It poured out of me. Hot. Violent. Energetic. My whole body trembling. Pain coursing through my being. Spiritually starving. Emotionally depleted. Physically drained. My mind running the circle of disappointment. Of sadness. Of grief. A never ceasing loop of despair.
How did I get here? Me. The one who teaches others about grieving, unanswered prayers and keeping the faith. How did I get HERE? The bitterness rolled out of my heart and over my tongue, lashing its way to my reality. I felt alone and abandoned in my bewilderment. Why did this happen? Why weren’t my prayers answered. I held the faith. I believed beyond belief. I hoped beyond all hope. I utilized every manifestation tool in my treasure chest of tools, tips and techniques. I lived it. Why were my prayers left unheard?
These are the questions that were running through my mind, like a never ending hamster wheel in the search of meaning. In the search of enlightenment. In the search for the face of God during my dark night. Where are you God? Are you listening to me? Do you care about what I am going through? How could you abandon me like this? I’ve believed…
As I drove away from my beloved house on the corner, with the smell of the pine, the warmth of the sun on my cheek and the glitter of the sparkling water in the background, I left my favorite place. See, I found myself here. I came into my own in this place I called home. The place I raised my children alone. The place I made lifelong friendships that I adore. The place where I felt the presence of God with me all the time. The place where everywhere I went, I ran into someone I knew and loved, and they loved me back! It was one of the saddest goodbye’s I’ve ever known. The grief of leaving Lake Tahoe had me crippled.
I was in disbelief… denial… despair. Part of me knew deep down inside that I would be ok. Actually, that I would thrive. My health plummeted in Tahoe. When I found myself in so much pain in my leg joints (hips, knees, ankles) over Thanksgiving last year, which forced me to endure painful injections to recover, I knew then. I knew my body was calling me to leave. I remembered something I learned long ago; our bodies cannot tell a lie. And, this body of mine, prefers warmth and sea-level weather. It was telling me, “Theresa… We can’t live here anymore. There is somewhere else that is better for us. Go there before we continue to die.”
Most people wouldn’t believe the pain in my body. I am a happy person and I no longer live my life from the place of where pain and sickness make decisions for me (well, most of the time, I hope), like in the past. However, the reality was this: the disease worsened, and quickly. I was declining to the point of being fearful of what was happening before my very eyes. I could feel the attack on my body daily. I was suffering. Scleroderma was activated. My body was screaming at me to change something.
I felt such a loss. Why wouldn’t my body heal itself? Why do I have to leave Tahoe for now? The questions plagued me like knats on a hot summer’s day, at a picnic. Even though my mind was frought with doubts, pain and suffering, deep inside, my knowingness was trying to get through. The still, small voice begging to be heard. The peaceful, tranquil spot in me was covered up by loud, painful voices of loss.
There were other reasons. It made perfect financial sense. Less stress equals peacefulness in mind and body. I was breaking the final connection to my ex-husband, in business dealings. As I begin my new life with my future husband, this had to be a good thing energetically. To start our new life together. Just the two of us. I knew this would be a new beginning, a very new chapter in my life. But, boy oh boy, it was hard to close this last chapter! Harder than I ever thought it would be! As a matter of fact, I couldn’t even go around to my neighbors to say goodbye (for this weakness my friends, I am sorry!). I was so sad and in denial (yes, somehow I thought I really wasn’t moving and the house sale would fall out of escrow). I was dazed and confused.
Then, we drove away. Victor in his truck with Sofie the Cat, me in my car with Melody the dog. I was numb and exhausted at this point. So much resistance had worn me down to the nub! Packing up a lifetime of memories I had stored in my 3-car garage… The trophies from Jessica’s dance team, the plaques from Steven’s golf wins, the baby clothes and memorabilia. The platters, dishes, and kitchen stuff abounded! Yes, I was well stocked in life.
I had to stop crying. The tears emptied me out. They were hot and stinging my cheeks. I felt like I had failed. My kids were disappointed but understood. Life goes on. Change is good. I tried to tell myself through my grief.
The next few days were still rough as the unpacking ensued. The fatigue, the grief and the confusion about where to put “my things”, took it’s toll. Another few days of grieving took me over. Poor Victor… Staying so positive and loving. I realized then the most important lesson: my home is where he is. Wherever he is, is where I long to be. Duh.
I realized shortly after the Big Move, how silly I had been for all this time. I haven’t lost anything. I still have my friends that I love. The home lives on in me and my children’s hearts and memories. I can visit Lake Tahoe anytime I desire. And, possibly still be there for the warm summers. Life didn’t end for me… Life has evolved. For the better. Oh yeah… Change is good.
As I was planning our wedding recently, those hot, fiery tear drops turned into cool, soothing tears of joy! I thanked God for the experience, as this brought Victor and I so much closer together, and we haven’t been this happy in our relationship yet. My faith was restored.
Now, the exuberance of our future together overwhelms me with happiness. This is how it was always supposed to be. I remember the mantra I teach my clients: I trust in the process and everything is working for my good.
Indeed… Nothing has been truer.