The day after Coleen’s funeral service was a difficult day. Actually every day was difficult at that time but this particular day was more so. It was the first day that the smoke had settled and all the memorializing and planning and arranging and having company was done. This was the first day that I was in the house without having somewhere else to be or someone else to host. As had become my custom during the weeks leading up to Coleen’s death, I was home that day nesting. I was doing laundry, cleaning, organizing, fussing with things that needed little if any attention. I was tasking to keep my mind off other, more important things that I didn’t want to deal with.
That morning I was in our bedroom putting some clothes away. I had a couple of Coleen’s tops folded and out of habit as much as anything, wanted to put them in the proper drawer. I wasn’t sure how she organized everything and the truth was it didn’t really matter if I put them in the wrong drawer or not. I was just trying to get them somewhere out of sight and a drawer seemed like the right place.
So I took a chance and and pulled open one of her drawers. I chose the right one because sitting there, on top of the clothes already inside was a piece of paper. More than that, it was actually a page from one of those page a day calendars that had been ripped from the rest of that year’s pages. It’s border was a field of sunflowers. It’s message was:
Only good lies ahead and I am safe
I had known Coleen to take comfort in inspirational messages like this. She was in the habit of posting these messages in places where she would notice them at random times, almost by accident. She wanted to be reminded of her strength and incredible healing powers. And she wanted to be reminded that things would somehow be okay.
I have no doubt that Coleen planted that message in that drawer with those intentions in mind. But I didn’t think of that when I pulled the drawer open and saw that staring at me. I absolutely froze in my tracks and literally gasped. It caught me so off guard. It was as if she was talking to me. It was exactly like she was talking to me. She was talking to me.
Only good lies ahead and I am safe
I picked it up and just sat down on the edge of the bed and tried to breathe. It was such an emotional moment for me, perhaps one of the strongest of all. That page, those words were originally meant for her to help her heal and be strong. And they were meant for her in her final days. But they were also there to be discovered by me to help me in my healing. That phrase has become my mantra and I say it constantly. The word “safe” has taken on an entirely new meaning for me as I hear it in different places, spoken by different people. It has become one of my favorite words in this journey. Being safe. Arriving safely. Only good lies ahead and I am safe.
I have mentioned that I thought Coleen had left some gifts behind, little treasures to be discovered that would serve as medicine for the pain. This was certainly one of those gifts. I think she meant for that to be found. And now it sits atop my dresser in a very prominent place. I see it every day.
I want to introduce a new person who entered my life just as Coleen left it. Her name is Rebecca and she is a reiki therapist and life coach and she is the last gift Coleen gave me.
Coleen had been going to Rebecca for reiki therapy and she loved it. I was not familiar with reiki and Coleen was never able to fully explain it to me. That wasn’t her fault, I’m sure she tried. I probably wasn’t listening closely enough because I was distracted by some football game or newspaper. I thought it was one of Coleen’s holistic things that was good for her and that’s all that mattered. I liked it that she liked it. I liked it that it made her feel better. I only wish I had paid better attention.
At this point I should probably not assume that everyone knows what reiki is especially since I didn’t know myself. According to The International Center for Reiki Training, “Reiki is a Japanese technique for stress reduction and relaxation that also promotes healing. It is administered by “laying on hands” and is based on the idea that an unseen “life force energy” flows through us and is what causes us to be alive. If one’s “life force energy” is low, then we are more likely to get sick or feel stress, and if it is high, we are more capable of being happy and healthy.”
During her last week or so, Coleen was very sick and pretty much in bed all the time. Her voice had been reduced to a raspy whisper and she was not able to talk on the phone. When her phone rang she would hand it to me or whoever else was around to answer it. One of those calls was from Rebecca who I did not know. She wanted to visit Coleen and give her reiki at home. A house call. I thought that was great so we made an appointment that was never kept.
Coleen passed away two days before her reiki appointment with Rebecca. I managed to remember about the appointment and sent Rebecca a text telling her about Coleen. She texted me back with many words of encouragement and she mentioned that Coleen had reiki sessions waiting for me. At that time I was consumed in emotion and planning Coleen’s memorial and I once again did not pay as close attention as I should have.
Several days later, Rebecca sent me another text reminding me of the sessions and asking me to call her. When I did I asked what she meant by “reikis waiting for me.” She explained, “Rob, Coleen told me that you would take her dying very hard and you would need a lot of help. She thought that I could help you with that so she bought several reiki sessions for you before she passed.”
Coleen was aware that her end was nearing and she had the love and caring and foresight to be concerned with what I was going to be dealing with after her. In addition to all of her own issues. Around that same time one of her hospice doctors asked her if she was afraid. “I’m not afraid of dying,” Coleen said, “but I am afraid of leaving my family.” Her protection of family became very important to her at the end. It was something she had always done and one of the last things she still had any control over.
Coleen knew that I would be receptive to Rebecca and the guidance she could give me. She always knew what was best for me and it was always well before I knew it. Typically I would put up some stupid objection when she had a great idea about something I should do, something that was good for me. I rarely agreed to much of anything when it was first presented. It had to have an incubation period. In this case though, I didn’t have time to delay. I knew what Coleen knew: I was going to need help coping with her loss and I was going to need it quickly.
Now back to that phone call with Rebecca. Once I realized the significance of what Coleen had done for me, the wonderful gift, I tried to continue my conversation with Rebecca but I was just simply overcome. Coleen never said a word to me or anyone else about me and Rebecca and reiki.
Rebecca and I did manage to finish that telephone call and we set up a consultation where she described what she does, how reiki works and how she also uses sound therapy. It was all very interesting to me and I was all in on everything. My logic was simply that if Coleen thought it was a good idea, I was going to do it.
But the true magic of that consultation was the way Rebecca talked to me and soothed me. She told me about how Coleen thought of me, that I was so special to her and that she loved me so much and felt so terrible about leaving. Coleen told her I would be going through some very big changes. And Rebecca told me that everything was going to be ok, that I had the ability to get better and to heal. She has such a calming presence, you can not help but be persuaded by her energies and enthusiasm. She is also well stocked with tissues which I have needed a few times.
Since that first meeting, I have had several reiki and sound therapies with Rebecca. I had little idea what to expect but I am now a believer. Rebecca has the ability to comfort me, put me into a meditative state where I think of nothing, but am somehow aware of everything at the same time. She plays music, listens to my thoughts, helps me breathe, pulls out my fears and feelings and teaches me about my truths and my chakras.
In a quote on her website, Rebecca said “I am a gardener of souls,” and she truly is. My reply to that would be “And I am the soil. You plant things in me and help them grow.” I don’t know where I would be today without Coleen’s last gift to me. Rebecca’s guidance and knowledge are gifts that keep giving. Gifts that are healing and gifts that make me safe.
Today when I am in the pool swimming, I am different. Never a confident swimmer, I am now a champion. My strokes are strong and smooth, cutting easily through the water and pushing it aside. My legs and feet are tireless, churning and causing mild waves in their wake. My breath is long lasting as I go underwater for remarkable lengths of time. I do not panic for air as I approach the wall, knowing that I have enough in reserve to arrive safely.
I float on my back with the water a bed of comfort and trust, supporting me as I look skyward into the brightness of the sun. Still on my back with my ears barely submerged in the water, I can hear my breathing. It is calm and peaceful. I am calm and peaceful. Arriving safely.
I have taken great comfort in meeting people Coleen knew outside of the orbit she and I shared together. She was a tremendously hard worker and talented social worker and in her occupation, met and helped many people with cancer diagnoses. I have also met friends of hers from her metastatic breast cancer support group and colleagues from other cancer organizations whom she frequently worked closely with.
They all loved her. Coleen was the type of person who could spin positives on almost any situation. She was a wealth of resource and provided advice and encouragement seemingly without trying. It was so natural for her.
Of course, I already knew most of this but still took comfort in hearing it from others. About two weeks after her passing (sorry, can’t seem to use the “death”), I received an email from a friend and colleague of Coleen’s with a link to a blogpost about her. It was written by a patient Coleen had touched and helped and is such a wonderful tribute to her and the relationship she fostered with others. Her name is Leah and she is a cancer survivor and a pretty regular blogger. I have not yet met her except through her article. I would like to. I think she would be another one of those outside the orbit people whom I would find comfort with.
A few days ago a friend sent me a link to a beautiful song by Coldplay called “The Scientist.” She said it was a fitting metaphor to me and what I was going through. I listened to it that night through headphones and became enveloped by the beauty and power of the melody and lyrics. The lyrics are at a premium, but there was one line that just kept coming back at me, crushing my heart yet warming it at the same time.
“… Back to the start …”
I played it once that night and cried my way through it. I played it again the next night with the same results. And I’m going to keep playing it and keep crying because it is such a good hurt. The memories that return to me as the song plays are so special and real and fresh and I need them. As much as it hurts to remember, it feels right at the same time. It’s like sticking your toes in a pool’s cold water repeatedly until you get used to the temperature and eventually it doesn’t feel so cold.
As I write this, I am thinking of several little events that have occurred during the last few days. These have been seemingly insignificant on their own but when I think of them all together, when I think of them along with this song, they become very powerful and relevant.
A co-worker told me he was attending his niece’s wedding over the weekend. He said it was going to be held outside at a place called Glen Park and asked me if I ever heard of it. I smiled and said that yes, I had heard of it. “That’s where I was married,” I said. Then I paused for a second or two and so did he. My eyes teared up and I had to look away and then I had to walk away.
“… Back to the start …”
Yesterday I was downtown walking back to work after filing Coleen’s will with the appropriate authorities. I saw two people sitting on a curb talking and they looked like they were restaurant workers on break. He was in a chef’s apron and hat. She was young with dark hair and dressed in black and white. Just like Coleen looked when we first met. I smiled as I walked past them and then I stopped and turned around when I realized what I had just seen.
“… Back to the start …”
I was cleaning out an old dresser in my garage and came across a stray photo from our wedding day. It had been trimmed and lacquered to a small, decorative piece of wood. It was a photo from our first dance and I was saying something with a little grin on my face and she had her arms around me smiling. She was almost always smiling, she was beautiful. “… Back to the start …”
Coleen’s email hadn’t been opened since she before she left us and I thought I should take a look at it. I knew her password but yahoo didn’t trust the transaction and asked a security question. “Where did you spend your honeymoon?” “… Back to the start …”
Those memories of our start are hard for me, maybe even the hardest. We were so young and she was so fresh and sassy. We were falling in love. And now I feel cheated that it’s only me with those memories now, Coleen’s not here to share them. I can’t talk to her about them and hear her laugh, see her reactions, her smile, and hear her commentary and recollections. She would no doubt be able to correct my memory and remind me of the things I may have forgotten.
My emotions seem best checked when I am in the present tense. I do better when I am tasking, busy with some activity. A lot of people offer that as advice, too. “Remember, keep yourself busy. It’ll be better that way.” Like they really know.
I don’t mind staying busy, actually I kind of like it. But I also know that it’s just a cheap disguise to the way I really feel. I can’t help but think the truth to the healing is the confrontation, the dealing with all the memories of the past and the fear and uncertainty of the future. Those memories might seem like kryptonite sometimes but I know how healing they really are. It’s confronting the hurt, it’s going “back to the start.”
And now, three weeks after first hearing that song and being so emotionally charged as the victim of loss in the first two verses, I am hearing the song differently. Maybe I was so blinded by the hurt that I wasn’t paying attention, maybe my awareness is better. But whatever it is, I now realize that I am The Scientist.
I am the one guessing at numbers, pulling her puzzles apart, trying to make sense of things. Asking for her help to love me and haunt me and guide me through my new start. A start without her, a start with a new career, a start as a different me. Maybe I should have put that all together when I first heard the song. My take on that is that I wasn’t ready for that part yet. I had to deal with the pain first, with those wonderful memories, before I could move on to the rest of it.
That seems to be a recurring theme in many of the lessons I have been learning. Visit the memories, look at the photos, deal with the pain. Then move forward a little stronger than when I started.
