Drumming You Home

How we experience Grief, moment by moment year by year is rarely static. It shifts and changes, showing us different chambers of our hearts.

On Friday 22nd March 2024 - it was 2 years since my dear friend Trish died.

Below you can read the story of where my learnings as a Shamanic Practitioner and human being were put into place for my dear friend. 

I knew that Trish's time in this realm was limited and I wanted to see her, one more time. Simon and I made the journey from Kirriemuir to Ellenabeich. This trip has always felt so exciting and fun. To visit and stay with her. It has been our own personal retreat for many years and the kids grew up with this amazing woman in their lives.

The end was coming. I was actively in the 3rd year of my Shamanic Practitioner training. The topics being:- 

The Light of Death and the Holding of Life

Death and Transition with Psychopomp Training.

Trish and I were firm supporters of each other and whether training as coaches, mentors or in my case working Shamanically we were guinea pigs for each other. Drumming for Trish and introducing journeying was such a pleasure. She experienced things very vividly. Her Inner-Sight was strong. We learned so much together. Like kids in a nursery. Touching and exploring sand, Lego and paint together. Mess was welcomed. Our experiences were deep and powerful. We swapped roles , learning from each other in as many ways as possible. Fun and laughter were never far away. We made experimentation and mistakes an effortless part of who we could be. There was a rarity about what we brought when we combined our forces. When we needed support we would say "Which hat would you like me to wear?". This ensured we met each others needs in a very open and transparent way. Who wants coaching when you'd rather swear and be grumpy in the safe space with a good friend?

We reached Garragh Mhor. The B&B Trish had previously owned and were welcomed in for our overnight stay by Jan. (So grateful for that Jan)

I then called ahead to share that we had arrived and to check about going round to see Trish.

The shocking response was that she had passed an hour earlier. Phone connection is bad. Hoping I had misheard. I asked again. The message was repeated. Trish had died.

My throat contracted.

My heart pounded.

I'm looking out across the beautiful land and it will never be the same. There will always be a before and after.

I was too late.

I cried messy, slobbery, heart rending tears. I had missed her.

After an hour of release, a strange calm was setting in.

I already believed the timing of my arrival was meant to be.

I had not arrived to see Trish. I had arrived in time to "Drum her Home".

I had not missed her. I was about to meet her in the most profound way.

I looked at Simon. My throat raw from crying and said "I'm going to drum for her now"

  That day Simon stepped wordlessly into the role of my "Tender". We collected the items I had brought with me. My Drum. My Psychopomp rattle. My Cape. A candle and pictures and walked down to the so familiar and loved slate beach.

We saught a private and secluded location and it was there I set up space. I lit the candle and opened the ceremony to Drum Trish Home.

I felt a deep certainty.  This was the way I wanted to honour Trish. We had spoken about it together and this was the fulfillment of that promise. I had permission. 

I faced the Atlantic. Rattled to open space. Called in my guides and ancestors and when I was ready and clear began drumming.

I love my drum and on this slate beach it "spoke" with so many new sounds. I had never heard its full vocabulary before. I did that day. Simon, by my side. Listening and looking after me so that I could fully honour Trish.

The candle burned strongly. Not a breath of wind came to extinguish it. So rare in this part of Scotland. I settled into the cycles of drumming. Sometimes accompanied by tears from my eyes. Mostly though I experienced a strong sense of presence and rightness and love.

I faced North, South, East and West.

I chanted. I drummed. I honoured Trish as profoundly as I could. Her importance. Her life and her Legacy. The sea and slate harmonised. The crows and seagulls called out in accompaniment.

The Manta who loved to swim and dive. Swimming in the ocean to freedom and her next realm.

I am unsure of how time passed. As I drummed I experienced "seeing" Angus, Trish's West Highland Terrier come forward. Behind him, was  a man. I knew instantly it was her Dad. I also knew they were letting me know she was OK. They were with her. Powerfully. Beautifully. My part was complete.

I brought the drumming to a close and sat next to Simon.

The candle burned brightly.

The cloud's in the sky were telling stories. I saw it all and felt so present within the synchronicities.

How did I know to come to you that day?

The Lighthouse lamp that you gave me was flashing and the bulb was making noises.

How did I know to complete?

Angus and your Dad signalled that they had you.

How do I feel?

Grief, warmth, sadness, loss and love.

Was I too late?

I am lucky to truly know I was to meet you in death and not in life. I was on time! This knowing always amazes me and I am grateful for it. I often smile, believing my arrival was perfectly timed and you knew it xxx

I miss you in this world. Your laughter and love. I know you are around and send me messages. I acknowledge them and you each time.

Swim Well and Freely my Manta Friend xx

It was a True Honour.