(continued from Inner mediation between my grandfather and my father, 1/3)
I-as-my-grandfather expressed to my father-part how much I love him and wish for him he would rest. I-as-my-grandfather wants to hear how this lands for my father-part.
I move to the opposite chair.
“You know, I don’t really know what to say. It’s been a long time since I (as-my-father) connected to you. I don’t really know what to say…”
“You know, I don’t want to connect. I’m noticing I’m angry. You made choices out of your sense of integrity and we suffered the consequences. We were left without support, reassurance, someone to lean on, someone to guide the way. I was left all alone…”
All of a sudden, out of the blue, a deep wailing comes up in me-as-my-father. I break down and sob for minutes, head in my hands, body shocking with waves of grief and loss. “I missed you, I so deeply missed you… I just wished you had been with us… I missed you.”
The wailing continues, for minutes. Then the sobbing calms down. Quietly, gently.
I-as-my-dad look at the chair my grandfather sat in. “I missed you, dad, really missed you… I love you… And I admire you. You put your principles first… You lived by them and you died by them… It was almost no choice, it followed naturally from your being. You didn’t consider the consequences, you followed your heart… Elly looks like you in that respect. She doesn’t know that I know how often she jumped in on street fights, making sure everyone was safe and cared for. She did that at the risk of her own safety. She makes the same intuitive, instinctive choices of compassion and care, inclusion and empathy. She doesn’t care much about the consequences either. It’s not that she assumes she’ll be okay, it’s just that it is her nature to devote her time and energy to those who are in need.”
My/his face lights up.
“My gosh, that’s why I am so worried about her. I’m afraid I’m gonna lose her, just like I lost you. Gosh, that’s just it. She reminds me of you, and I’m afraid I’ll lose her, just like I lost you.”
I-as-my-dad fall quiet.
“And she is not you. I realize that. Her circumstances are very different… I understand that… Thank you, dad, for listening. Thank you for being you….” He looks at the third chair. “I want to hear what Elly has to say.” (to be continued Wednesday, June 11, 2014)
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