For me, the holidays just past were a time of preparation for and recovery from surgery. They were a time of wonder and profound gratitude at the outpouring of love and the caring assistance of friends, family, acquaintances, and even strangers. On Christmas Day, a planned visit from friends cancelled due to weather, I sat alone, quietly reading, listening to seasonal music, and taking in the stunning beauty of snow on the stately evergreens outside my window. I was surprised at the sense of peace and contentment I felt, deeper than any I remembered experiencing.
The book I read, the recently published Be Brave: A Wife’s Journey through Caregiving by Bainbridge resident Florrie Munat, was both inspiring and heart-wrenching. A touching love story of a couple deeply committed to family and social justice, their challenges brought to mind clients, friends, and acquaintances for whom the holidays were not a time of contentment. For those experiencing grief, the holidays can represent an attempt to feign normalcy against a powerful undertow of sadness. The holidays may also be dreaded harbingers of the long, dark days of a Seattle-area winter, which can intensify grief.
Although we most often think of grief in association with the death of a loved one, it visits in many forms: compromised health, broken relationships, loss of friendship, imperiled livelihood, inability to engage in meaningful activities, betrayal by a trusted colleague or friend, diminished mental or physical capacity. It may be all encompassing, permeating every moment and coloring every aspect of one’s life, or appear as a heaviness, sometimes barely perceived, that colors one’s outlook on life, depleting energy and depressing one’s passion for living. It may give rise to searching questions such as:
“Who am I, really?”
“Why am I here?”
“What is the purpose of life, now that ____ is no longer?”
“What is my place in the world – in my family – my workplace – the community?”
I don’t know anyone who hasn’t been touched by grief in some form. Counseling, faith communities, inspired writings, the support of family and friends can bring comfort, mitigate feelings of loss and facilitate healing. Sometimes, however, a deeply buried kernel of grief remains locked in the very depth of one’s being, resistant to healing. Sessions with clients over the past 16 years have convinced me that Reiki can reach this deep, often hidden place and release the energy associated with grief.
In the words of grieving clients:
“Years ago I was the caregiver for my husband, then my son, and later one of my daughters as each of them was dying of cancer. I am now over 80 years old. I have buried my grief all of these years; I never allowed myself to grieve any of them. I was afraid that doing so would destroy me. Your Reiki session helped me, finally, to release my grief. I feel lighter, as if I have been unburdened, as if a heavy weight has lifted from my heart.”
“Losing my husband of 60 years and then immediately having to pack to move to a smaller place left me feeling broken up, as if I were going haywire in all directions at once. After the Reiki treatment I slept for hours, more restfully than I had in weeks. I didn’t realize that I needed a Reiki treatment. It wouldn’t have occurred to me to seek out such a thing, but I realize now that I needed it very badly. You gave me back myself.”
“You will never know what your Reiki treatment meant to me. My 21-year-old daughter was killed in a motorcycle accident while she was on her honeymoon in France. I am 86 years old, and I have never stopped grieving for her. After the session with you, I feel as if my heart has been eased. I feel more at peace than I have at any time since her death.”
Reiki is appropriate at any stage of the grieving process, whether one’s grief is achingly fresh or has been buried for a long time. Not a substitute for medical or psychological treatment, Reiki complements and supports counseling, support groups, and other healing modalities. If you are experiencing grief, or know someone who is, Reiki can ease the burden.
