Tender Mercy Moments

After they took Jeff's body away yesterday, my dear big sister whisked me away to her house for some much needed R & R. On the way we stopped at Cracker Barrel for some lunch. Jeff loved Cracker Barrel, not so much for the food as for the decor and the store. I was a bit surprised that I really could eat, although there were times I felt myself going into a slight state of shock, I just kept tapping. When we had finished eating, we went out to the store to browse a bit. On a shelf against the wall, I saw something that made my heart jump a little. At first I couldn't even identify what it was and why my heart energy surged. Then I realized that I was looking at a display of figurines. Now you have to understand that other than Precious Moments on occasion, I am not a big collector, nor do I get excited about most knick knacks. But sometimes there will be something that speaks to me. Something was definately communicating to me, but it took a few minutes for me to figure out what it was. When I got it I had a sweet memory.

A few months back I taught an abundance seminar in Spokane that was received very well by those in attendance. The day after the seminar, one of the women brought me something to show me how she was feeling that day. It was a sweet little resin figurine made by an artist I was unfamiliar with. As I held the precious figurine that day I could understand why she wanted to share it with me because it felt really good in my hand. In my class we had done a lot of emotional clearing and were still basking in the feeling of freedom that comes with release of old emotional energy. The figurine depicted opening your arms wide to receive the abundance of joy that is available. I loved it and thanked her for sharing with me. It was just 2 days later that our lives were set on a new unalterable course and I totally forgot what she had shared...until yesterday.

The name of the company's display I was looking at was called Willow Springs, and an artist by the name of Susan Lordi. There on the shelf was the same little figurine that made me feel so good 2 months ago. As I reached out and took hold of it, I felt that same surge of joy I did the day it was first shared with me. Then I read the card that goes with this particular figurine...Happiness Free to sing, laugh, dance....create!!!

It was a perfect example of what I call tender mercy moments. The tears that came were not tears of sorrow, but deep gratitude and in that brief moment, I not only allowed myself to feel the joy of knowing that I am free to be whatever I want, I somehow felt connected to Jeff's joy in being free as well. To me it was like a spirit to spirit connection and a message letting me know that even though we are not physically together right now he is ever so close and wanting me to remember everything I have been learning and teaching about creating joy. Needless to say, I bought the figurine without any guilt.

I then took advantage of my sister's home and slept for 2 hours. When I woke up, I did some Tai Chi, then spent the evening visiting, playing games, and NOT talking on the phone to the many people who wanted to send me their condolences. Throughout the evening I kept hearing a little voice like a stream inside my head telling me over and over again that Jeff died this morning. I was aware of it, but did not feel a need to turn up the volume. It was a pleasant evening. I cried for a few minutes when I went to bed and then slept very soundly.

This is very different from the day Emily died. Then I just went into a state of shock that lasted for weeks. I remember not sleeping or eating for days. I distinctly knew when I disconnected and began watching from a distance as my body went through the motions of planning a funeral, picking out a casket, and going to the mall to buy burial clothes. The only word to describe the experience is sureal. I was pleasant. Jeff and I even spoke at the services, but I did not cry. I did not feel much of anything until later. Perhaps it was because her death was so sudden and unexpected and was already a reality before we knew anything about it. Maybe it was because she was my child and had actually been a part of my body. I also believe that it was my body's way of protecting itself against the onslought of pain and instead released it in increments that I could physically handle.

What I am feeling now is different. It is not that the loss is not as great because it is. In many ways, I will probably notice the permanence of his being gone much more than I did Emily because, as an adult living in another state, she was not a part of my daily existence. I know that part of the difference is because I have grown and been open to shifting many of my paradigms. I see the world through different, much lighter, brighter eyes. Don't get me wrong, I know there is still a grieving process that is natural and normal. I welcome it because with it comes healing and a greater capacity for more joy.

I am not in a state of denial and am fully present in my body. This morning when I woke up, I allowed myself to lay completely still and did what I call my gratitude body scan. It is a silent meditation where I invite white healing light to fill my body begininng at my head working through each organ, gland, system, and body part. Much like I did with Jeff a few nights ago, with every breath I took in, I said thank you to my body, and thank you to my Father for providing it for me. As I visualized my body as vibrant with a strong, healthy immune system, I felt it just tingling from my head down to my toes. I allowed myself to stay in that state for at least an hour. When I finally got up, I felt a total sense of calmness and energy. It was wonderful.

When we came home today, I was totally prepared to make funeral preparations, although we are not calling it a funeral. It is a celebration of life. Tomorrow we will drive to Spokane and I will be able to greet the many who want to share in my sorrow and grief. I think it will be important for me to zip up so that I don't take on all their negative energies. Maybe instead I will just set the intentions that the next few days will be full of tender mercies and continued miracles. After all, that is what makes life (and death) so remarkable.

Much love,

Chris