I’ve been feeling out of sorts these past few days, having deep emotional reactions, and just ‘not feeling quite right’. Functioning has been a bit of a struggle, even getting out of bed or dressed has required supreme effort.

This morning I woke up with a sense of doom and a ‘what’s the point?’ attitude. Instead of listening to that inner voice, I began tidying the house, cancelling any plans for the day, determined to be busy. I knew the tears were on the way, and delaying them would give me a little breathing space to try and work out what was behind how I felt.

Last night I had been having spells of light-headedness, not quite dizziness, that felt strange and a little worrying. After reading the following diary excerpt from my e-book, ‘Butch’s Journey’ this morning, I have decided that the feeling I was experiencing was a cellular memory from seven years ago - that intense feeling you get when you know something bad is happening and you have no idea what to do….

12/06/08
Butch came home from work tonight with a sore arm.  I didn’t find out until later he’d had a seizure (or reaction to the chemo) and had lost the power of speech for five minutes before he could get in the ute and drive home.  I feel so helpless and scared but don’t know want Butch to know.
Gav came up to stay.  He has the flu and was going to cancel, but Butch reassured him saying he’d had a flu shot, so it’s all okay.
We were exhausted and had an early night, no doubt in part, from pretending everything was okay in front of Gav.

13/06/08
It was another long day at work, worrying about Butch and just wanting to go home. 
Gav went out visiting friends after tea, so Butch and I settled in for a quiet night.
About 7:30pm we were watching a program and Butch had trouble speaking.  He couldn’t get the words to work properly.  It was frustrating for him and scary for me.  I couldn’t stop shaking as I tried to sound calm and reassure him everything was okay.  I asked if he wanted to go to the hospital, but he motioned for me to pass him the steroid tablets and he took a couple.  We went to bed, hoping they’d kick in soon.  I lay awake most of the night, worried he might pass away if I slept.  It seemed to take forever for 8:00am to roll around so we could ring his GP.

14/06/08
We went to the Dr this morning and Butch isn’t allowed to drive at all anymore.  He gave him more steroids and anti seizure drugs, telling Butch taking the steroids was the best thing he could’ve done.
As we let the surgery, Butch looked at me and said ‘I’m f****d!’
I kept saying he just needed a new job, we’d known it for months.  This just meant he couldn’t delay it any more.
While we were picking up his prescription Trish sent a text asking what was for tea, and then lunch.  She was halfway here, so that telepathic invitation worked!
When we got home, Gav was up, so I took him to one side and told him what had happened.  Trish arrived and I filled her in as well.  Mum rang – more telepathic phenomena!
I am so scared and feel I could easily cry an ocean, but now isn’t the time.  I’m tired as well, so my defences are pretty low.
I can see the difference the medication has on Butch virtually straight away.  It’s almost like he was drunk, everything requires deep concentration and he’s developed a slight slur.  I can’t believe it’s had such a dramatic effect so quickly.
Butch rang up about a job in the paper and was asked to go in straight away.  He didn’t dress as impeccably as usual but I didn’t like to comment, as it required a lot of effort to accomplish that.
We dropped him off on the way to the supermarket and as I watched him walking down the road, my heart sank.  I knew they wouldn’t even consider him for the job; the way he was walking made him look inebriated.
Before we left home I had been impatient to leave.  Everyone seemed to be getting ready in slow motion or forgetting things and it took an eternity to get them organised.  I was pretty vocal about how disorganised they were – this came back to bite me on the bum of course.
As we drove in the driveway, I realised I’d forgotten to take a house key!  Fortunately the kitchen windows were slightly open so Trish and Butch pulled the screen open, dismantling the window, so Trish could climb in.  I’d left a sink full of dirty dishes just to make it more awkward.
Nobody was impressed when I insisted how wonderful we were creating a happy family memory of us all working together!  I could see Butch using all his resources to get us inside again.   I was so worried and made jokes to stop me crying.
During all this, Mum sent a text asking if she could call.  I sent one back saying, well yes, she could, but we couldn’t get inside to answer it yet! 

I feel it’s going to take some time to live this down!

Reading this and while re-living the experience, I choose to focus on the love of Butch, our family, and the bizarre memory of us trying to break and enter into our home. I choose to recognise the tough situation we were in, but also to remember the love and laughter we shared. By unwrapping the bad memories instead of hiding from them, we can uncover the love and fun that was hidden below. It is only when we accept the negative, we are better able to recognise the positive.

Cherie xx

You may not know this, but I am a healer, an intuitive advisor and a psychic. Phew, that's quite a mouthful! I have been through enough 'stuff' in my life to know I want to help others as they go through 'their stuff'!
The other day I met a woman a bit older than me. What began as a question about how to start up a leaf blower, soon turned into a full blossomed conversation about how worried she was about her daughter, who had been staying with her for quite some time.
Mary (mother) was worried that Jeanne (daughter) was perpetually sad and seemed to lack energy. With a little gentle probing, she told me that Jeanne's partner had died last year of cancer. Mary couldn't understand why Jeanne wasn't simply 'getting over it'. (I must admit that this is one of my pet peeves when it comes to grief, that we are expected to get over it, like its a stubbed toe or a broken glass) Mary said she had 'gotten over' her divorce when her husband left her for a younger and prettier model. Given that she laboured over that topic for at least five minutes, with lots of huffing and puffing, as well as arm movements, methinks she hasn't really... ;-)
I told her there was no comparison. Besides the fact that grief of any kind is a unique and individual experience, Mary could still 'see' her ex husband. She could have a sense of closure. She could finalise any issues they might have had in their marriage, because he was still alive.
Mary changed tack then and told me that Jeanne and her partner had only been together two years and therefore it should be easy for her to 'get on with her life'. I asked her if she knew the depth of their love and commitment; if she knew how perfect their relationship might have been; if she had any idea of the plans and dreams they had had together. I also tod her that time is irrelevant. We don't need to know someone a lifetime to miss them or grieve for them. We can meet someone for the first time and the impact they made in our life can still mean we grieve. We cannot compare grief journeys, because we are all different. We all view the world differently and we all see it from our own perspective.
As we chatted, Mary was almost dismissive of her daughter's grief, and I couldn't help but mention that her daughter had lost a piece of herself when her partner died. A piece she will never get back or be a part of ever again. Jeanne will have to rediscover who she is and that will take time.
I suggested Jeanne come and talk to me, not as a counsellor or a healer, but as someone who understands, who has been to hell and is still on their way back. Mary looked at me, and in a brief second, I saw fear in her eyes. It was then I knew that not only would Jeanne never visit me, but she wouldn't even get the message. Mary needed Jeanne to be just as she was, because Mary was lonely and felt that she had no real purpose in life. Looking after Jeanne gave her that reason or purpose, and if she got better or began to 'live again', Jeanne might leave Mary with her own ghosts of the past.
Its sad when you see a pattern like this, when dependence or grief is trivialised, and yet, also encouraged to suit the needs of the other person. Mary probably isn't even aware she is doing this, just as Jeanne possibly doesn't realise she is letting it happen. Grief affects us all in many ways. We may think we have it under control or a handle on it, but it has many faces we don't often recognise.
Big hugs
Cherie ♥

There are predators out there in the big bad world, who like to prey on those of us who are on a grief expedition. They know how desperate we are to 'connect' with our loved ones who have passed over. They know we would do anything to bring them back, so being able to hear what they have to say, even if it's through someone else, is priceless and immeasurable.
I know, because I have been there. I have been told by various psychics on many occasions what Butch has to say to me. Its funny how, for the most part, what he has to say coincides with the agenda of the person telling me. This can range from allowing them to usurp my power or feeling as if I had no choices, to wanting to extort money from me, all in the name of connecting me with my loved ones on the other side.
When I finally realised what was happening, I felt like such a fool. Hindsight can be such a bitch. As I look back, I can see that I fell for every hook they threw my way. I wanted to believe so much that I made things fit where they had absolutely no way of fitting. I thought I was the only one who had been hoodwinked. I was wrong.
I guess I felt it a little more keenly because I am a psychic. Unfortunately I can't 'do' a reading for me. I can't 'see' my spirit family in the same way I can see other people's, because I know too much about me and about them. There is no validation, because my skeptic says to me 'Hah! But you already knew thats what they looked like or what they would have said. They were a part of your life for so long!
However, when I read for someone else, its different. It's cut and dried. It fits or it doesn't. I have no idea who the person is or what the connection is. I love it when the reading resonates. I may not sugar coat it, but every word I pass on is given with love, respect and integrity.
Lately I have heard of others who have been through the same kind of experience I did in my early days. They too have been desperate enough to 'hear' what their loved ones have to say, that they have paid ludicrous amounts of money. They have been given negative, false and evil advice from their family in spirit. They have been told that unless they do, their loved one will cease to 'talk' to them. WTF?!
If we allow these people to get away with this sort of shit, we are no better than they are. I wonder if I had written a 'tell all' blog about my experience whether I could have saved other people from heartache. Maybe. Maybe not....
Our loved ones will never say bad stuff. They will not tell you negative and mean things. They don't need to. All that negative shit is a part of a human existence, not a spiritual one. All regrets, guilt, pain, suffering, anger, revenge, etc is gone. It dies with the physical form. From where they are its just love and they want us to know we are loved, that they will be there waiting for us when its time for us to 'go home'.
Before you spend copious amounts of money, ask yourself: 'Would my loved one want or expect me to pay this much to hear from them?' And if you think the answer is yes, ask yourself why it is that you believe that more money means that the psychic is more powerful or better able to connect. There are plenty of wonderful and amazing psychics out there, and they don't all need to empty your bank account to pass on messages of love and support from our loved ones.
And if you are told something bad, negative or evil, ask yourself: 'Would my loved one really say that?' ...and know the answer is 'NO!'
Take note of my experience and others. Trust your instincts. Watch out for Grief Vultures. ...and if you do fall for a smooth talking psychic, don't feel bad or sad. You won't be the first. You won't be the last...but hey, that could be the 'last' time you fell for it! Grief is a huge learning curve in so many many ways.
Be strong. Trust you. Show discernment. Remember that your loved ones are not interested in making or keeping you poor, sad, scared or unhappy in any way. They love you. More than you will ever know!
Big Hugs
Cherie xx

I went for a job interview as a masseuse the other day. I am trying to wear my 'big girl pants' these days, so when she asked me to tell her a little bit about myself, I said. 'I'm 53, an author, a widow, and I've love massage and what it does for others....'
She cocked her head to one side and said to me, 'Sorry, could you repeat that?'
Now, although I am 'admitting' I am a widow, this part of my speech is said with such speed, you need supersonic hearing to be able to 'catch the words'.
I repeated everything, except the widow bit, and she said 'No, you said something else, what was it?'
I 'fessed up and told her the bit I had omitted. She gave me that 'look' that people do and said she was sorry. I tend to get flippant when people say things like that. I am a complex creature, I admit it! I don't want others to be sorry or feel sorry for me. My life is what it is. The judges decision is final. No correspondence will be entered into. ...and then I wonder sometimes if I would just consider others to be hard hearted bastards for not saying anything... It hasn't happened yet, so maybe that will be the subject of another blog...
Anyway, back to my 'interview'. The woman asked me a question. 'So what did you learn from his living, and his dying?'
May I say that these are so not the questions one expects in a job interview, and as a person still going through a grief expedition, not at all something I wanted to contemplate with a complete stranger.
Before long, she had me in tears. She knew which buttons to push, what direction to twist the knife that is my grief and how to make me feel as if I wasn't coping with my world at all. When I tried to stop the flow of tears, she told me I needed to 'sob'.
...as if I haven't...on countless occasions!
We were sitting in a coffee shop and there was no way I wanted to let this woman see how her harsh words were affecting me. I gathered my thoughts, pulled myself up tall, erected my protective wall and tried to get myself together again.
Recognising that she had crossed a line and that she wasn't going to get past that wall I had just put up between us, she said 'Well, thats enough counselling for you today. Now, lets talk about why you want to get a job here.'
There was really no point in going any further. There is no way I would work for someone who would want to find my Achilles heel, who would know just how to create pain within my world because she could.
She tried to create a connection by telling me that her son had passed away 8 years ago, but clearly the way I was going through or handling my grief was incorrect and she hadn't experienced it in the way I had. Read: I was wrong.
As I was leaving, she turned to me and said 'Well, no matter what happens, we were meant to meet today. I was meant to talk to you and you were meant to learn from me.'
And you know what, she was right. I was meant to learn from her, and I learnt this.
*A part of 'putting on my big girl panties' during my grief expedition does not entail telling anyone I am a widow, unless its relative.
*There will always be people who will try to tell me that my way of handling my grief is wrong or not right.
*I don't want to work for anyone who's main objective is to make me feel 'less than', so they can feel all powerful.
*Everyone has a story, but their story ain't my story and mine has no bearing on theirs.
*I still find it difficult to talk openly about my grief with others
*I am doing a great job being who I am and experiencing my grief in my own unique way.
Everyone has a story
Big hugs
Cherie xx

I've been hearing through various forms of media lately, that grief may be classified as a form of clinical depression, through some complicated form of analysis..
A part of me is happy that there is finally some recognition for grief, but the other part of me is shaking it's head and saying 'What the...?'
All too often when someone is on a grief expedition of any kind, whether it is the loss of a loved one or a job, we do get sad and depressed. How could we not? Our life has changed dramatically. Things will never be the same. We will never be the same.
As we struggle to pick up the pieces, we are told to start looking ahead, don't worry, time will heal, think about 'other stuff' or just 'get over it'.
Nobody wants to talk about grief. It makes us feel uncomfortable. After all, what can we sat to make the other person feel better? Well, lets face it, not a lot..but we could listen.
There is no easy answer to helping someone while they are in their grief bubble. The best and kindest thing we can do is to allow them to release some of their thoughts, angst and even guilt (which is usually misplaced or magnified during a grief cycle) they are carrying around.
Most people, including me, find it difficult to express the many aspects of our grief. We feel out of step with the world. It's as if we have lost our beginning and our end - we are stuck there, somewhere in the middle, unsure which direction we should travel in.
As we hold in our emotions, pain and loss, we can withdraw into ourselves as we try to work our way through it all.
After losing someone we love, we already have a feeling of disconnection and being/feeling different. So when those we depend on aren't offering us the support and encouragement we desperately need, we can spiral into the dark depths of a grief based depression. Once we are there, it can seem like a struggle to get out again.
Most of us reach for help in one for or another. If we feel we aren't getting it, we can turn to habits and addictions. I know for me, after being smokefree for over 20 years, I turned to cigarettes. They became my best friends. They were always there, it didn't matter what time of the day or night. They were never too busy or worried they would upset me. I didn't have to explain, all I needed to do was reach for them and there they were.
It took me over four years to feel I could survive without my 'best friends'. It was a long slow process, where I discovered who I was, what I liked about me, what I didn't, what I wanted to do and what I didn't. It has been a hell of a ride and I am not the same person I once was.
I haven't 'got over' my grief, its still there. Not a day goes past without sadness, regret or pain. I accept that this is just the way it will be. For so long I fought against what I was going through. I had never seen anyone else go through grief before. I hadn't seen how it rips the rug out from underneath you and sets you on your arse, wondering how the hell you will ever stand up again. Grief had always been something that was hidden within the dark corners of 'society's laws'.
It isn't that complicated really. Grief makes you sad. It makes you depressed. It can make you feel as if you want to end your life. It can make you feel unreasonable and unrealistic guilt. It can make you feel that life isn't worth living without the person you lost. It can leave you disconnected and lonely. It can make you afraid and fearful. It can rock your world. It can make you angry with the world, with yourself, or with no one in particular. Whether we want to admit it or not, grief helps us get in touch with our emotions, especially the ones, we haven't looked at or wanted to acknowledge.
The best we can hope is to through it, to find our way through this midnight maze of sadness and torment, to find that place of peace within our hearts. For it is when we reach that point, we can begin to believe life really is 'for us' and we start to honour ourselves, our life and our place in the world.

In the beginning I was focussed on being two people. I would do Cherie's housework and various duties then begin working on Butch's jobs.  I was always exhausted, attempting to have everything as pristine as we would have had it.  One day I sat on the ground and cried because the weeds were getting out of control in the courtyard.  I felt Butch would have been disappointed in me for not keeping it tidy.  How silly is that?  Wherever Butch is at this point of time, I bet he doesn't give a fig about the weeds in the courtyard.  However, he may be worried about me getting stressed out about something so minor!
The stress of being one person trying to do enough for two took its toll on me and I could feel my energy levels dissipating on an alarming scale.  To top it all off I wasn't making any headway. 
One day I was telling my cousin Kaye about my dilemma, she told me to stop thinking of it as being two people's jobs, to instead think of them as being Cherie's jobs.  She told me to write a list and realise Cherie would get around to them when she could.  The relief of this was phenomenal!  In hindsight it seems like the most logical way to work through everything that needs doing, but sometimes it's difficult to see what is right there in front of your face.  Kaye pointing it out to me was 'a duh, how obvious' moment!
I think sometimes when we are going through grief we see everything as really big and huge instead of as a hurdle we can walk up to and kick over if we don't want to jump over it.
Before 2008, when things went wrong in life, I pictured them as lots of little incidents falling around my feet like scattered bricks.  When we are depressed, sad or angry it can feel like the bricks don't seem to scatter anymore, they stack up creating a wall we just can't climb.
I guess part of beating the blues is to find ways of 'kicking' the wall down, like the 'Cherie To Do' list.  All of a sudden I didn't feel like a slave to our home and how it used to be.  If I didn't feel like rushing around madly I didn't have to.  I could enjoy a quiet moment or read a book without feeling guilty.
In most relationships, the duties are divided between both partners. Butch would handle the mechanical, handyman and complaints departments and whatever duties we didn't share, were my department.
When Butch passed away, I had no idea how to organise a car service without being ripped off - hence the $5,000 for a my first routine service! I was naive, I told the head mechanic my husband had just passed away and he told me not to worry about anything he would look after me. I obviously didn't notice he was rubbing his hands together in anticipation.
I am pretty independent and maybe just a little stubborn (although I prefer to think of it as 'independent thinking'!), so I refused to ask anyone for help, believing it was time I stepped up and did all those jobs I hadn't bothered to worry about before. Big and expensive mistake!
So, my advice to you, is if you didn't do those things before your partner passed, don't sweat it now. It isn't a sign of weakness to admit you don't know everything about all things. Ask friends and family or ask if they know someone who can help you with anything you are unsure of.
If you don't do housework, either get a cleaner in, or find someone to help you until you feel confident enough to do it on your own. The same applies to cooking, gardening, repairs, etc. Don't feel 'less than' because you need help with even the most menial of jobs.
I remember getting frustrated because I couldn't change one of the light bulbs. I worked on that sucker for days on end, I refused to be beaten. I kept berating myself for being useless and stupid. It turned out there was something wrong in the fitting itself. I’d spent a week in the dark just because I didn't want anyone to think I was a failure! What a waste of energy, emotion and time!
Nowadays, I know who I need to call on for help no matter what the problem and its great to know I don't have to do a crash course in ‘stuff’ I don't really want to understand.
Hugs,
Cherie xx

My life has change dramatically since Butch passed away. I can honestly say some of it has been good, but predominantly, its been a hellish roller coaster ride of emotions and good/bad fortune. Most days I can cope and there are some days when it's all just too hard to bear. I get so tired of struggling, of trying to keep my head above the water, as the rest of me sinks like a stone. 
Financially the last four years have been a bit of a downward spiral. I have kept that to myself for the most part. Heaven forbid that anyone should even suspect I have money troubles. Chin up my girl! 
On an emotional level, I miss being a part of any couple, not just any couple, the partnership/love I once shared. There are some days that I miss him so much and the pain is so real that breathing is a struggle. The majority of the people around me never knew Butch, they have only heard my stories about our life together. Of course that's only the friends who don't feel uncomfortable about me mentioning that my husband has passed away...that's as taboo as talking about cancer! And then you don't want to bore friends by telling them over and over the same sort of stories...
 So nearly everyone I know, apart from my family have never known me as the happy carefree person I once was. They only know the person I am now - a mere shell of myself. They only know me as a widow...and some of the acquaintances I have don't even know that!
I am a fairly positive and optimistic person, and even when I'm not, I will wear my mask and 'fake it till I make it!' However there are days when I just want to turn to someone and say 'I miss Butch so much today it hurts to breathe.' But who do you say it to? No one really understands if they weren't there to experience the magic that was our relationship. You might think that I'm exaggerating, but it really was that great! 
So, most days I suck it up, put on my mask and wish I knew how to make it better. My customers and clients would never suspect that I'm sad or that I cried on the way to work today. I laugh, joke and make them feel special in all sorts of ways. I listen to their problems as well as their happy stories, because thats how I roll!
The other day I hit an all time low. I am so tired of struggling, of swimming upstream, of pushing a huge boulder uphill with a bamboo skewer. I didn't know how to fix where I was or how I felt, so I sent an email to a friend, telling her exactly how I felt, all the crap things that were affecting my life. I left nothing out. I didn't want her to fix it, I think I just needed to 'say' it, to express it, instead of holding it all together within the fragile shell I have wrapped around me and my grief.
I felt better for it. It doesn't change anything, but I don't feel like my stress and fear is consuming me anymore. Afterwards, I felt at peace and decisive. I have chosen the path of what I need to do next and I will see where that leads me. I can only hope there will be a downward slope for a while!
love and hugs
Cherie xx
(this pic was taken when we were para-sailing  Butch was rocking from side to side to 'see if we could make it fall out of the sky'! Other people on the boat had cutesy romantic shots, but this was our professional shot! I like ours better - what an awesome memory!)

I 'woke up' the other day...I mean really woke up. It has only taken four years, six days and a couple of hours to get there, but here I am...awake!
I finished my book 'Grieving With Honour' several months ago, but no matter how much I talked myself into proofreading it or following up on what needed to be done, it lay untouched on the shelf gathering dust. I alternated between being upset and frustrated with myself and just plain angry. Nothing I could do or say would make me move over, pick it up and start looking it over. 
I now realise there was a chapter missing from it - the last chapter that will bring me to a better sense of closure..
It all started with a comment my daughter made the other day. I was telling her how lost and sad I felt, even though I was surrounded by those who loved me. I admitted that I was crying a lot, big sad sobs that sometimes threatened to engulf me. I spoke about huge tears that rolled down my face unbidden and how I thought I'd be feeling different about my grief by now. 
After telling me how far I'd come in the past four years, she turned to me and said 'It makes me feel helpless and sad, knowing I can't 'fix' you Mum.'
A couple of days later, as that thought was processed in the 'think mill' I have working around the clock, I came to the realisation that she was right. She couldn't 'fix' me. No one could...only I have the power to do that.
It was as if someone turned on the light and shook me awake. I woke up feeling different that day, as if I'd discovered the secret to my life, and I guess in a way I have.
I accepted a long time ago that Butch was never going to be here physically again. (I may not like it, but I can accept it) I accepted that my life will never be the same. I even accepted there is a definite chance I will never get over losing him, or being as free and joyful as I once was.....bu I never accepted 'My Grief'. Instead I tucked it away for moments when I was alone, for times when I could mourn in private, because that is how I deal with my sadness and pain.
I never accepted that it was truly okay for me to feel this way. I know I said I did, but there was a part of me that resisted for the past four years, two months and six days. I accepted it 'on behalf of others', as in I was going to do it my way and their opinion didn't matter. I accepted it in a physical, emotional and spiritual sense, but this tiny pocket of me, tucked behind everything else, in the far corner, at the very back hadn't agreed or accepted at all. 
I can't explain the difference it made, this 'wake up call' I received, except that I am now stepping up and assuming my mantle of responsibility. I have been avoiding being a 'part' of my life in lots of little sneaky ways, that no one can visibly identify. I didn't want this new, unimproved and extremely sad life I was stuck with and I just coasted through my day to day life, just going through the motions. 
My soul wept for the valuable time I was wasting. It cried that I wasn't honoring me and making the most of the time I have left here on this earthly plane. It sobbed when it knew I wasn't going to try and 'fix' this part of me and become whole again.....and that was when I had to sit up and take notice. I couldn't explain away the tears, I had to acknowledge what was behind them...
So now, its time for me to pick up the pieces, leave the prickly uncomfortable place that has been my comfort zone for the last four and a bit years and step out into the life I deserve. I'm not saying it will be easy, I just know I owe it to myself to not just be the best me I can be, but also to live the best life I can.
As much as my grief said I shouldn't be here without the love of my life, it isn't my truth and I have many things to accomplish before I join Butch on the etheric. I want him to be pleased and proud of me when we meet again.
..and you know what...? If there's even a chance I have to repeat my lesson of 'abandonment and grief' in the next life, I'd sooner have it done and dusted this time around, thanks.
love and hugs
Cherie xx

I've been really sick this week. What started out as a virus became quite severe and I was laid up in bed for three days. I rarely get sick, and to lie around when I am is not usually something I do willingly.
It began as I did the final proofread of my book on grief (Grieving With Honour). I started coughing, and the more I read, the more incessant my cough became.
Day two was particularly bad and I lay there, just wanting it all to be over. I'd had enough of the pain both within and without my body.
I asked my friend Karen for some distant healing and she told me that what was going on with me was to do with my gief book.
In the early hours of Friday morning, I was shown, in a dream, one of the chapters of my book. I awoke, knowing my body was rememberinga moment in time four years ago.
The anniversary of Butch's passing is in September, which brings in all sorts of emotions and feelings. However, on a cellular level, my body remembers the day Butch told me he didn't want to fight to live anymore, that he was ready to 'go'.
A piece of me died that day, as I realised he was preparing to die.
Each year, around the same dat, I receive an anniversary reminder from my body.
The first year, I had huge acid burns and blisters appear on my body. Tears I cried were also acidic and burnt trails down my face.
The second year I developed a rash that burned like acid and also blistered my skin. I just wanted to peel all my skin off to get some relief.
Last year I got really sick with a combination of acid rash and chest pains, similar to a panic attack.
There were other symptoms as well, like a deep-seated pain in my kidneys, constriction in my chest and stomach cramps each anniversary.
Each one has peaked on the same date and resulted in me wanting to be 'put out of my misery' and asking my guides to please 'take me home'! And each one has begun to dissipate each time I realise what it is and acknowledge my cellular as well as my emotional grief. (it's just a shame I don't 'get' what is happening until after the peak!)
It's important we are in tune with our bodies, that we listen to the messages it has for us. When we feel fear in our kidneys, grief in our lungs, anxiety in our stomach, a sore throat as we swallow words we feel we cannot say or sore ears when we are being told what we don't want to hear, we need to acknowledge and accept these as times when our bodies are saying 'Remember when...?' or 'Enough! It's time to take action!'
There are many events in our life that our cells remember, and we need to notice if what we are felling is a 'present' issue or a gentle reminder!
love Cherie xx

written November 2010
It has been just over two years since Butch has passed.  I never got angry about his passing, about being left behind, about being alone and  lonely.  To be honest, I'm not one of those people that gets angry, except when I turn it inside.  Well, now it is starting to come out whether I want it to or not...  The anger I am holding is has turned into a huge angry rash that is driving me crazy.  It won't go away, no matter what I do or take for it. To make matters worse, my tears have turned to acid once again - a sure sign I'm feeling sad and angry.I think it's time for me to release this anger.
I am having trrouble sleeping again, as if struggling with the day to day stuff  isn't enough, now I can't even close my eyes and pretend it's not happening! I've been waking up at 3am every day for a week (according to the body time chart, this is the time of anger), so it is time to take action...
I decided to make a date with myself to smash 'stuff' tonight (Friday night). I am meant to be going to my daughter's in Brisbane for the weekend, but I told her I have something 'urgent' to do tonight. I'm assuming that everyone who has a life will be out and I won't have to worry too much about being heard. 
Breaking anything is extremely hard for me, as I'm the sort of person who buys a dinner set from the op shop with the intention of smashing it and then gets caught up in the thought that this set belonged to someone who once loved it, or by smashing it, I am depriving someone else of the pleasure of this ugly dinnerset!
Tonight, I've gone throught the house picking everything out that no longer needs to be kept, whether its a coffee jar (which I have been stockpiling), a partial bottle of alcohol left behind by visitors to a medicine bottle I kept from when Butch was alive.  To give me a bit of dutch courage, I am playing loud music (Meatloaf - one of our favourite cds). I'm having a couple of drinks (I'm not a drinker) before I begin to go 'crazy' in my grief of all that was and all that cannot be.
I have prepared the spot where I am going to smash these items and I sure am hoping this will be a liberating and healing experience.
I gave up smoking a while ago, but I am doing that as well. It's time to get the anger involved with why I smoke and how angry it makes me feel when I do out of the way also.  They taste awful, as does the booze, but I'm hoping thaty by doing all the things I hate, because they indicate I have no control, I am hoping to purge them as well.
I'm not a screamer either and I am hoping the alcohol will loosen those restrictions I place on myself.
Yes, I am a planner but I know if I try to do this spontaneously, it will never happen.  I apologise to my liver and lungs in advance for what I am about to do to them.
I need to do this for self preservation, the rash is only the tip of the iceburg and if I don't do something soon, I know will end up really sick. It has taken over way too much of my body and I just want to peel my skin off so it will stop!
An hour later....
It wasn't as easy as I thought it would be. The first few things I threw bounced! Bounced! I said in a loud voice 'I am angry because I feel cheated out of the old age Butch and I were going to share...'. As I watched it bounce, I had a giggle and told myself I clearly wasn't angry enough! I started small after that - I found out lightbulbs make a very satisfying noise as they explode. I was right in the swing of it by the time I'd finished, screaming like a wild banshee and it was kinda disappointing when I'd run out of things to throw. My shoulder is a bit sore though, and my throat is a little raw.
Although I was going to clean up in the morning, I decided to clean up after I had laid waste to my pile of glass and crockery,  I didn't see any point in waking up to it. It was ironic that after I had finished destroying all my 'disposable' items, I didn't know  what my next move should be.  Did I stay sad and morbid afterwards? I hadn't planned that far ahead.
As I was sweeping all the debris towards the garage door, I noticed some lights flashing underneath it. (in my tipsy state I told myself it was probably a little too early for UFOs) I heard a knock and a voice saying 'Please open the door'.
As I lifted the door, I was surprised to find two police persons on the other side.
I am a cadbury girl - in other words a glass and a half is all that it takes for me to be more than a little tipsy - so my first words were 'Sorry, my husband passed away just over two years ago, and I've been puging my anger.' 
They told me quite a few of my neigbours had been concerned enough to ring when they heard things smashing and screaming coming from the premises.  I was impressed the police had been notified, especially as I don't have a lot to do with my neighours and said so.
The policeman said to me they obviously were a little worried and had rung as I was normally a quiet person.  He suggested next year I could play Meatloaf but buy a punching bag in the interim.
I said I thought the music was playing loud enough to disguise the noise and the police lady told me it was obviously not loud enough. 
How fortunate was I that they were such good sorts? 
I explained about my issues with breaking things and that it took a lot of effort on my part to do so, as we all eyed up the huge pile of broken glass on my garage floor.  
The policeman told me he loved Meatloaf, that he had grown up with it, and I could still play that as I vented my anger - on a punching bag, ( I get the feeling he was trying to make a point, but what couldit have been?!)
As they were talking to me Butch and my song 'Two outta three ain't bad' was playing, so I had a quiet laugh, knowing he was probably somewhere having a giggle too.
My life has always been like that, all huge moments in my life had ended on a tragically funny, or at least comical note - and clearly this was another one of them!
They asked my full name and I couldn't help but think, 'Hmm, if I ever get famous, this won't look good!'  They also asked if I would mind providing my date of birth. I told them, adding 'I am over 50 and really should know better!'
I thanked them for coming and asked if it was okay to give them both a hug before they left, which they both did with good humour.
Smashing stuff and venting my anger was truly liberating, I feel lighter and as if I have truly released something that has been holding me back.  I don't think I need to do it again.  I feel bad about my poor neighbours, but I am grateful to know someone cares enough to call the authorities.
After I tidied up, I rang a couple of good friends and we all had a huge laugh at my expense.  I find it amusing to think I, who have never been in trouble with the police, finally created a ruckus at this stage of my life! ...but it was so worth it!
(In fact my cousins have often told me I should have a tatto saying 'Born to be mild'),
I definitely recommend releasing anger, but maybe not in a way that you get unexpected visitors!
(if you look at the photo I took before I cleaned up, you can see lots of orbs on the wall closest to the door. Nice to know I wasn't alone!)