the Journey: The Harder the Climb, the More Beautiful the View

At 27 Adele Anderson survived a plane crash.
That life and NDE experience, followed by the death of her husband, forever changed her perception of life, death and life after death: that choices and “SOUL”utions exists even in life’s most dire and painful circumstances.

She knows now that life always offers us more than we may see at first glance. Understanding that the choices we make every day can change how we cope, thrive and ultimately the trajectory of our life.
For over 30 years she has had holistic practice. Homeopathy for body health. Neuro-Linguistic Programming to regulate equilibrium for the mind; reprogramming, empowering mental process. Spiritual rituals and Akashic Records Reading that soothe the soul.

Life can change on a dime. Every part of mine changed, yet I felt static, because if I moved, then at some level of existence, I was accepting this unwanted change. And so, I felt like life was moving around me, like a raging river moving around a large rock, then tumbling uncontrollably, like rocks washed down the river in a flood.

There are times we may want to escape. But where can we run that life would not catch us? Another day arises out of the darkness, and we cannot pretend, escape, or ignore our life.

Grief chiselled itself into my face, shadowing my future, and numbing my mind.
But Einstein told us long ago… that time was a man-made illusion. Sages, gurus, and great teachers have repeated the same message. And if I truly believe we are infinite beings of light, then why should this moment, “in time” spread the space between my life and his death, rather than a continuum like the winding river that separates and then rejoins itself once again.

I once experienced timelessness when I was drowning in a capsized plane, time ceased to exist. It made no difference to me then. As my consciousness separated from my physical body, I found my perspective shift but felt no urgency or fear of death. “I” was fine, alive and well.

And yet grief shook many of my beliefs. Blinded inner knowing of our infinite nature, and held me static for a period of time, hindering my acceptance of an inevitable new beginning.

Possibly we just need to pause, to breath, but getting stuck is another compounding challenge all together. It may sound harsh, but I believe it becomes a choice. Because the painful nature of grief screams for us to remove our hand from the fire. To seek the path of healing and for our own survival.
I experienced deep grief in waves, but now I feel stronger, the sea of grief remains calmed. Growth became mandatory.

Because, when the person we love the most dies, it is unfathomable to the mind, it breaks every part of your being open. And for those who have travelled this journey, you know what I mean.
Recently, a friend entered a similar journey and asked about mine, and I found it hard to explain.
So, I went out in nature, allowing the thoughts woven through my not-so-distant memories to open.
I recalled the first day of diagnosis, a deep realization that things had changed.

It could not be undone. The knowing that there was no going back; only into something unknown, awakening a primal fear.

I envisioned Willis, and I was instantly dumped onto the base camp of Mount Everest. A foreign land where we could not speak or read the language.

There were others there, huddled. And Willis and I stood alone. We were hyper-aware that we were about to set out on a journey we never asked for, we never desired. We would embark on this trek because it is the only survival option.

If he was to survive, we must reach the peak, go over the top. So, standing hand in hand, we look up and then our eyes meet. A deep knowing passed between our souls. It seemed insurmountable, wind, snow, treacherous, overwhelming and yet we are determined to climb.

And then we looked down, understanding the importance of each step, and we realized we were in bare feet.

The journey was merciless, ravaging his body until he no longer had the strength to go on. Willis never reached the peak with his physical body. Willis transitioned to a new world on June 5.
I remained on the mountain alone, my path obscure, ice shattering inside my mind, an avalanche of emotion knocking me off my feet, buried under its weight, chilling me, cutting into my already raw self. I felt desperate.

It was a stark moment when I became aware that my part of this journey did not simply dissolve when he transitioned. I could not turn back, pack up and say I don’t want to play this game anymore, or change the rules, like my grandkids do when they are losing a card game. My very survival depended on my ability to get up and continue the trek.

At times I needed to rest, gather strength. I prayed to Willis. I prayed to God. If I fell to my knees, I prayed more. I surrendered to the process. I found I had many strengths and skills to help myself and I opened myself to the explainable and the unexplainable, and I leaned into the love and caring of friends and family.

And the answers arrived, and I feel peaceful and calm in knowing everything is in balance. Even though I cannot see him or hold his hand, I feel deeply connected to Willis and supported on a soul level.
And now I am ready to throw a lifeline to the ones that are still climbing. So, this is me today, it’s time for me to pay it forward. A little weary, but strong, resilient, and enjoying the view. I am lowering a strong and safe rope for those that follow.

Stay well out there
xoxo Adele

#griefsupport #griefjourney #griefcoach

Get new articles delivered to your inbox.

Join 383 other subscribers

Leave a Reply