I’m trying to kick the grief in the butt. I know it’s been a month… be gentle with yourself, etc. BUT! I won’t lie, grief is all-consuming and sometimes I find myself crying in the car because an exit reminds me of something. (“Oh look. There’s the In-and-Out. We ate there.”) Grocery shopping is like walking thru the death halls of memory. (-”Pickled beets. That’s one of his favorites.” -”Oh, there’s a sale on Via Decaf coffee. He liked decaf.” -”Figs. We never had enough figs.”)
So upon a whim, I am re-visiting an old Emotional Freedom coach’s office. EFT (Emotional Freedom Technique) is at best, from my newbie layman’s eyes, physical tapping energy points with thought re-direction. (I’m sure wikipedia can describe it better.)
Nonetheless, I haven’t been able to get up in the mornings since my fiance’s death. I keep hoping that I’m going to wake up and find him in bed next to me, it’s all been one big Dallas “Bobby Ewing Returns” dream sequence… and in truth, if he’s not next to me, he’s in the shower. I’ll go, “What are you doing here?” He’ll say, “What are you talking about?!?!” I’ll say, “You’re dead!” He’ll look offended and say, “No, I’m not!” I’ll get agitated and say, “You’ve been dead for a month!” He’ll look at me concerned and say, “Are you okay?!” I’ll get more and more excited until I notice that the calendar says March 27th, and I realize that YES! It was a dream! I was stuck in Inception!!!! He’ll hug me because he’s worried about me, and I’ll start crying because I’m so damn happy. Fade to black. Roll credits.
Instead, I’m lying prone on a sofa and repeating the EFT practitioner’s words. He guiding me thru a visualization of getting up in the morning and I’m in a half-asleep haze.
Tap. Tap. Tap. “Let go of the depression,” he says. I repeat, “I let go of the depression.”
Tap. Tap. Tap. “Let go of the sadness,” he says. I repeat.
Tap. Tap. Tap. “Let go of the hope,” he says. I repeat. “I let go of the hope…. NO! NO! NO! I don’t WANT to!!!!” I burst into a monster.
“Why not?” he questions.
“I don’t want to let go of the hope! I want him to come back! I want him back. Don’t make me give that up! Don’t take that away from me! That’s all I have!!!” I’m fiercing saying between tight lips, my eyes wet but still close.
“But he’s gone. He’s not coming back,” his voice is soft but firm.
And it dawned on me at that moment. He was right. I was living for an alternate world that didn’t exist. I was able to recreate another scenario from my vivid imagination and live truly believing it… although I never said it to anyone else before.
“Repeat after me. ‘He’s not coming back. I’ve lost him.’” Tap tap tap.
And so the real uphill work begins.