A few months after Mom passed away, I heard a gentle voice inside my head that said, “I’m so sad.”
It caught me by surprise as I was cleaning the room and I scoffed back to it, “Of course I’m so sad. My mother is gone and I feel so lost. Why wouldn’t I be anything other than sad?”
I paused and thought, “Hmm… wait. Who was that?” I thought it was weird, but shrugged it off.
As the weeks went by, I kept hearing that soft voice inside my head that said, “I’m so sad.”
Over and over again to the point it become so familiar that we even became friends.
I heard it so often I began singing with that gentle voice, every time I heard it.
🎶 I’m so sad. 🎵 I’m so sad. 🎶 I’m so sad 🎵
A month after dad passed away, I had a coaching session with a man all the way in Australia.
I needed it. The grief was thick.
One of the things we talked about was chemistry. He said something along the lines of: “Sometimes all you need is just a small drop of something to create something completely different. One small drop of something can create a very big reaction.”
That afternoon I felt a deep sadness come up again. The same sadness I was so familiar with and had gotten accustomed to.
This time I had a new tool to use. Chemistry.
This time I surrendered deeper into the sadness. I felt it deeper and deeper and deeper.
I gave it space.
I let it be there.
And then I asked it, “What do you need me to know? What have you been trying to tell me all this time?”
“I’m here because I need you to acknowledge the love you feel for your Mom and Dad.”
Oh. I see. The sadness wasn’t ALL just sadness. It was LOVE disguised as sadness.
So as I sat with this vast and deep sadness, I gently added a just drop of love . . .
And the shift was incredible.
The sadness felt different. It felt like love because it was love.
If you were to ask me today, I’d say the gentle voice I heard a few years ago was God gently waking me up to process my feelings and to prepare me to want to start living again.
It’s been quite the journey and I feel like we’re just getting started.