After the death of someone you love, you listen for them. You wait for signs of reassurance, help, love, the touch, the sound of any presence.”
– Joan Juliet Buck

After the loss of my daughter, I was desperate for a sign of her presence. I talked and talked aloud to her, wanting to feel her near me.

I described my one-way conversations to my therapist and she asked me, “Do you ever sit and listen?”

I never had. So I decided I’d sit and listen and not get up until I heard something. After sitting for I don’t know how long, one word popped into my head—“Meditate.” I knew it was a message that held the key to receiving communication from my daughter.

I tried to meditate. It wasn’t easy for me. It takes practice and I wanted instant gratification. In the wake of my loss, I was filled with feelings of indescribable sadness, discouragement, frustration, anger, anxiety— to name just a few. Struggling to make sense of the unspeakable, I told and retold my story in my thoughts. Often changing the ending, I thought about all the different possibilities that could have changed the outcome My mind was cluttered with chatter as I tried to regain control over what I came to realize couldn’t be controlled. As I struggled to go on living, more thoughts flooded my already overflowing mind. Needless to say, I didn’t succeed in meditating.

In retrospect, I realize how truly difficult it was, in the midst of my grief and the chaos of my emotions, to maintain a practice of meditation. Many years later, I understand how beneficial it would have been to create a place of stillness where I could be free of the thoughts that plagued me and only increased my suffering. Now, I realize that meditation is a means to creating a space within where I can find peace and tranquility. And in that space, I can often feel my daughter’s presence.

Wishing you tranquility,

Love,
Lilly