It was on the football field that stood between our two neighbouring parishes that I first met Sean, a
deep-blue eyed kid. I was attracted to him in some eight-year-old way, perhaps it was his hair, his smile,
or the pearl jam t-shirt he wore to training on that day. We connected with the innocence and inhibition
of two children, with the pure joy of childish play. It was always this way when we saw one another, a
cheeky smile then a dash for the swing or the football. We traded birthday invitations.
Years passed and we both arrived at the same high school. Sean was a beacon among the other boys in an all-boys Catholic school. He was a daring sort of lad. Your mother would worry about you getting into trouble with the principle in his company, yet insist you invite him over for dinner time and again for his
politeness and radiance. Sean wore his defiance on his sleeve, seeking truth with a passion bordering on
rebellion. Yet he had the knack of seeing the best quality of a person and bringing it forward. He was a
number 1 encourager, which was no mean feat in inner city Ireland where there was a sense of cutting
harshness.
U2’s Bono once said that “In America, you look at the guy that lives in the mansion on the
hill, and you think, one day, If I work hard, I could live in that mansion. In Ireland, people look up at the
guy in the mansion on the hill and go, one day, I’m going to get that bastard.”
Despite this harshness Sean always believed more was possible. He went on to use words in his craft, becoming a journalist with a national broadsheet newspaper, sharing truths with the world. Over time our life paths diverged as we both left Ireland but whenever we met the same smile, spark of energy and rekindling would occur, the pure connection of childhood never left us.
In November of 2019 I received a call from home - Sean had passed away. Everything had become too
difficult and he chose to leave this life. My world fell apart in an unexpected way. I fell hard
My logical mind was powerless to stop this fall. I understood I had a family and responsibilities to keep up with, yet the floor of my Heart figuratively fell from beneath me. Grief had taken over and it took a different shape than anything I’d experienced before. I found myself in a wordless void. A vanishing space where my life once lay, and I felt powerless to avoid it. I was lost without any assurance that anything or anyone would come to my rescue.
This unknowingness was the hardest part. It was not expected, I was not prepared, can one ever
be? After the funeral I tried to carry on, I tried to show up to work, care for my son, be there for my
wife, look after the animals, chores, bills, responsibilities. But it became clear that this was not going to
work for me, at least not for long. An ancient void called to me from within. The more I resisted the more
my life would literally fall apart on the outside. My relationships, work life and health were suffering.
I chose to turn inwards and listen. I soon learned that grief was the voice of my heart, and it told me to
feel. It taught me how to mourn and wail. I befriended griefs movement. This is a movement inside the body coming straight from the heart that is begging for stillness to emerge.
I’ve come to know this through years of clinical work. In a healing space with others I have learned how to listen, I guide a meditation, and then follow with hands on work where movement arises, and stillness may occur. The body knows how to unlock the Heart's slow dance.
I will never see Sean again in this lifetime, but his memory lives on in me through a deeper openness, a knowingness that I keep coming back to. I am forever grateful to my old friend for this.
Grief is only one voice of the heart which yearns to be heard. For some the day will come when a broken heart gives the invitation to listen. It offers to take the weight, surrender your arms of anger, blame and perpetual fixing. It whispers a soft melody, echoing stay open, stay open,
stay open.
One simple practice I use is to sit quietly for a few minutes in the morning and turn inward
asking the questions, “how are you today heart?” “what do you need today?” , wait and listen.
I may hear a voice, see an image, or a sense may arrive. These may be painful emotions or feelings of pure joy, but I have learned to be open to all if I am to feel any.
I remember Hellen Keller’s words, “The best and the most beautiful things in the world cannot be seen or even heard, they must be felt with the heart.”
For this is my prayer when this day comes, keep your Heart open.
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