This morning, I was in the liminal space between sleep and wake state. I was with 3 versions of myself.

 The tug on my heart was strong to tend to my inner child. She's homesick and misses Mama. I approach her. She is sitting in a corner, tears streaming from her eyes. She looks up and says, "I miss our mama!" Her words and pain made tears swell in my own eyes. I say, "I miss her, too. Tell me more, tell me how you're feeling." She wailed and told me she feels alone and abandoned. I watched her and listened. She got up and started throwing things around the room as she screamed from the pits of her little stomach. She was enraged. I held space for her. When she calmed down, I sat next to her and asked if I could hold her. She said yes. I held her tight and assured her that I was here and that our mama was too, even though she didn't have her physical body anymore. She whimpered a bit, yet still attentive. I held her.

Then, the elder version of myself showed up. Long, salt and pepper locs dressed in a long purple robe and cloaked with ancient wisdom. She called to us and told us to follow her. We did. She took us where the trees felt like ancestors, so tall they touched the sky. She turned to us and acknowledged our grief. She looked at me and told me that it was up to me to dismantle the shield around my heart so I could let love in fully. She assured me that there are more maternal figures lined up to assist me and love me on this journey. Tears streamed down my face. She placed her hand on my heart and said, "You have to do it, for us! A beautiful life awaits you, and you can not let grief sweep you away!" I promised her that I would, and she told us that we would be just fine.

I'm so grateful for the visit, the love, guidance, and support. Although I walk with others on their grief journeys, please know that I will always be on my journey, too. My grief has been such a potent teacher, and I will always humbly be a student.