We spent a nice week in NY with David’s family for Thanksgiving. Now we’re back in the flow of things at home.
This morning I had an appointment with Catalina. It almost surprises me how much I look forward to sessions with her . . . like my body is anticipating the way my molecules are going to shift.
Today Catalina started by pressing on two points (one in my chest and one between the edge of my solar plexus and my right-hand rib cage). She asked me to report any sensations I experienced while she did that. What I noticed was that my body really wanted to hold on and really wanted to let go at the same time. She told me to just allow the sensations to pendulate and then asked me to picture what letting go would look like. I closed my eyes and all I could see was a wash of blue but I didn’t say anything. Catalina then asked again “What does letting go look like? The ocean? The sky?” I laughed and told her about picturing an expanse of blue that could have easily been either the ocean or the sky.
I closed my eyes again while she continued pressing the same two points and I thought about what letting go looks like. I saw myself lying on a blanket on the grass looking up at a blue sky full of clouds. At first, I didn’t have a clear picture of the blanket under me, but as I filled out the image in my mind, the blanket took on a great deal of importance.
I felt that it wasn’t enough to just have any old piece of fabric between me and the grass. I wanted the blanket to be large (big enough so that none of my body would touch the grass), super soft (like cashmere or like one of those super soft baby blankets) and great to look at (I pictured a Burberry-type plaid print with rich reds in it). [When I find something I want, I tend to discount or downgrade that thing until I can find a version that seems appropriately affordable, practical or reasonable. There was something really freeing about imagining that this blanket had every quality I desired.]
Once I had created and settled in on my perfect plaid blanket, I then pictured my dad walking toward me (something I never actually saw my dad do) and sitting down with me on the grass. We didn’t talk or even look at each other at first. He just sat quietly next to me. Finally, I looked over at him and was surprised see that he wasn’t a 38 year-old man (my dad’s age when he died), but he was a 65 year-old man with grey hair and wearing jeans and a flannel shirt. He looked strong and kind and wise (and grandpa-like). This is the first time I have ever pictured my dad being the age he would be today.
I guess that “letting go” for me today meant giving myself permission to want what I want and maybe even to get it. And I realized that part of what I want is my dad sitting right next to me . . . without a wheelchair . . . having watched me grow up . . . now watching my kids grow up . . . available to love me and protect me whenever I need it.
Who’s to say I can’t have that?!