Today is my youngest son’s birthday. He’s got a son of his own now:) As I constantly bemoan, they live two thousand miles away. It feels very far on special days. Every day, if I’m honest. Friends who have their children and grandchildren close wonder how I cope. Well, one day at a time. One hour at a time.
I can be a bit obsessive in my thinking, ruminating to no avail except my own misery. Now misery gets my attention. I always want to fix that right away as I far prefer being happy or at least content. So I came up with a plan out of desperation and find it serves me well where my sons are concerned and in many other situations that strike me as sad or unmanageable or out of my control.
Which is, you know, almost everything.
So what I do when I have a thought like “I miss Tim” is I try to stop the flow right there at the first thought and not dwell on it. I stop and let myself miss him a minute and then I send love and let go. I let go of the thought of missing him, I don’t let go of the fact that he is my child and will forever be cemented in my heart right next to his brother.
Some days I have to do this “send love, let go” hundreds of times. When I think of somebody who upset me. When I think of a bit of work I have to do that I wish I had not let myself get talked into. When I have a chore that must be done and I’d rather read. When I remember a long-held grudge. When I miss someone. This “send love, let go” can even work on myself. I can have compassion for myself and send myself some love and let go of the anxiety or the boredom or whatever the drama it is I’m creating in my mind.
I did it with the guy I used to be in my last life. Maybe you remember the post about my recent past-life regression in which I attempted to uncover events that led to a couple of phobias I carried into this life quite by accident.
My past life, according to the psychic, was in the 1920s in Buckinghamshire, England. I was a 25 year old man with a house in London, quite well-to-do, with a wife and two children. I was horseback riding and was suddenly thrown from my horse (phobia of heights) this causes paralysis (claustrophobia) and eventual death. Knowing these facts about the guy I named Joe (just because he seemed like a Joe to me when I thought about how his life was so tragically cut short) is supposed to be all I need in order to move forward without phobia. I have not been able to test these phobic reactions of mine yet to see if they are indeed gone but I certainly hope they are.
I feel like they are, because I sent Joe love, and then I let go.