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Held in the Long Hours: A Companioning Practice for Early Grief

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Created byAlicia Wade

A practice for someone in the first months of grief after burying a child suddenly gone, companioning the sorrow without trying to fix it, with permission for nothing to arise, and learning to live on

Narrated by Rachel8 min
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Read along — the full script
[0:00] [gentle] Welcome. 3s of stillness However you arrived here — exhausted, numb, aching, or simply out of ideas — you are welcome exactly as you are. 3s of stillness There's nothing you need to feel in the next several minutes. Nothing you need to reach or resolve. 5s of stillness You are in complete control of this practice. You can stop at any moment, open your eyes, shift how you're sitting, or simply listen without doing anything at all. 3s of stillness Nothing here is required of you. 5s of stillness If it helps, you might let yourself settle a little more fully into whatever is supporting you — a chair, a bed, the ground. 5s of stillness No particular posture is needed. Only something that feels bearable. 5s of stillness Let's find something steady to rest on. You might notice your feet meeting the floor. 3s of stillness Or the weight of your hands, wherever they lie. 3s of stillness Or the sounds in the room around you — a hum, a distant voice, traffic somewhere past the window. 3s of stillness And if it feels comfortable, the quiet coming and going of breath. 5s of stillness Choose whichever feels most like solid ground. That will be your home base. You can return there as often as you like — every few seconds, if that's what today needs. 5s of stillness There's no wrong choice here. Only what steadies you. 10s of stillness [2:15] [slower] Noticing the surface beneath you — chair, bed, floor — holding you up. 5s of stillness You don't have to hold yourself right now. Something else is doing that. 5s of stillness The floor has been doing this all along, quietly, without being asked. 10s of stillness Letting attention move easily through the body — not searching, not inspecting. Just visiting. 5s of stillness The shoulders, which may be carrying more than shoulders were made for. 5s of stillness The upper back. 5s of stillness The hands. 3s of stillness The jaw. 3s of stillness The face. 10s of stillness There's no right thing to feel. Warmth, heaviness, numbness, tingling, nothing at all — each of these belongs. 5s of stillness The body keeps its own timing, and it is not behind. 5s of stillness If any place feels like too much, attention can rest somewhere easier. The feet. The sounds. The temperature of the air. 10s of stillness Moving away from something difficult is not avoidance. It's wisdom. It's how we stay here long enough to be here at all. 10s of stillness [4:15] [softer] This practice will not try to fix your sorrow. Grief is not a problem to solve. It is love with nowhere to go. 5s of stillness So we'll simply keep company with it — the way someone sits beside you and says nothing, and doesn't leave. 10s of stillness If you like, for just a few seconds, notice where grief lives in the body right now. A tightness in the throat. A hollowness in the chest. An ache behind the eyes. A heaviness low in the belly. 10s of stillness You don't have to go in. Just a glance from the doorway is enough. 5s of stillness And now, deliberately, back to home base. Feet. Hands. Sound. 10s of stillness That returning — that's the whole practice. Not going further in. Just touching, and coming back. 5s of stillness Touching. 3s of stillness And coming back. 10s of stillness And if nothing arose at all — no feeling, no sensation, no location — that is entirely all right. Numbness is its own kind of mercy in the early months. It is the body deciding how much you can carry today. 10s of stillness Nothing is missing. Nothing is being done wrong. 10s of stillness [6:30] [slower] You are here. The floor is here. The air on your skin is here. You are not in the past right now. 10s of stillness If your mind has traveled somewhere hard, that's what minds do. Each return is a success. Nothing has gone wrong. 5s of stillness You may find yourself leaving a hundred times. A hundred returns is a hundred kindnesses. 10s of stillness Perhaps a word to rest in, said inwardly, as slowly as breath: 3s of stillness *Held.* 10s of stillness *Held.* 15s of stillness You are not asked to carry this alone. Not by strength. Not by understanding. Not by keeping it together for anyone. 10s of stillness Others have walked this road before you — parents through centuries, in every language, under every kind of sky — and though that does not lessen your loss, it means you are not outside the human family. You are deep inside it. 15s of stillness Somewhere, right now, someone else is also sitting with something too large for words. 10s of stillness Letting go, here, does not mean letting go of your child. It never will. It means loosening your grip, just slightly, on having to be strong this minute. 10s of stillness Just this minute. Nothing beyond it. 10s of stillness [9:00] [softer] Resting now. Nothing to accomplish. 15s of stillness No effort. No progress to make. 20s of stillness You might ask, silently — and there's no need for an answer: *What small, ordinary thing could hold me today?* 20s of stillness A cup in the hands. A doorway. A name spoken aloud. A short walk to the end of the street. 10s of stillness These are anchors, and they will meet you again tomorrow. 15s of stillness And if tomorrow is harder than today, that is not a failure. Grief moves in weather, not in lines. 15s of stillness Whatever came or didn't come in these minutes was exactly right. 10s of stillness [11:00] [normal] Beginning to widen out. The room around you. 3s of stillness The light through your eyelids. 3s of stillness Sounds near and far. 5s of stillness Perhaps a small movement — fingers, shoulders, a turn of the head. 5s of stillness Whatever the body would like, at whatever speed it prefers. 5s of stillness When you're ready, letting your eyes open, taking in one thing you can see. 5s of stillness Just one. Something ordinary is fine. 5s of stillness Taking a moment before you move on to whatever comes next. There's no rush back into the day. 5s of stillness If the weight ever becomes unmovable — if the days go flat and hopeless, or if you find yourself frightened by your own thoughts — please let someone qualified walk alongside you. That is strength, not weakness. 5s of stillness You can return here whenever you need to. Tonight. Tomorrow. In the middle of an ordinary afternoon. 3s of stillness This place doesn't close. 3s of stillness Go easy today.