Articles

EFT for Death of a Friend

EFT for Death of a Friend

Sunny Side Up: A Young Woman’s Search for Transformation Book


By Barbara June Appelgren, EFT INT-1

Florence was sent to me by a doctor as an emergency of extreme grief.

As soon as she came into my office she began crying and told me she couldn't imagine how I could possibly help her out as she had been feeling this way and crying for several months, and it wasn't letting up.

I let her get the whole story out without interruption.

A close friend of hers died several months before and she just couldn't move forward.

She felt guilty she hadn't done enough and sad and couldn't stop crying every day.

“What can a counselor do about that?” she asked.

I told her about EFT and asked her if she wanted to try it. Although willing, as soon as I created the setup sentence from her words she began crying again.

“Even though I don’t think I did enough for my friend, I deeply and completely love and accept myself.”

She dropped her hands in confusion, unable to even copy my movements.

Instead of having her tell the story and tap on the points following my actions, I asked her if she minded if I tapped for her on myself, as if I were her. She could just listen and correct my words if they didn't sound right.

I basically created set up sentences that retold the story as best I could using her language.

Since each step of the story caused her to cry, it was obvious they each had intensity and I didn't bother to take the SUDS level. As I told and retold her story, she slowly became less agitated as she listened to me repeat her own words.

Soon, after just a couple of rounds, without any prodding from me, she joined me in tapping, though still not speaking.

Reminder phrases included:

I didn't do enough.

Maybe a different doctor could have helped her.

The appointments I took her to weren't enough.

I should have done more.

Maybe she would still be alive.

I didn't try to find other doctors.

I wasn't able to save her.

At this point she was able to tell me more of the story. In addition to feeling she hadn't done enough to find different doctors who might have been able to save the woman, her dying friend had asked Florence not to tell the friend’s adult children that their mother was fatally ill.

Unfortunately, Florence complied, and did not advise her friend to tell them.

When the friend died and the children learned that Florence had known all along how very ill the mother was and that Florence had been taking their mother to treatments, they were furious with her.

They ignored the plans she and her deceased friend had made about the disposal of the friend’s ashes, and furthermore refused to let Florence know when or where the memorial service took place.

First we tapped on how Florence and her friend made plans together for the disposal of her ashes.

Reminder phrases had to do with the specialness of making their plans, and how Florence felt so committed to this agreement.

Then, we tapped several rounds on how hurt Florence was by being purposely left out of the services by her friend’s children.

After that, we tapped on being insulted, of being discriminated against, and how angry she felt.

Suddenly, she became very quiet and thoughtful. “Oh, now I understand.” Her face lit up with her realization of how it felt to them. Her anger went from 10 to 0.

Now she understood how hurt the children had felt by not being told about what had been going on.

She no longer felt angry toward them.

By the end of the hour she was peaceful, down to 0. She said, “If anyone told me I would feel like I do now at the end of one appointment, I would have thought they were crazy.”

I gave her the cheat sheet, which she was excited to have. She said she was going to use EFT on her own. I never saw her again.

Most clients keep good eye contact with me. Occasionally they want to keep their eyes closed while tapping and because they don’t know the pattern of points yet, it makes it difficult to show them when to move to the next point.

We often have a laugh about that. Wanting to keep their eyes closed seems to be connected to feeling relaxed by saying the words and not having anyone judge or deny their truth.

In addition to explaining that they can’t tell when to move to the next point, I tell them that when they’re practicing on their own at home, they can do whatever they want, but here in the office I’d like them to keep their eyes open so that they can practice saying their words in this world, the one we live in and see every day.

They often respond with a big smile of recognition. Yes, they want to be able to do that.

I often get feedback that it was so unburdening to be able to say all their real feelings. I believe that it is the combination of being able to say them aloud without there being any judgment involved, neither mine nor their own, simply because, while tapping, we don’t have the time to do that.

This is also why it is so important to use the client’s own words.

When I use my words trying to make a compact set up sentence I always check with them to see if I’ve gotten it right. Sometimes my choice of words will get a shocked look and we’ll laugh about it because it is so obviously not the way the client would have said it.

I also ask them to correct me or add to our reminder phrases and that I’ll follow after them, repeating their words. Some people do this readily while others need more time to feel comfortable expressing their feelings aloud.

When they do become comfortable, they are almost adamant about having found their voice, and seem to take great joy in reminding me of their choice of words.

Note: This article assumes you have a working knowledge of EFT. Newcomers can still learn from it but are advised to get our Free EFT Get Started Package or our EFT Books and EFT Trainings for a more complete understanding. For more, read our EFT Info and Disclaimer Document. Please refer to a physician for all medical issues.

EFT Reveals Core Issues Behind Immobilizing Grief 

Dear EFT Community,EFT for the Highly Sensitive Temperament

In this article, Andrea Ensing tells of how she used the EFT technique called “sneaking up on the problem” to help a client move forward in her life after a year of being immobilized by the death of her father.

-Stephanie M


By Andrea Ensing

A client came to me on the 1-year anniversary of her father’s death. She felt like she was going through the motions in life. She had no desire to do anything but sit around and smoke pot all day.

Due to her amplified grief, I didn’t want her session to turn into merely crying and tapping, so I started with a technique called “sneaking up on the problem.” This technique has the client focus on the generalities of the event as opposed to the specifics. Then, tapping on the generalities lightens the specifics of the event enough that they can be worked on without overwhelming the client.

The first general emotion we tapped on was her sadness. Her original SUD score on sadness alone was a 9.

We used a very basic Setup Statement,

“Even though I have all this sadness, I still deeply and completely accept myself.”

We also used a general Reminder Phrase, “All this sadness.”

Once the sadness was tapped down to a 3 (this took approximately three rounds of tapping), what came up was the specific thought that she didn’t want to live without her father.

This led us to tap on the specific phrase, “I don’t want to live without my father” as well as several other issues related to his passing and the futility of life, including “Why work so hard when you die right after retirement” and “Once you retire, your body goes downhill fast.”

When we were able to clear those thoughts, the client expressed fear about growing up and getting married. She stated that she never wanted to do either and that, if she could, she would stay “young forever.”

That was an amazing realization because her last name is “Young!” We discovered that the core issue was related to her last name. She was born with the last name “Young,” and that was her father’s last name as well.

Deep down she had attached to the name the notion that if she grew up, she would no longer be “Young.” With the passing of her father, she clung to the name and thus began reverting to childlike tendencies of not working, sleeping all day, and relying on her boyfriend to take care of her.

After several rounds of tapping, she was feeling more in control of her life and ready to focus on her career. She also began the process of moving out of her mother’s home.

 

Note: Consult your licensed health professional about all health issues. By viewing this site you agree to our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy, our Disclaimer, and our Copyright Notice. Download our free Emotional Freedom Techniques (EFT tapping) Get Started Package here, and go deeper with EFT Books and EFT workshops.

EFT for Grief: Rest in Peace

 EFT for PTSD Paperback – March 1 2014 by Dawson Church

Dear EFT Community,

In this moving account, expert EFT practitioner Sherrie Rice Smith tells how she used EFT to help her deal with the grief over the passing of loved ones.

-Stephanie M


By Sherrie Rice Smith, RN, EFT-EXP

Karen Marie Rice
25 June 1960–29 November 1961

William Gregg Rice, Esq.
26 September 1961–28 August 2010

July is here with all its impending nostalgic glory, or pain, depending on one’s point of view. For me, glory because I’ve been healed of my emotional pain, pain because I had to lose two of my “babies” to get here.

Tonight, as I took a walk in the cool of a beautiful Wisconsin evening, I once again slipped back into the part of me where I once lived. Oh, not entirely back, just a short distance back into that pain, or guilt, that I often identify as almost survivor’s guilt. This has to smack a bit of what our military personnel feel like when one of them loses an entire platoon, leaving the one left behind devastated emotionally, pondering the question of “Why not me?”

That question once again reared its ugly head and a few tears slid down my cheeks, as I just gently, one more time, tapped away the heart pain I feel when I again realize that I had to lose two of my younger siblings in order to find myself right here, right now, in a place I never imagined I would be, if I dreamed a 1000 years. Never could I have thought this world I now find myself in would ever have emerged out of that muck and mire.

Karen died of biliary atresia at 17 months of age; Bill was 2 months old when she passed; I was age 8. My entire life up until 3 years ago was run purely on the leftovers and buried emotions around Karen’s death. One day she was alive when I left for school and by evening I was being told by family friends she was gone. Gone? Oh, I was told shortly after she was born that she was going to die, but what did that mean to a 7-year-old? Absolutely nothing. I loved that baby as my own. I bathed her, I fed her, I changed her diapers, and I even stayed up for a few hours at night with her when I saw, as a 7-year-old, the complete exhaustion in my mom’s eyes. I would send Mom back to bed and deal with fussy, sick Karen on my own. No one could put her to sleep as quickly as I could. It was my 7-year-old claim to fame, one of the few things Mom ever gave me kudos for.

My total memory of Karen’s funeral consists of my aunt hauling me out of church because I was wailing so hard about “my baby being in that white box.”

My aunt’s words to me were “You’re making a scene.” There is a short snippet of the trip to the cemetery, a comment I made about a classmate living across the street from that cemetery. That is where the memories stop; that is the sum total of Karen death memories. There are no more. Karen was never spoken of again in our household that I remember. She disappeared forever. My baby simply vanished in that small white box.

I slipped into depression, my first, 9 years later, in nursing school when I got to my pediatric rotation. I finally was able to ascertain exactly what Karen died from. No one at home knew. And, if they did, they certainly weren’t sharing it with me. I always felt I was in the dark. No one told me anything. No one told me Karen was close to death. I blamed myself for not figuring that out at age 8.

For pete’s sake, her crib had been moved into the living room and Grandma Rice was there with us as much as possible. I assume she and Mom traded off sitting with Karen 24/7 for those last days, but why didn’t I figure that out and ask to stay home that morning? Isn’t guilt an interesting emotion? I have another memory, I think, that came out during Matrix Reimprinting around Karen’s death. Perhaps that is a story for another time. I must have buried a million memories.

I lived unknowingly in some numb, unloved, isolated limbo of sorts for most of my life. My heart was hardened. I was always crabby and defensive about everything. I had literally no friends. I functioned in some manner. I grew up in church, so getting into trouble or doing anything that would disappoint my parents or the priests and nuns was completely out of the question. I instinctively knew that would simply make my emotional issues worse by increasing the isolation.

The family always withdrew itself from any member that remotely stepped “out of line.” And so life went on—I guess if you could call it living.

I finished nursing school, found an interesting job or two, left PA for Kentucky, and then eventually moved to Wisconsin. Looking back now, as my adult self, it is amazing that I never delved into alcohol or drugs to salve all that pain, or a series of sexual encounters with a possible subsequent chain of unwanted babies. Somehow, God protected me from doing any of that self-destructive behavior. The self-destruction was contained solely in my own mind of my own making.

I entertained myself by playing those same old recordings over and over again until those neural pathways were thick and heavy. I knew well that song of feeling unloved, unwanted, rejected, guilty, and a litany of every emotion under the sun.

Finally, I found a man who, in my dad’s words, “would put up with” me. We married, his second, my first, later in my life, but that was going downhill because Brad’s issues from childhood were as bad as or worse than mine. We fought nearly constantly. Brad ended up in an early forced retirement, meaning we were together 24/7/365. It wasn’t pretty!

The impact of Karen’s death defined everything—the rest of my childhood and it shaped my adult beliefs, about me and all those around me, and still I never learned the lessons I needed to heal. Oh, I went to counseling several times, the latest was during my second depression a couple of years before Brad and I married. I even wrote my parents a long letter at the behest of the counselor about everything in my life, hoping that would heal parts of me. That didn’t go well either.

God allowed a perfect storm of sorts to simply brew. I had never recovered emotionally from Karen’s death’s, my marriage was failing miserably, I was horribly overweight, I hated myself and my life, and all of it was beginning to take a physical toll on me. It was taking a toll on my younger brother, Joe, too, the next in line to me who was an extremely brittle diabetic who’d already had colon cancer 5 or so years previously. We had no tools to help us heal. The toolbox was totally empty. We hadn’t learned a thing about coping emotionally in life.

August 9, 2008, struck. I sensed it had the potential to be the worst day of my pathetic life. Now, the pain really began; however, unbeknownst to me, this time this pain would lead to real healing and real tangible change in my life. How I longed for that!

The story is too long to tell here, so I will shorten it. I see how it all played out like it was yesterday in my mind’s eye. I was sitting at my computer, much like I’m doing right now, when the phone rang. I answered it, excited, as it was Bill, my youngest of the two brothers, an attorney, who rarely calls because he works 14–16 hours a day, and when home, spends the time with his wife and four young daughters. He lives 1200 miles from me.

We exchanged pleasantries, and then he got right to the point. “What did Grandma die from?” Bill asked. I’m a nurse. I knew something was terribly wrong. “Why, is your blood work screwed up?” I asked. I knew I had just heard some horrible news because that intuitive part of me said so and at times it seemed to be the only thing alive inside of me. The answer near killed me on the spot. “Yes,” he replied. My heart fell out of my chest, drove itself through the computer room floor, and splatted into a million pieces on the basement concrete.

My poor broken heart, dead over the death of a sister I had never recovered from, dead over the parental relationships I’d never had, dead because nothing I could do helped me lose weight no matter how hard I tried or what I did to accomplish it, dead because my only chance, or so I thought of happiness with Brad, was dying, too—that heart was simply now splintered. My heart of hearts knew he wouldn’t live through what came to be a diagnosis of ALL (acute lymphoblastic leukemia), the childhood leukemia that is curable about 97% in kids, but has only about a 35% cure rate in adults with all modalities of treatment, including a stem cell transplant.

I found out later only 1000 cases of adult ALL are diagnosed yearly in the US. Yes, Bill snagged himself a bad one—it completely destroyed his DNA, the core of wellness in his body. His coping skills, too, didn’t help him at all either. Were all six of us siblings doomed? I began to assume so.

A tortured 2 years and 2 weeks began its course right then and there. I spent about 6–7 weeks total of his illness with him, nursing him, caring for him, and just generally repeating what I did as an 8-year-old for baby sister Karen. History was repeating itself in a horrendous way. Bill’s family lived 3 hours away from the medical center, so his wife couldn’t be with him and still care for 4 children. My mom was well into her seventh decade of life and I didn’t think it fair for her to have to care for another probably dying child.

Once through was enough for anyone. As the R.N. in the family, this was my job. And so I did it.

Those are the memories I cherish. Bill and I spent much time alone, reacquainting, reminiscing, Bill remembering childhood memories I had long forgotten, or buried, laughing and goofing off our way through days on end at the hospital, and me just holding him, literally, as procedures such as PICC lines were inserted, the procedures that brought home to both of us the inevitability and reality that all of this was really happening to him. The tears begin anew as I type this. Today they break quickly and easily under my tapping fingers.

Then I had no defense. I just plodded on day after day, filled with worry and fear, wondering when the final phone call would come.

The stem cell transplant held for a few months, and then the leukemia came roaring back with all its fury. I made 3 long trips east during this time. Brad was wonderful to me through it all. He simply allowed me to do what I had to do. The last trip with Bill alive was 3 years ago this month. He simply refused to give up. No one wants to give up when all treatment options are gone, but I couldn’t seem to make him understand the need for hospice (and I promised him if he wanted home hospice, we would do that—I would stand with him every moment).

He simply wouldn’t sign the DNR, making the doctors continue every treatment option right until the end. Perhaps, another piece of my guilt was, I couldn’t take much more. I had little help, except for Mother, in caring for him, and she had my dad to take care of back home, 6 hours away. Everyone else had families to care for. I’d call, asking for some relief from my sisters. Return phone calls never came—they couldn’t deal with the illness either. I just kept going, somehow by God’s grace.

The last 2 weeks of Bill’s life, and, of course, I didn’t know it was the last 2 weeks; I finally just went home to Wisconsin, telling Bill good-bye for what I now know was the last time I saw him alive.

Within 3 days, the crisis came. Mom had to deal with him. She phoned me and I made phone calls for her to get her the help she needed to make decisions for him. Bill was readmitted to Hackensack University Medical Center where he stayed until 36 hours before he died when he was moved to a hospice facility. I was no longer there with him. No one could make any decisions, as I could well understand. To this day, I have no idea who finally put him in hospice where he should have been all along.

I knew I had to grieve. I always told patients’ families, “You grieve now or you grieve later, and later is usually worse.” I took my own advice. Amidst that grief I learned about EFT. I downloaded the EFTUniverse mini-manual, devoured it, tried it, got a couple one-minute miracles, and I was hooked! I knew it was my last chance at healing, or I was next to follow Bill to the grave. I lived with 6 months of the world’s worst chest pain. No doctor was going to fix the pain.

My heart was simply broken. Other people died of lesser issues than this.

I took Dawson Church's Minneapolis EFTUniverse classes Levels 1 & 2 the following April, and the rest is history. I quickly did my EFT-INT certification, and began working on my EFT-EXP certification soon thereafter, tapping with anyone I could find, and all the while tapping furiously on my own stuff, never realizing how much there really was that needed to move. I solicited Irene Baum, EFT-INT, in Milwaukee, to help me. I have no idea how I would have done it without her! I sit here today a candidate trainer for EFTUniverse, amazed and emotionally healthy.

And I mean emotionally healthy, complete, peaceful, the chatter of my previous life gone from my subconscious, free at last, our marriage mostly healed (we’re married, remember, we still have “words” some days!), thanks to Kim Eisen, EFT-INT, in Minneapolis, who tapped with Brad, discharging his hate for his abusive, now dead parents.

Not having dealt with Karen’s death, it simply led from one thing to another. That early cognitive learning just compounded itself event upon event until I lived in an overwhelmed state of emotional turmoil. I have with tapping pulled out two events/memories from when I as 18 months old that I know shaped everything from that moment on. They were awful memories. It was no wonder I could barely function in life.

Without sounding non-empathic, I want to encourage anyone reading this that no matter what your issues, no matter how long you have endured them, no matter how painful, no matter anything, persevere through them. I’m here to tell you that you can heal. EFT will work. Do not give up hope; just keep tapping every minute you have to spare. TAP! And find a certified EFT practitioner from the list on this website to help you, if you feel stuck or you feel you cannot go on. Call someone. Reach out. Save your life.

If I can do it with childhood PTSD abuse stemming from at least 18 months of age on, so can you!

Today, I stand here, with a tiny bit of sadness remaining, knowing I’m so very alive and Bill and Karen are so very dead. But the realization dawned on me, causing some tears, that I cared for them all of their lives, at least Karen’s short 17 months of life, and Bill at the beginning, as he was 9 years younger than I, and again at the end when he needed someone to care for his every need. I have no regrets at all about the time I gave both of them. It was my pleasure to do it. The sad pain comes in knowing that in their deaths they returned the favor and cared for me.

It was their deaths that was instrumental in my healing, my rebirth of sorts, by the grace of God, through EFT. My new life now begins, as I open this chapter in continuing to serve humankind, as God so deems, through the healing mechanism of Emotional Freedom Techniques. I have to make Bill and Karen proud and allow them to see that their early deaths were not in vain.

It all served a much higher purpose than any of us could have ever imagined. I stand amazed.

Note: Consult your licensed health professional about all health issues. By viewing this site you agree to our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy, our Disclaimer, and our Copyright Notice. Download our free Emotional Freedom Techniques (EFT tapping) Get Started Package here, and go deeper with EFT Books and EFT workshops.

EFT Stopped Mourning Guilt

Dear EFT Community,

Other emotions in addition to grief often surface when mourning the death of a loved one. Feeling guilt over what we did or didn't do during our loved one's final days can complicate mourning. Here Carol Bisanz tells how EFT helped her release her sense of guilt. 

-Stephanie M


By Carol Bisanz

After my husband died 9 months ago, I discovered that my life had stopped. I could go neither forward or backward. I was frozen in time…the time I had spent as his caregiver, and the time I was spending wondering if I could have done more. I did not know how to live anymore.

I received a letter from my son stating how selfish I am. This led to more tears and greater fears, which fed my mourning process in a negative way, not a healing way. 

I did not realize this until one day I was at my cousin's home viewing a CD about the miracle of EFT on vets with PTSD. As I watched I saw the suffering on their faces and realized it was the same suffering that was inside of me. 

I could not forgive myself for the selfishness I felt for wanting to run away from watching my husband suffer in his last years. 

I broke down as I watched the CD and shouted out all that was going on inside of me. 

My cousin gently brought me to the healing with EFT….Wow!!!

I am Catholic, I have been indoctrinated  to believe that guilt makes saints. I am still a Catholic, but since my little miracle I have learned that EFT, God, and the Church can make even greater saints! 

Jesus came to heal and forgive, EFT is His gift to me so that I can also help others to forgive, forget, and be healed of the suffering that refuses to let go. 

EFT should be taught in every confessional in the world!

 

Note: Consult your licensed health professional about all health issues. By viewing this site you agree to our Terms of Use and Privacy Policy, our Disclaimer, and our Copyright Notice. Download our free Emotional Freedom Techniques (EFT tapping) Get Started Package here, and go deeper with EFT Books and EFT workshops.

EFT and Matrix Reimprinting Resolve Old Grief Issues


By Sherrie Rice Smith, RN (Ret.), EFT-EXP

This tapping/matrix re-imprinting story is a shining example of how the subconscious will go to great lengths to protect us. Even after literally thousands of hours of tapping to rid myself of my deepest darkest secrets and core issues, the subconscious still kept a vigilant watch over me, hiding what it thought would still hurt me to my quick.

Several weeks ago I discussed with practitioner Irene Baum, EFT-INT, the fact that I had to be done soon with all the emotional issues, so perhaps it was time to switch to tapping on some of my physical issues, such as my thyroid, painful knee, and the ever-present weight issue that I was still not happy about, as well as a few medications that I so desperately want to stop taking.

So far, moving the emotional issues hadn’t solved any of the big physical things. Lots of little physical stuff had silently slipped away without me ever tapping on them.

I decided to go back to basics with these physical issues on my own and start tapping. In my own EFT practice with clients, I use all kinds of different energy techniques—I rarely stick to one. I mix and match as I see fit, but, for this, I just used the regular EFT.

I had gained all my weight about 3 months into nursing school back when I was 17, so what happened 6 months to a year prior to that to trigger the huge weight gain? Irene claims she asked me this question and I had no answer. I don’t remember that, but it wasn’t time to tackle the problem then. It was now. I realized for the first time that I had no emotions around leaving home and going to nursing school 2½ hours away, but I know nursing school was terrible the first semester.

I was deathly homesick and would have done anything to quit and go home, but somewhere in me was a survivor’s stick-to-it-ive-ness.

I couldn’t disappoint either myself or my parents or someone else, I don’t know. That lack of emotion was a starting place for the weight gain. I remember gaining something like 40 pounds in a couple of months, meaning I went from 149 pounds, fit and trim, in high school to near 180 pounds or more by Christmas. Obviously, something was terribly wrong.

I thought back to high school graduation, which brought me to the fact that my paternal grandfather died that summer. I loved that man. He just dropped dead from a heart attack that came out of nowhere at his desk at his own business. That was traumatic, as I remembered the phone call from my crying dad to my mom to tell her Grandpa was on his way to the hospital. I asked if I could go with her. “No, you stay here with the other kids” was her answer. There were four younger siblings to deal with and, as usual, it was my job to do so. I never saw Grandpa again.

At that point, my subconscious let loose with the thought that I had no recollection of Grandpa’s wake, funeral mass, or burial whatsoever. No memories! I just remembered now 43 years later that I had forgotten all this, but I still couldn’t remember or recall any details around Grandpa’s death.

Where did those memories go?

I knew they were registered and stored in my subconscious, but why did I blank them out? Then another memory returned, and I had tapped a bit on this, that my grandmother, his wife, hated being alone in the big rambling five-bedroom house, so my Mom would bathe one of the kids and send us to spend the night with Grandma. I don’t know how long this went on, but it did get old quickly.

Guilt, sadness, and remorse set in for me because I should not have gone to nursing school, but stayed home and cared for Grandma. I was the oldest grandchild. I felt responsible. I was responsible for everything! I went to nursing school anyway.

The next memory popped up around my maternal grandfather’s death a year before my other grandpa. I had one memory around his death and it involved me driving and obtaining my license at age 16. My subconscious cut loose with another thought. I had no memories of his wake, funeral mass, or burial either. What in the world was going on here? What was it protecting me from?

Enter Melinda Utal-Martinez, hypnotherapist and EFT/Matrix Reimprinting Practitioner, a friend of mine from the Los Angeles area, who volunteered to help me rematrix some of these memories to see what else we could discover and tap out of emotional existence. 

I told Melinda the story while tapping, and as we explored it, we decided to begin with Mom telling me to stay home with the kids, while she went to see Grandpa Gordon at the hospital.

Melinda is extremely inventive with Matrix. She will have me change many details I don’t think I would mess with, but I find it is more effective to change as much of the event as possible. I froze the four younger kids at home, gluing their bottoms to chairs, telling them I would return in 2 hours, and I jogged to the hospital that was 1½ miles away. I found myself having difficulty entering the hospital main door because standing outside meant nothing changed as I didn’t know what was going on inside, but I still wanted to know how Grandpa was doing.

Finally, I went through the doors. After searching, I found Grandpa in the ER, lying covered with a white sheet on a gurney. He wasn’t doing too well. I whispered my good-bye and I love yous to him. He took his last breath and died right then and there. Unbelievably, my 17-year-old ECHO wasn’t terribly distraught at Grandpa’s death because she knew he would go to heaven with my baby sister Karen.

He loved Karen.

Melinda suggested I go prepare Karen for Grandpa’s arrival in heaven. I liked that idea, as my ECHO could see Karen again. She had died 9 years previously. As my ECHO “floated” up to heaven, I realized Grandpa’s soul started floating right along with her.

That was pretty neat. When the ECHO reached heaven, I froze Grandpa until “Teenage Sherrie” (ECHO) could go find Karen. Ah, baby Karen, who never walked or talked or sat independently on this earth, was on a swing, happy, content, whole, and healthier than I had ever seen her. What a joy! Karen was ecstatic Grandpa was coming to live with her.

I unfroze Grandpa, reintroduced him to Karen. I stayed awhile with the two of them, visiting along a pond or lake, eating sandwiches and drinking Kool-Aid. It was so awesome to see Karen chatting away with Grandpa, telling him all the stories she never could tell while on earth, with him listening and hanging on her every word.

I took my leave, knowing I could come back to visit them any time I desired.

Mom, Dad, and Grandma were still frozen in the ER, in the position I put them, while I had talked to Grandpa alone, as my 17-year-old ECHO, guided by my now adult RN self. I unfroze Grandma to help her deal with Grandpa’s death. I tapped on her and realized she was lonely, exactly what I always felt and nearly eliminated my nursing career to deal with for her, so I came up with a solution for her.

I decided to install a super-duper speedy elevator in her linen closet in the big old house so she could zip up to heaven to visit Grandpa and Karen anytime she desired, or quickly return to her home in the event one of us other grand-kids or her own children came to ring her doorbell, or just walk in, as I was allowed to do! Grandma could have the best of both worlds and she would never, ever have to be alone, which solved my problem of feeling the need to stay with her.

I simply left Mom and Dad frozen—me naughty?

My ECHO then went home to tell the four still-frozen-in-their-chairs siblings that Grandpa was in heaven with Karen. I, then, as my adult self, had a heart-to-heart talk about what nursing school was going to be like, with my 17-year-old ECHO, as she was leaving for Erie in less than 2 months for nursing school. I showed her a picture of what she looked like now, thin and healthy, and what she turned out to be after her weight gain at the end of the 3 years of nursing school. I told her to choose which she wanted. Of course, she chose the thinner, healthy, muscular self.

I think we might have done more, but I can’t remember, and then Melinda had me imprint it all.

We can fast-forward to 4 days later when I met Irene for another of my appointments with her. On the 30-minute drive to Irene’s I suddenly realized that I had been the crabbiest, nastiest, awful person, irritated and annoyed with everything my husband had done since Melinda and I imprinted some of those pre–nursing school memories.

I started to cry.

I also, once again, noticed myself drifting my eyes up and to the left, the spot where I know I go when trying to access old memories. I figured it was where I was holding them in that visual field. The night before, for kicks, Melinda had sent me an NLP site that showed what NLP science knows is held in each different visual field. Lo and behold, old images and visualizations are held in the upper left field. I guess that is why I keep going there to find the memories.

Anyway, as I neared Irene’s, I began to cry. I knew something big was trying to get out. I had no idea what, so I simply tapped, asking the subconscious and God to release whatever it was now, right now, so Irene could help me process it.

I wasn’t let down—not at all. After arriving at Irene’s, I explained all that had been going on, telling her this irritability, although I didn’t see it earlier, and I’m always extremely mindful of what is going on with me, is how I react when a memory is churning to get released. We began tapping on, “I can’t remember my two grandpas’ funerals. What’s the significance of me burying these?” Not long into the tapping, out came the “biggie”: “I can’t remember Karen’s funeral either!”

Oh my, there it was!

Irene’s comment was “I figured this was it all along.” She had been telling me that she felt my core issues were all around Karen and her death. All this secret, hidden stuff was because it was really Karen’s funeral that was my issue.

The crying began in earnest. “I wasn’t there when she died.” “She was my baby.” “I should have known” (really? I was 8 years old!). “Why didn’t someone warn me?” “Mom or Dad could have told me.” “No one tells me anything.”

Again, Irene commented: There’s the core of that issue of yours that no one tells you anything!

“I didn’t even hear Karen was dead from Mom or Dad or Grandpa or Grandma; I heard it from a family friend.” On and on and on I went. One statement after another spewed out of me, crying my way through it all. The chest pain was awful. I carry nearly everything in my heart. Irene tapped on me the entire time.

I tapped when I wanted.

The crowning blow or memory, and I assume I tapped into the matrix here, is I could see Grandpa Gordon standing out on our front porch. He couldn’t make himself come into the house, as Karen’s crib had been moved to the living room, as she approached her end. He looked so sad. The other “memory,” another again that I must have pulled from the matrix because I obviously wasn’t there, was about Karen, lying in the crib, looking around trying to find me.

I wasn’t there, and she died without me with her. “It’s all my fault” (another big theme of mine) and “I let her down.” I, her big sister, the one who loved and cared for her those 17 months, was nowhere to be found when she really needed me. “I blew it, I screwed up, I didn’t know.” Karen died and I wasn’t there at the end for her. I can still see those great big blue eyes of hers scanning the room, looking for me.

If I hadn’t tapped into the matrix here, then something on a deeper level feels that was the way it happened anyway.

Obviously, there is still more involved in this issue because I am bawling my eyes out as I type this. I have a saying I use often, and now I know the origin of it: “If I screw up in nursing, people die, and the only one who gets rich is the funeral director.” Morbid, but Karen’s death is the basis for that statement.

I wasn’t there; I screwed up, Karen died.

Irene and I tapped out whatever emotions we could avail ourselves of during my session. It was intense, as our past three or four sessions have been. Am I finally, after clearing so much peripheral garbage, getting to the basement, rock-bottom core issues? I certainly hope so. Sooner or later, the end has to come. I shall continue to hope that it will be soon.

Lately, I’ve read stories of people who do three or four EFT sessions with an experienced practitioner and claim their childhood abuse issues are completely gone. Well, I applaud them, if all of their junk broke that quickly and easily. Unfortunately, my PTSD childhood abuse didn’t, or I’m so picky that I simply want every single solitary vestige of it gone from my life.

Maybe I’m an EFT detective, always on the watch for a creeping emotion, hiding its head behind something else.

I continue to encourage all of you to learn to do EFT well by taking one or two of EFTUniverse’s classes or find a certified practitioner in your area (or any practitioner, as EFT can be done via phone or Skype) and work on your past stuff. It is the most freeing experience you will ever afford yourself. EFT opens up space in your life that you have no idea even exists until you clear out the negative memories and their associated emotions. Make a commitment to get yourself emotionally healthy. Give yourself the gift of life—start today!

subpage list

Using EFT for

SEARCH 5,000+ ARTICLES

Find Us On....

facebook twitter google YouTube EFT

In The News

ladieshomejournal