Like everyone else, I fell instantly in love with my sister’s absurdly cute puppy.

Ten years later, she was killed in a car wreck and I inherited him. 

For the next six years, he was the glue that kept me together so that I could slowly digest the loss of my sister.  He was there for me in ways I didn’t even realize until he was gone. 

When that day came, I felt myself fragment in ways unimaginable.  I still don’t have vocabulary for it.  However, I suddenly understood why people got sent to asylums, or else checked in voluntarily.

The next day, I went for a massage, but the practitioner recommended an acupuncture treatment instead.  I would have agreed to a session in the electric chair, so of course, I said yes.

About 30 minutes into the session, I felt myself lift from the depths of hell.  I was literally, suddenly and authentically OK.  By the time I made it home, I realized that my grief had shifted into gratitude.  I was able to accept the sadistic brevity of pet life, and just be grateful for the time I’d had with Skippy. 

I’ve since lost three cats, and had a grief healing after each death.  The sessions were with different practitioners, so all were unique, but equally as healing.  I highly recommend this modality for anyone who is dealing with grief because as most have ascertained, time does not heal all wounds.  It leaves cracks and holes and all kinds of horrible scarring. 

A grief healing is not a misnomer.  It heals. 

More recently, I lost a human friend.  He wasn’t a close friend, but rather a fun guy from the hood I felt lucky to know, spend some time with and share a few laughs.  At the time of his passing, he was 80 years old, had cancer and though we kept in touch, I hadn’t seen him in several years. Although I recognized the inevitable, when his day came, there was that feeling.

How do you even describe it?  It’s like your insides get scooped out and you suddenly forget how to breathe.  It’s so overwhelmingly, inescapably awful all you can do is wonder if it will ever go away.  Will it?  If you sit down and cry, will you ever get up?  How could losing such a distant person feel so life threatening?

This time around, I didn’t have access to an acupuncturist.  I didn’t even have the luxury of stopping to cry, or otherwise be with my feelings. 

Desperate for relief, I took a couple of drops of The Code CBD oil.  It’s called micro dosing – taking a minute amount which paradoxically produces an even more powerful affect.

Within minutes, I felt fine.  I knew my friend was no longer with me on this Earthwalk, but I was OK with it.  I felt sad when I saw postings of him on Facebook, but I didn’t feel like my lungs and intestines were going to collapse and disappear.

Grief is unique.  I can’t guarantee that either of these recommendations will work for everyone.  I do, however, strongly recommend both. 

If you are dealing with grief, past or present, I wish for you great peace and heart healing.

The Code

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