(JANUARY 2000)
I meet a friend to rollerblade around Stanley Park. She glides effortlessly while I jerk around bracing against the inevitable crash. When will I find my balance and confidence again? We take a break on the grass, and she hands me a piece of paper.
“This is the phone number of a counsellor I went to during my divorce. Her office is close to your parents’ place in Vancouver. She works out of a big space that can take lots of energy. I still check in with her once a year to make sure I’m on the right track.”
I tuck the paper in my pocket. “Thank you. It would be helpful to talk to someone. I lean on my friends a lot and they must be getting sick of my whining.” My friend is confident, strong, a successful businesswoman. If she can go to a counsellor, so can I.
It’s true that I am holding down a full-time job, meeting with friends and taking over fundraisers that Jim organized. I am functioning. But I feel constant angst that peaks at night and when Jim is obviously absent, when he is obviously dead, and only abates somewhat when I am in the wilderness. I am exhausted from hyper-vigilance. It’s only a matter of time before the next tragedy strikes. And what if I’m not doing everything possible to get Jim back? I do not recognize myself.
I make an appointment with the counsellor.
I arrive early and wait in a small corridor for my turn. When the counsellor opens the door, her long silk blouse and skirt billow and I notice her bright eyes and warm smile. We sit opposite each other in a room that echoes. A massage table stands at one end. Large crystal bowls squat at the other end. She explains that she plays the crystal bowls with a special rubber mallet to create a sound that eases pain in cancer patients. She smiles as she talks, and her voice rides musical waves as if she is lulling me to sleep.
I tell her my story.
After an hour, she leads me to the table, settles me on my back and asks me to close my eyes and listen to her voice. She starts at my feet and works her way to my head, opening the passage for positive energy. Her hands rest for several minutes above my heart and I start to cry. Her voice melts into me.
“You are light. You are love. And you are free.”
At the end of the session, she gives me a recording of our meditation together and urges me to listen to it every day.
“Feed your mind, body, heart and soul every day.” We make a list together of how I will do this: breathing exercises, writing in my journal to Jim, painting, connecting with friends and family, walking Habby, exercising in the outdoors.
I make an appointment for the following week. Before I leave, she hugs me and I hug her back.