There is a reason this page is called Healing in the Afterloss. But what is healing?
Healing for me doesn’t mean the hurt goes away. Healing means the hurt changes. Instead of the hurt being in the shape of a broken heart, it is now in the shape of an open heart.
In the beginning, all I could feel was the broken, fragmented life that could barely beat a heart. Every loss left a cavernous hole that I thought could never be filled. I was empty, full of pain. And this hole that I carried into every moment left a silent echo in the Afterloss where I couldn’t put words to the pain.
There was nothing people could say. There was nothing I could say. And the silence of this empty cavern between loss and life was unbearable. I couldn’t function out in the world. I could barely function in the world of the Afterloss.
It took touch, not time, to travel the Afterloss from a broken heart to an open heart. I had to touch those places that felt empty. I felt like a street mime artist that hangs on an invisible rope or presses their hands on an invisible wall. To the world there was nothing there. To me, I was hanging onto a thread and trapped in a world that nobody could see, let alone understand.
I had to touch the world that was invisible to the world around me. Each fragment of my broken heart I had to touch. Each tear that carved a trail down my cheeks had to be followed. At one point, I literally stopped wiping my tears away. I wanted to feel them hit my chest. I wanted to see where they went and where they would ultimately rest.
My tears rested in the same place the Colorado River rests in the Grand Canyon. They rested at the bottom of this huge hole carved by hurt and loss.
As I explored this new terrain of the Afterloss and this canyon of sorrow, I found what felt like a massive hole of emptiness was filling with something quite majestic and beautiful. Every time I would lean into the pain and feel the magnitude of my hurt it would take me to this remarkable destination. I would come to a place of compassion and love. The hole that carried my emptiness carried me to an open heart.
Healing for me is not getting over my loss. Healing is touching loss and experiencing the transformative presence of love. Having an open heart does not mean my hurt is over. Healing the hurt means I can sit with another who is hurting and hold them in love. I can use my hurt to go to those places where only hurt can go.
I never try to take another’s hurt away. There were times when that was all that was left of me. However, I can think of no greater honor than to sit with another with an open heart and honor their hurt. Others sat with me in silence and I knew they knew. Others spoke of the hurt they still carry and it opened my heart even more.
When I have the privilege to sit with another all I want is for them to know it’s okay to hurt. On occasion someone will ask, “Does it ever end?” I answer, “I don’t know what it will be for you, but in my experience, the hurt hasn’t ended; the hurt changes.”
I no longer fall into a fetal position hyperventilating with every muscle locked in contraction. I no longer have rivers of tears carving this canyon in my soul. Those episodes of pure anguish that seemed endless have ended. They have carved out an open heart and a place where there is room for another to join me and sit in their own overwhelming pain. And in those moments, I can feel my heart open a little more. And our broken hearts widens and deepens my open heart.
There is a reason this page is called Healing in the Afterloss. But what is healing?
Healing for me doesn’t mean the hurt goes away. Healing means the hurt changes. Instead of the hurt being in the shape of a broken heart, it is now in the shape of an open heart.
In the beginning, all I could feel was the broken, fragmented life that could barely beat a heart. Every loss left a cavernous hole that I thought could never be filled. I was empty, full of pain. And this hole that I carried into every moment left a silent echo in the Afterloss where I couldn’t put words to the pain.
There was nothing people could say. There was nothing I could say. And the silence of this empty cavern between loss and life was unbearable. I couldn’t function out in the world. I could barely function in the world of the Afterloss.
It took touch, not time, to travel the Afterloss from a broken heart to an open heart. I had to touch those places that felt empty. I felt like a street mime artist that hangs on an invisible rope or presses their hands on an invisible wall. To the world there was nothing there. To me, I was hanging onto a thread and trapped in a world that nobody could see, let alone understand.
I had to touch the world that was invisible to the world around me. Each fragment of my broken heart I had to touch. Each tear that carved a trail down my cheeks had to be followed. At one point, I literally stopped wiping my tears away. I wanted to feel them hit my chest. I wanted to see where they went and where they would ultimately rest.
My tears rested in the same place the Colorado River rests in the Grand Canyon. They rested at the bottom of this huge hole carved by hurt and loss.
As I explored this new terrain of the Afterloss and this canyon of sorrow, I found what felt like a massive hole of emptiness was filling with something quite majestic and beautiful. Every time I would lean into the pain and feel the magnitude of my hurt it would take me to this remarkable destination. I would come to a place of compassion and love. The hole that carried my emptiness carried me to an open heart.
Healing for me is not getting over my loss. Healing is touching loss and experiencing the transformative presence of love. Having an open heart does not mean my hurt is over. Healing the hurt means I can sit with another who is hurting and hold them in love. I can use my hurt to go to those places where only hurt can go.
I never try to take another’s hurt away. There were times when that was all that was left of me. However, I can think of no greater honor than to sit with another with an open heart and honor their hurt. Others sat with me in silence and I knew they knew. Others spoke of the hurt they still carry and it opened my heart even more.
When I have the privilege to sit with another all I want is for them to know it’s okay to hurt. On occasion someone will ask, “Does it ever end?” I answer, “I don’t know what it will be for you, but in my experience, the hurt hasn’t ended; the hurt changes.”
I no longer fall into a fetal position hyperventilating with every muscle locked in contraction. I no longer have rivers of tears carving this canyon in my soul. Those episodes of pure anguish that seemed endless have ended. They have carved out an open heart and a place where there is room for another to join me and sit in their own overwhelming pain. And in those moments, I can feel my heart open a little more. And our broken hearts widens and deepens my open heart.
