When someone you love leaves the physical body the pain is intense. It feels as there a huge hole has been torn in your heart and gut. You are shocked, it's impossible to accept, to get your head around the fact that no longer will you be able to talk with your loved one.

This is grief. It's a pain so intense that only those who have experienced it understand the feeling of it.

As a mother of four children I can tell you that giving birth in no ways is as painful as getting word that your child has been killed in a car accident.

This is what happened to me one rainy Sunday morning in March. Just coming back from shopping I heard someone pull up in my yard as the dog began barking out.
When I saw that my sister had pulled in the yard I knew something was wrong. As the door opened and I saw my brother, mother and brother in law were also in the van, I felt dread so heavy that I wanted to go back inside the house and pretend that they were not here.

I walked into the yard and waited for my sister to finish talking. I only heard her say, “she didn't make it'.

I don't remember much after than other than the feeling of the next few hours. Sitting with the coroner, family, listening to people talk.. none of it making any sense. Telling my son and my grand son's father that this terrible thing had happened, it all ran together like a bad dream you want so badly to awaken from and can not.

I kept thinking, “I will wake up soon”. This just couldn't be happening to us. The only ones in our family who had passed were grandparents in their 80's and 90's after a long lifetime on this plane. What would my 7 year old grandson do without his mommy? These and hundreds of other questions ran through not only my head but they washed through me like little molecules of energy all with a life of their own.

The first two weeks blended into each other as there was so much to do. I never knew there were so many details to attend to after a death. Funeral arrangements, banking, insurance, changing everything. I don't know how many times each day I would think I needed to call my daughter and ask her opinion on some thing or another only to realize I could no longer reach her by phone.

Finally I just talked with her like she was in the room. I felt her presence, her love. That eternal her that is always with me comforted me. She came to us in dreams telling us that she was fine. We felt the love and the comfort and were filled with a bitter sweet appreciation.

The third week I took a time out for me. I told my family that for a whole week I would not do anything related to my daughter's passing. I was going to take care of me and my youngest daughter. We spent the week looking at movies, going for walks, working in the yard.

I realized how blessed I was that there was no regret towards my daughter. We had always kept the air and the emotions clear between us. This was a gift that served not only while she was here, but brought me great comfort in her passing. I knew that she understood my love and respect for her.

One day I realized I was once again whistling and knew that joy had returned. While there will always be a part of me that misses hanging out with my daughter, I am whole, I am here, I am happy. I am blessed to have known her, to have loved her and to have been loved by her.

As a spiritual healer and coach this experience has deepened my ability to help others through the process of grieving. It is a process, allow yourself to feel your emotions. Don't hold onto them, just feel them.

Some days the grief will be stronger than others. You might even begin to feel guilty on days that you have fun. My youngest daughter experienced this until she realized that her sister would want her to be happy.

Healing is remembering the love you share with this person and the love you have for yourself and all of life.

I promise.. there is joy after grief.

Author's Bio: 

Donna DeVane provides healing and coaching for those who desire to take the journey from grief back to joy.