When Sorry Seems To Be

“What do I gotta do to make you love me, what do I gotta do to be heard?”

***This is a difficult topic. Trigger Alert***

“What do I gotta do to make you love me, what do I gotta do to be heard?”

Elton John

This blog has been nearly a month in the making. Will I bring to it the understanding and the compassion for those that need it so much?  I don’t know, but I can only hope.

I’ve had a fairly emotionally charged few months. My client base has begun to swing to something I hadn’t quite expected in my world. The #METOO movement have found their way to me. Was I prepared for that? Not at all.  But as I sit here tonight I have to wonder at the universe and how it seems to bring us to where we  need to go. Where I needed to go. To share the words that I need to share.

They always show up so stoic. Facial expressions so perfectly stone.  I keep the tissue boxes on both sides of the chair so that they have something to find when both arms inevitably reach out in a panicked need to find something with which to stifle the embarrassment of the tears that they’ve grown so adept at hiding. But not with me. Not in my world. In my world someone from the spirit side just said “I’m so sorry” and the facade of granite slips to be replaced by the most painful tears I have ever encountered. It’s hard. It’s hard to watch this and even harder to feel this with them.

And then..like a script that has been long learned they inevitably respond with “No, no, tell them it’s fine, I understand. They don’t need to be sorry” as they dry the last tear and return to the granite expression that we started with. “I am strong. So many had it worse than me. I am unbreakable. I am OK. Don’t worry about me”  Well, you’ll forgive me beautiful souls, because I do worry about you. I worry that you feel unworthy. I worry that you feel of little value beyond that of the gratification of those that would take advantage of you. I worry that you’ll never cry like you just did for me. I worry that you can’t get your head around the words…

“I am so sorry”

And I worry that you won’t accept them because you can’t imagine the pain of breaking. So many years of wanting to hear the words, only to find yourselves unable to handle the aftermath of a heart shattering into a million pieces because you’ve learned to believe yourself unworthy of the apology at all.

And I worry that because you see yourself this way, that you will continue to perpetuate this cycle of allowing. Allowing others to take advantage in all other avenues of your life. In your work, in your relationships, in your hopes and in your dreams you hold for yourself.

And most of all, I worry that you say you understand. Because you shouldn’t have ever learned to have to understand this at all.

I simply want to wrap you into my own arms and tell you that I am sorry. From my heart, not the hearts of those that caused you such hurt. I want to say I am so sorry from  the understanding of someone that understands you.

And I do.

I understand. I understand how you hate the words. I understand how you can’t trust them. Not now, and maybe never. And I understand how very wrong that is. You deserve to know that you did nothing to create that. You deserve to say how unfair it is that you don’t know how to accept them. That you are scared to accept them. And you deserve to know that it’s OK to feel this way.

You deserve to know that you deserve to fall apart.

And…

You deserved to hear these words before you met me.

And I am sorry that I have to be the one to interpret them to you when it’s too late to hear them any other way.

To those that are broken and piling bricks to hold it all together. I see you. You are the gentlest and most compassionate humans. You have learned in your discomforts to never want to create that for someone else.  And in understanding that this is the only way to love.

I am just sorry you had to learn it the worst of ways.

For anyone that chooses to victim shame you owe a mountain of apologies also. The words “I don’t believe you” are devastating and cruel and you should be ashamed.

For anyone that has placed someone in the position of cringing at the words “I am so sorry” you have much soul searching to do to find appropriate words to fix what you so badly broke.”I am so sorry” won’t cut it because they don’t know how to believe in that.

And do it soon. Because it’s your job. Not mine.

How dare you make them wait.

Do it now. Change your words.

Because sorry seems to be the hardest one to hear…

Sending love and light to all that need it today.

Tania

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Fine Feathers

“Have you humans ever stopped for a moment to consider how angels are made?”

“Well no, but now you have me concerned that death is impending and I am starting to feel itchy. Can you allow me time to at least pull off the road before you take me because I really don’t think it’s cool to take the trucker along with us”

“Pluck em out. Leave the holes. Fill them with light. And shine Angel. Shine”

~the universe~

It’s 8 am on Thanksgiving Day here in Canada. I stumbled from bed at 6:30 am to ensure that our bird was prepped in time for a family get together later today. Last years was a fiasco when, after seven hours, I discovered that the bird had cooked to no more than a sickening shade of serous pink; this no thanks to an oven that I hadn’t recognized as broken. It was a flurry of panic as I dragged it to my daughters home and somehow managed to heat the BBQ to hell temperatures and cooked it in two hours flat. Today I am taking no chances, and have obsessively wandered in no less than four times this past hour to ensure that my oven is indeed hot enough to handle 20 pounds of bird.  So far so good. I’ll put my daughter on alert just in case.

I thought today was a good day to talk feathers. Or rather, to talk about “fine” feathers. These ones are significantly different than the course ones that were taken from Tom the unfortunate turkey recently. I’m sorry Tom. Maybe vegan in the next go round. I’ll try harder.

I got to thinking about feathers yesterday while on a long solo drive. Well, no, that’s not so much the truth. What I was thinking about was the ridiculous hold up on a highway full of construction cones, reduced lanes and the fact that my coffee wasn’t nearly as hot as it should be.  My chosen background music kept leaping tracks so I would be half flight into my incredible styling  rendition of a love song when it would lurch to something obnoxious and screechy. I finally acquiesced, rolled my eyes heavenward and muttered out ” Fine. I give up” and turned off the offending noise.  I leaned into my wheel to stretch my shoulders and heard a voice from the back seat.

“Let’s talk about it”

I’ll admit I hadn’t expected company yesterday and almost went off the road. My apologies to the transport driver to my right who saw the whites of my eyes. He sure did look frightened for a moment.

“Talk about what? My obnoxious vocals?”

“No, although it was mildly entertaining sitting here listening, that’s not what I want to talk about. I want to talk about your fine feathers.”

I glanced down at my hands for a brief moment wondering if someone had roofied my coffee.

“My WHAT?”

“Have you humans ever stopped for a moment to consider how angels are made?”

“Well no, but now you have me concerned that death is impending and I am starting to feel itchy. Can you allow me time to at least pull off the road before you take me because I really don’t think it’s cool to take the trucker along with us”

“You’re funny today”

“Thanks. It’s been a hell of a week. Humor is my survival instinct”

“How you doing Tania?”

“Oh, I’m great. There’s a body absent voice sitting in my car and my coffee is cold. Just a perfectly normal day. Otherwise I am fine thanks”

“Good to hear. And that’s exactly what I want to talk about today”

The last hour of my drive was about to get interesting.

FINE Feathers

Do you know that heaven is full of fine feathers?   To the pained soul these feathers represent a soft place to land when the human journey becomes too difficult to bear. And for the most part this is the truth. The angels that you  reach to in times of discomfort most certainly do offer for you a gentle support for the moments that your legs start to buckle.  But are they fluffy and pristine in shade as your illustrators may present?  Are they all holy and all knowing?

No they are not. And today I want to set you straight on the makings of an Angel. Today  I want you to understand why you find such comfort in their presence.

“I’m fine”

The catch phrase of the hurting. The words of the pained. The ramblings of compassion.

You’re not fine in truth. Let’s be honest about it. You have struggled with so many discomforts that you have become accustomed to them and accepted them as a part of the journey.  The gentlest and most pained souls knows these words all to well. And they use them often. It’s far easier to shrug off any and all discomforts under the veil of “I am fine” than to create discomfort to anyone listening. It’s much easier to bind them to your physical self and create an energetic wall that few, if any will ever break down.

If you have ever heard the words “You are so strong” uttered then you might just be on your way to becoming a genuine true blue Angel.

So here it is.

Angels are created from pain. They are not what you expect to discover on your arrival into your version of heaven. Angels are put together slowly, like tedious needlework each bearing a unique pattern.

And if I am honest we’d like less to join us. Or, I should say, we’d love to have you, but could you stop building your own version of wings first. We’ll gladly give you some on arrival.

Whoa. Well you weren’t expecting that were you!

Well let’s get right to the facts.

Feathering is incredibly uncomfortable and not something that we require you to do. No one asked you to martyr yourself into a set of heavy wings! But it would seem that the tools are right there down on earth with you. Every item you need to sprout your own shoulder adornments are within a fingers reach.

Emotional abuse. Physical abuse. Sexual abuse. Self abuse. Wars. Politics. Physical Illness. Spiritual Illness. Mental Illness.  Judgements. Lack. Greed. Identity. Bullying. Hate. Fear. Loneliness. Shame. Resentment. Anger. Self denial. Addiction.

With every small discomfort a small feather grows. Maybe an inch. Maybe a foot. Maybe no more than a millimeter. Regardless of the size of the attachment it creates pain. It’s easy to recognize it if you are paying attention. For every time you say “I’m fine” when in truth you are struggling, you will become aware of a discomfort that you cannot put your finger to.

We call it the emergence of fine feathers.

And we’d be happiest if you might stop giving them nourishment to grow. Because in all truthfulness we are getting mighty tired of pulling them out when you get here. It hurts us more than it hurts you.

Ask yourself how many times a day someone inquires into how you are. And reflect back on how many times a day you respond with “I’m fine”

And the discomfort of a new tuft occurs.

Angels are the humans who empathized but didn’t speak up. Angels are the humans who determined that by remaining silent of their own pain, they could best assist with the pain they recognized in others. Angels allow. They swallow the bitterness, they push the resentment aside and they help you. And it’s incredibly beautiful to be the person that wishes to take on the discomfort of thousands or one. But it serves you no good in the long run as the weight of your wings drag you down in the physical sense before ultimately pulling you upward. And only  here will you find respite from the feathers you have been carrying.

Your sacrifices will not go unrewarded. This much is true. As you ascend into love your wings grow lighter, the heaviness dissipates and you are free. But you are called upon to remind those on similar journeys to speak up. To speak out. To be vocal and reflective of struggles that they are enduring. You become the angels that stand by when called upon from a dark room through sobs. It’s a difficult job because most do not understand the reason they are there. We are not here to simply comfort but to commiserate the same pains..the same feathers..and to ask you to learn from us. To let you know as we wrap our feathers close, that we share your hurt and are hopeful that you find a new way to heal it.

You are slowly beginning to understand what we have been trying to do. One by one, you are stepping ahead to announce that you are not OK. You are stepping out of the darkness of your own rooms and being honest about what you are. Who you are. Why you are.  Speak out not for revenge of abuses but the healing of abuses. Speak out not for the celebrity of your voice, but for the voices that haven’t found their stage yet. Speak out to change the world not to challenge those who resist the change. Speak out to find the acceptance that you are not alone. Speak out to find your value in a world that often tells you you have none.

And then…come to us in your darkened room!. And tell us what you’ve done. So that we can celebrate with you. And pull from your backs the weight of a feather.

Angelic feathers are things of great beauty. They emanate light and provide a soft place to land when the human journey becomes too much to bear. But our hope is to create the light without the need to carry the weight in your world.

Yes, you are incredible. Yes, you open your wings wide to give comfort to those in pain. And yes, you swing them in tight to yourself to not burden others with your own. Feathers are both a gift and a curse. So lets just pull them away.

Earth Angels. Drop your weight. Pull the feathers one by one to reveal the holes that you have filled.

Light shines best through the broken. Not through the blanketed.

Shine your light. Let others find it. And change the world.

You’ll get your feathers one day. But instead of wedging them into the pain, we will drop them down to dance softly over the light that your holes have created.

Love one another.

And shine Earth Angel. Shine.

***No truckers were harmed in the “making of an angel”*** phewf.

🙂

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And I Am Grateful

The other day I met a young girl. She was 17. She died suddenly on the end of a giggle. That’s all she recalled from the moment it ended. That she left on a giggle. And I my first thought was swift. “You are grateful for the experience of dying on a giggle?” She took me to the moment. I experienced the love of life on her final breath.

And she smiled softly at me and said…

“Wouldn’t everyone?”

We are closing into a weekend of Thanksgiving here in Canada. And it’s not necessarily the day that provokes my words, but the opportunity to share them at a time when we are asking ourselves what we can be grateful for.

The other day I met a young girl. She was 17. She died suddenly on the end of a giggle. That’s all she recalled from the moment it ended. That she left on a giggle. And I my first thought was swift. “You are  grateful for the experience of dying on a giggle?”  She took me to the moment. I experienced the love of life on her final breath.

And she smiled softly at me and said…

“Wouldn’t everyone?”

And for that I am grateful. Because she showed me the way to find grateful in all of life’s moments.  And even for someone such as myself who desperately tries to lead the way forward, it has been difficult at times.  But I am grateful for the opportunity to try my best while being human at the same time and learning to find the gift in that also.

And so I will start backwards. At the beginning and work up to the present moment.

For All This I Am Grateful

I am grateful for the first breath of air for it allowed me to be. Without that gift I would not be sharing this today.

I am grateful for the parents that stumbled about trying to understand what parenting looked like.  They gave me the gift of  asking myself the same hard questions when my turn arrived.

I am grateful for the siblings that taught me that we all take different experiences from the same home.  They gifted me the understanding that we all see things uniquely and choose to take joy or discomfort.

I am grateful for the teachers that called me unmotivated. They provided me the gift of determination that would prove me wrong in my own belief of the same.

I am grateful for the man that said “I do” when my walls whispered “do not”.  He gave me the gift of unconditional to understand that broken is just as worthy of love.

I am grateful for the children that challenged me daily. The children that got lost in the broken and called me out on it. They gave me the gift of vulnerability and the ability to hear that I was not the parent I expected to be. And to be comfortable acknowledging that imperfection.

I am grateful for the bosses that made me try harder by asking for more than I felt I was willing to give.  They gave me the gift of understanding my value.

I am grateful to the patients that sat on their buzzer. They gave me the gift of patience and the ability to recognize that demands are often a cry to be seen.

I am grateful to those that held my hand while they passed from the physical world. They gifted me the experience of the peace in allowing.

I am grateful to the people in my life that forced me to let go. They gave me the gift of understanding what I can and cannot accept in my world and the voice to express those boundaries in the future so that I can learn to stop letting go.

I am grateful to the friends that are not fearful of offending me. They gift me with the ability to learn more of who I am and what I need to be whole.

I am grateful for good people. It gifts me the pleasure of expecting more beauty in the world.

I am grateful for the bad people. It gifts me the understanding that no balance can be struck without their existence.

I am grateful for those that inspire me to be more of what I am.  Whether in beautiful ways or painful ways I accept the gift of learning something new.

I am grateful for difficult times because it gifts me the beauty of reveling in the good ones.

I am grateful for the good times because they gift me the promise that difficult times end.

I am grateful to the grieving because they gift me the understanding that love is the most powerful thing we share. Because without it the pain of  grief would not exist.

I am grateful for a world that is in turmoil for it gifts me the ability to understand how we each find new ways to coexist despite the appearance that we cannot.

I am grateful to those that leave the earth. For they return to remind me what I need to grateful for. The grass under my toes. The ocean as it sings. The aroma of baked bread. The importance of family. The need for hard times. The gift of good times. The taste of sugar. The feel of cashmere. The pain of loss. The smell of dog breath. The sound of chewing. The smell of peppermint candy canes. The sound of church bells. The movement of breathing…

The music in one last giggle…

We have so much to be grateful for.  Even not recognizing that provides a gift. The gift of learning it.

And that is everyday until you do.

One day you will go back to love and forget how it feels to learn it.Imagine for a moment being there and not knowing how it found you.

Lets be grateful that we do.

Oh. And I am grateful for turkey and cranberries for it has taught me…yum. 🙂

Have a beautiful and grateful weekend.

Love

Tania

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You Are Your Soul Mate

If I have heard it once I have heard it a thousand times over.

“When will I meet my soulmate?”

Many are surprised at my response.

“You’ll have to die first, and I am assuming this isn’t in your present plans correct?”

It’s true. To come face to face with your soul mate will require that you both reside in the same place at the exact same time. So that part of the illusion is real. What saddens me is that somewhere along the lines they got blurred and we were misinformed into believing that we could locate them here.  And while we can it is not in the way that you may think.

When people talk of soul mates they naturally lean into the thought process that this is an individual separate from themselves. How is that possible? A true soul mate as we understand it is that one person that knows you better than you know yourself. That person that understands your every movement before you move, your every thought before it’s thought and your every desire before it’s desired. We’re humans not x – ray machines so this makes absolutely no sense at all.

There is no one walking on this planet that can read your minds. Psychics such as myself can read your life plans but that’s an entirely different communication that I will go into at another time.  Quite simply….no one knows you like you know yourself.

Your soul mate is you. Each living breathing human being resides in two distinct worlds at the same time. When you left the spirit side to take on the arduous journey of life, you left a part of yourself behind. Who else could you lean to to make decisions along the way if you hadn’t done so?

Your soul mate, your higher self, is the voice that asks you to hesitate. The voice that asks you to go for it.  It’s that feeling deep into the pit of your stomach that tells you this is the right direction, or the wrong.  Without this part of yourself you would move erratically through life with no compass at all.

Your soul self is a split of the same light. As you move through this lifetime your higher you moves with you. It becomes a dance of sorts, a communication that occurs in your next decision, your next breath or your next thought. Did you believe that the universe would toss you to the earth below to figure it out without a guide? Not a chance. That would be like putting a three year old into the middle of the woods and expecting them to find the way home. Illogical and dangerous.

Your soul mate knows you. Knows you because it has shared eternity with you. It remembers all the remembers that you don’t. Your soul mate is a blending of every lifetime lived. So that when you arrive back to it’s warm embrace, you are flooded with the memories of every single person you have encountered along the way. We tend to think so small because our brains don’t allow for anything beyond the years we spend here on earth. But what about all the years before these ones? What about your lifetimes prior to this? Do they simply evaporate into the ether never to be recaptured? Of course not.

If you are paying attention, those memories of times long long ago will drop in when you least expect them. Science calls them deja vu experiences. A recollection of something familiar with nothing to base the experience on.  I call them your soul mate looking through your book of life and reflecting on an experience from 1565. Memories are emotion driven and you will sometimes be drawn into the emotions and not ever know where they arrived from.

But the feeling of familiar is intense. And can be incredibly beautiful. And allow for you to change the way you might move through the remainder of your day.

Stop seeking your soul mate outside of your self.  No one can remember what you yourself can recall. No one shares the same experiences and manifests thoughts in the way that you do.  Your thoughts are living and breathing and impossible for anyone on this planet to understand or catch up with. The only one that can do that is the one that you share them with every moment of every day. You. You. Yourself.

Please cease looking for what will make you whole. Look instead for what will help you to find that wholeness.  Look instead for the person who will provide you with the tools necessary to know yourself completely, to know the what you were before you arrived into the delivery room and started to question who you are.

There is someone out there that can bring you to yourself. Someone with whom your own soul mate interacts on the other side. Someone who felt compelled to approach you on a crowded street yet they don’t understand why. Someone who feels things about life that you feel. Who challenges you to accept your own insecurities. Who angers you, evokes you to do deeper. Someone you may hate in one moment and love in the next. They are the other flame that gives you light. And often times their light can dance fiercely but it’s simply to shine into your mirror and help you to find your true self.

Someone with the same memories of times long ago. Someone to complete the circle.

Don’t search for them. They will find you.

Be peaceful. Be patient. And be open.

Your twin flame is the collision in your life. The one that will show you the wreckage, force you to bring it back together and help you face the beauty in your scars they create.

I hope you have found them. And if not, I hope you do soon.

But you will.

You have no choice.

Your soul is waiting.

 

 

 

In love…in light…

Tania

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Dead Relatives Guide to Living

Earlier today I saw a post on social media about the discomfort in buying and wearing swimwear. As I quickly read it, I was suddenly taken aback by a female voice in my ear “Tell ya, wish I could still look awful in a bikini”

It stopped me for a moment as I heard the melancholy in the soft voice.

I let her continue.

“You’ll wish you had when you get here. Had done what you wanted to do instead of worried about what people might think. You’ll wish you had done it anyway”

Her name is Jane. I don’t know who she belongs to or why she chose to intrude on my morning scrolling. But I do know that she wanted to share some points on living while we are alive. So here is her list word for word. Nothing is changed.

“You’re so scared of what people might think of you. You avoid so many adventures because you’ve been taught that you might be judged. You are afraid to sit in the middle of a restaurant because you feel guilty for eating; all because of a few pounds?  All because someone, somewhere in your life told you that you that you had to be perfect. And perfect people don’t eat cheeseburgers. We can’t eat cheeseburgers here, damn, we can’t eat a thing here. We have no need for that kind of nourishment. But, listen to me. My human memory would love nothing more than to dog down a chocolate shake and salty fries.  You are missing out on the incredible experience of sating your soul by ordering salad and water just to fit in. Eat. Be mindful and moderate but stop punishing yourself by not enjoying what will fulfill you.

How many times have you missed out on the adventure of a beautiful summer day? Arriving in the sand to find forty under 30’s out there in bikinis you decide that you don’t look good enough so you sit sweating like a defrosted turkey on the beach? Seriously, I am not kidding around here. You miss out on some of life’s best memories because you have a few rolls? Stop that ridiculousness right now. Get out of your own way, find a suit that covers your dimples that you hate so much, and share them with the world. No one is looking anyway. You are all too busy worrying about how you look to everyone else to care.  While no one is busy looking at you, you are busy avoiding life. Get it together. You need the sunshine.

How many times I found myself wanting to join in on the music. I would walk through the streets and hear songs on every corner. All I wanted to do was to dance but I was afraid that someone might see me and find me odd. How I missed a chance to just feel free for a few minutes. Don’t do this. Dance. Tap your foot, shake your bottom, tap your fingers..but do something.  You’re standing there as stiff as a board fence and you KNOW you wanna dance. Why aren’t you dancing? Take advantage of the fact that you are strong and healthy and you CAN dance.

Speak to each other. You came to the world smart. You know who is good to speak to and who you should avoid. When you feel pulled to reach to someone DO IT. Your own soul self knows what they need and what you can do to fill that need. Stop believing that you are not allowed to engage strangers. That stranger might be the one person that you need to change the course of your life. You don’t know. Stop assuming. When you feel called to respond, respond. Change your day and change theirs. It’s your job. It is your job to respond to what your soul requests. Your soul knows. Your brain gets in the way and messes up some amazing encounters.

Sing. I don’t care if you can’t sing. Not too many humans can so you are in good company. I don’t know how many times I stood in church and watched the parishioners whisper and glance about the room in shame.  That’s not singing! That’s not raising the roof and creating a choir. That’s pushing away your integral right to use your voice for something amazing. I always sang. Loud. Poorly. But my face shone and my spirit grew.  I felt motivated and alive. All from opening my mouth and letting my voice come through. It’s been some decades since I last did so. And no one remembers. That’s what you all forget. No one remembers you couldn’t sing. But everyone remembers that you did. Think about that.

No one remembers what you did poorly. Everyone remembers what you tried to do that made you shine.

Your memories, when you arrive to this place should be full. Your memories should include the worst fishing hats and the smallest catch. They should include the full dozen attempts to swim and sank each time. They should include your shorts and the hairy legs you forgot to shave. They should include your smudged lipstick, your less than perfect makeup and your less than perfect hair. They should include every time you tried to live your passion no matter how small the try was. You didn’t fail. You passed because you tried.

You let yourselves down. Every day and every moment. By glancing around the room fearful of judgement. By not trying to try in case you fall. By not singing because someone might be listening. By not smiling because someone may not smile back. By not being all that you can be on this journey because someone else can be that better. By not giving into your desire to laugh, to dance, to cry. You let yourselves down. By not seeking to learn, not seeking to teach, not seeking to speak. You let yourselves down.

Stop it.

I wanted to sit on Santa’s knee in my adult years. I wanted to challenge the thought process that only children were permitted that wistfulness. I stood year after year at the end of the line pretending to be someone’s parent. My legs wanted to walk right on over there and perch grinning wildly as the photographer snapped the photo. I never did that. I waited and waited for another mature adult to go first. They never did. I often wonder how many other adults waited behind me to see if I might go first.

I died at 65. I stood in line at 64. And said next year.

I am asking you to live. Without fear of living. To be silly, unpredictable and wise. To dance like everyone is watching you. To sing like everyone is listening. To find the worst bathing suit possible and saunter onto the beaches like you belong there.

Because you do. You belong here.

A favor for an old woman who grew old before she learned to live young?

At Christmas this year, find a Santa. Get in line and sit upon his knee. And take a picture for me. Grin wildly. And share it with everyone that you love.

That’s how to live.

We don’t ask for much on this side of life. We are afforded every beauty that we avoided in our human lifetime. We are loved deeply. We love each other deeply.

But we don’t have cheeseburgers. And we don’t have Santa lines.

That’s your job now.

Make us smile over here by living voraciously over there. Say hello to Santa. Tell him Jane sent ya”

Jane….

 

In love in light…dance…sing…eat…live…

Tania

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Lavenders Blue – Children And Death

Every family is unique, and every family will make the choice to deal with this in their own ways. There is truly no right way, but there is the only way that is right for you. So take from my thoughts and then make your own decisions when it comes to the young souls in your keeping.

“Lavender’s blue, dilly dilly,
Lavender’s green
When you are king, dilly dilly,
I shall be queen

Who told you so, dilly dilly,
Who told you so?
‘Twas my own heart, dilly dilly,
That told me so”

 

Maybe I learned about death and found comfort there in my early childhood. Back in the day where beloved pets were not delivered to the veterinarian for cremation but instead carried lovingly to the back yard for burial. Where we would create our own cross from bits and pieces found in the barn, and with black ink, memorialize the name in a less than perfect way as our marker would never smoothly glide over the knots on our barn board.  Over time, the name would fade, and one day you would find yourself driving by the old place and wondering if the cross still remained. I still do this to this day, If you see me slow in front of your home; chances are..I left a piece of my heart there in your care.

Children for the most part don’t have the opportunity to express grief in this value anymore. Rules and regulations have taken away from our chances to provide a valuable and much needed lesson to our littlest humans. So we must find new ways to include them in a process that is important to their emotional well being into adulthood.

Every family is unique, and every family will make the choice to deal with this in their own ways. There is truly no right way, but there is the only way that is right for you. So take from my thoughts and then make your own decisions when it comes to the young souls in your keeping.

In my work I am often asked to involve children in a parent’s reading. I love this opportunity to bring forward some peace to the eager little faces that I am sitting with. But, again, it is not for everyone and I would strongly suggest that you made a decision such as this as a family.  Very often, during the course of a session like this, the kids are so excited to be able to share with me what they have encountered since the family member died. It becomes a safe space of sorts for them to finally say that Grampa was there to visit last night. And it’s incredibly beautiful to see how they shine with their stories.  You don’t need someone like me to engage them in this conversation. You can simply sit with them, perhaps at the graveyard, perhaps at the kitchen table, and allow them to share something that will create a soft spot for them and some healing for yourself.

My children were very early introduced to the conversations surrounding death and grieving. I will use my daughter specifically because much of the death in our families occurred at times where she best recalls them. My boys were significantly removed from the time frame.   My daughter’s hamster was buried in a yard in a sombre ceremony that we permitted her to create. For a small child she was incredibly respectful of the importance of saying goodbye to her little friend “Hammy”.  Over the years to follow she lost several people, so that on the day where her beloved Nanny Shirley was facing the prospect of immediate death, my daughter was prepared.  She was 12 years old, and on a holiday with friends when that day arrived.  The very best I could offer for her in that moment was a phone call to speak with the woman that had been one of the brightest lights in my daughter’s young world.

I was present with my mother in law as this call took place. And I will never forget the maturity with which my young daughter handled what would ultimately be their last conversation.

“Hi Nanny….how are you feeling”  was her first response to which my mother in law responded “Not so great Megan”.

Her next question almost knocked me over.  Not only in it’s simplicity but in it’s straightforwardness.

“Nanny are you going to die?”

The response to this was equally as simple and honest.

“Yes Megan I think I am”.

I will not share any further of the conversation but am comfortable now saying that this word share was an integral part of the grieving process for which she would begin just a few short hours later. It allowed for her to find some peace and to better emotionalize the days and months to follow.  And it allowed for her to understand that love simply never dies.  To this day my daughter still sings the words to their favorite song to her own children and reminds them of a love she once shared with someone beautiful

Not every parent will find opportunity such as I have had to share this process with their young ones.  And for the most part that is a good thing isn’t it. No one wants to have to help a little person grieve, but it ultimately will become a part of their journey so perhaps consider preparing them for that while they are young.

Talk about death openly. Include them in decisions surrounding the impending death of a pet. Include them in conversations surrounding the deaths of friends. Let them ask questions and answer them honestly.  Take them for walks through graveyards and help them to understand the beautiful and soft nature of the quiet that you find there. Bring a picnic and sit among the headstones. I love to take my granddaughter to our local graveyard with bags of apples to feed the many deer that walk quietly through the space.

Create a comfort zone around the subject of death and dying. Ask them to draw pictures of what they believe it looks like. What they believe heaven might look like.

There will always be an opportunity to begin the process of teaching them to heal. Whether it be a school mate or the next door neighbor that suddenly isn’t there anymore to wave good morning. Using tactics such as “They went away on a long holiday” while easing for you in finding the right words, are a lost opportunity to provide some lessons early into their lives.  We can learn ourselves how to more appropriately respond to grief when we allow children to show us the way.

Kids are incredibly resilient and curious. Once they have absorbed the understanding that from the physical perspective someone is gone, they will move onto the next part of the process of asking questions. It is amazing how many answers you find while you give them the answers you didn’t know you had.

There is nothing more beautiful to me than watching a small child, not pressured, not coerced, when they tip toe to the casket…and leaning in they pat the hands that they loved…or stretch as high as they can….to drop a kiss on the cheek that lays there.  In this lies no fear at all. Just a simple understanding of love in it’s purest form.

And for them…this is goodbye…

Until we meet again….

A kiss goodbye.

Teach your babies not only how to live. But teach them how to live beyond death. Allow them to help you with your own pain. They are truly the closest things we have on earth to angels.

And they know the way.

 

 

Lavenders blue..dilly dilly….

Love…

Tania