. Then I noticed the date and it struck me: 19th April 2012. That was over a year ago, and 11th anniversary of my brother’s death. 

I got that it was a message but what was the message? I turned to find a bird’s feather on the grass and I picked that up too. I went inside and tuned in a bit. I felt my brother wants me to go to Paris. And I cried tears of joy. I thought or maybe I need to listen to the webinar I received yesterday about a woman working in Paris. And just now as I write this, I feel my brother is just acknowledging that he knows I loved my travels in France and I have a strong desire to take the kids to Paris.

Such an amazing occurrence especially since only a day or two ago I was talking to Dean in my head and asked him to appear to me as I feel I haven’t seen or heard from him in a while. And I don’t just mean the number 38. I see that a lot. I mean hit me! I guess I asked for it.

Later that morning when I was down town in a boutique trying on shoes, the sales person said she’d get me a chair from the back. She came out with an exact replica of the chair I had as a little girl that my parents still have at their house along with my brother’s chair. I love that chair. It is something from my childhood that I like and makes me smile. I think the chair message is about Dean and I as kids, siblings,our chairs and what we still have.

On the drive home, I followed a white car with 38 on the number plate. 

There were three things that occurred this morning that felt like messages for me. I felt heard and loved. It wasn’t just a feather, or just the number 38 that I seem to take for granted these days. It was a document with Paris accommodation dated the anniversary of Dean’s death that appeared in my backyard.

When I talked to my 7 year old son about it, because he saw me cry. He said he had a thought about finding a feather in the backyard this morning. He’s so tuned in. God love him.  

I explained the anniversary of Dean’s death as the day he left planet earth and went to live in heaven. He asked me later in the car as we drove to school if we were still the same in heaven and I said yes but we have a different form, kind of like Angels. He was satisfied with that.