Dear little me

I lost my Dad at the tender age of three. Over the last year I’ve grieved for him. I’ve come to realise how traumatic losing a parent, or loved one at a young age can be. You are too little to know what is going on, your world becomes uncertain, and with that comes a lack of safety.

I had a session in reflexology last week. I spoke to her about the tension that sits in my right shoulder. During my session, she asked me to focus on it, to see if it would lead me to the root cause. I have been going to the same reflexologist for nine years, I trust her implicitly. I closed my eyes. I’ve learnt a lot about slowing down recently, so I just slowed down once more. I didn’t force anything, I just focused on that right shoulder. It unclicked. The thread ran along my neck, and into my left shoulder. My left side then became the focus.

I often have visions in reflexology. It’s been incredibly healing for me, and it will go on to be. In this particular session, I laid restful, in the safe hands of my reflexologist. I thought of my Mum and the weight she carried when my Dad passed on. Four children ages 16, 14, 5 and 3 became her sole responsibility. As I have suspected previously, I realised how much I had witnessed at that tender age of three, how much energy I absorbed from those around me.

A devastating loss of my Dad’s arms, heart and safety. No longer wrapped around us, his family, his four children and his wife.

Then a vision came to me, of little me, sat in the living room, as confused as can be. Her whole family in a circle around her, feeling the sadness in their grief, and anger in their loss. This little girl, little me, sat lonely in the middle. Confusion enveloping her, sadness surrounding her. The light had dimmed in that living room. In that home. In the hearts and lives of those that were left. Their world had crumbled, nothing would be as they knew it, and not a word could unfold to explain the devastating pain.

Little me, at the tender age of three, could do nothing but feel the loss, without knowing quite what it was. Why was everyone so sad? And where is my Daddy?

Well little me, I’m here to tell you a sad story.

As I kneel before you, take my hands. You’re safe, but I need you to understand why it may no longer feel that way.

Your Daddy has died. He hasn’t left out of his own choice. He loved you a lot. More than you’ll ever know. But he couldn’t help it. He was very poorly, and it all happened so quickly. That is why everyone is so sad around you. That’s why your Daddy isn’t coming back to you.

Little me, looks back at me, shy and confused. She doesn’t believe me yet, she’s processing what I’ve said.

I take her hands, and invite her to sit on my lap, as I cuddle her and stroke her head, as my words sink in to her little body. She looks at me, as realisation dawns. My Daddy has really gone, he’s not coming back. Is that really what this lovely lady just said? She looks like me, but older. Like she knows the truth. I think I believe her, but I don’t want to. Is my Daddy really dead?

As I see the light flicker in her eyes, she hunkers down, and cries and cries. I hold her in safety, I tell her I’ll never let go. As a rolling tear comes down, she shivers. This explains everything. Why she feels so guilty feeling free, why it doesn’t feel ok to be happy and play, like she should be, at the tender age of three.

I tell her it is very sad, but I dust off her shoulders and tell her that it is ok to carry your own sadness and pain, but those around you don’t want you to carry theirs too. They are feeling very sad, but they want to protect you. Let go of that heavy load. You’re ok to be sad, but just focus on you, there’s no need to be lonely. Now… take my hand.

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We raise up off the floor together, I look down at her, she takes me hand, and looks at me, with a soft smile. I stroll with her as we talk. I encourage her to play. I explain her Daddy would do anything to take away her pain, that he loves her and wants her to be happy and free. We decide to tuck her Daddy in her heart, so she can carry him with her wherever she may go in life. I tell her he will always be there, he may appear in strange and funny ways, like a butterfly in October, on a wet, damp day.

I kneel down on the floor, I twirl her round and round. Freeing her up to be three and play. I invite her to play with my children whenever she wants.

Dear little me,

I know you are sad, but I hope you understand why I had to explain. I just want you to know, you are safe to heal and to just be three. X