Grief Care Training
I’m at the Selah Carefarm.
Tis a sacred place dedicated to helping those in traumatic bereavement, suffering the catastrophic loss of a child. A heady blend of specialized therapy and sanctuary beyond the limitations of the 50 minute office session.
It is the first carefarm for traumatic grief in the world.
Created by Joanne Cacciatore PhD it is exquisite in it’s emotional design both physically and spiritually yet supported firmly in research.
It is serene.
It is authentic.
It is born from pain.
Every breath whispers to me the name of Dr Jo’s lost daughter Cheyenne and yet somehow it is also a blank canvas where I can speak to my own broken heart and my lost boy, Luke.
Filled with moments and spaces great and small, it allows for myriad experiences each granting souls permission to let it rip or curl up small, or both, or neither.
It is deeply rooted in nature’s heart where open grief is tangible, permitted, invited.
Mother nature sits softly beside you, breezing warm air through her leaves, and rippling the water as you weep, howl and deeply breathe.
The animal’s role in the ongoing invitation, form the pulse of Selah.
Rescued from suffering, some bear the marks for all to see, others, like us, bear a suffering less visible.
They are joined by the wild, arrived in flight or through the waters, drawn to this haven by instinct.
Their powers in caring for those in grief are strongly supported in the data.
But today, the farm is dedicated to training professionals who seek a better way forward in working with those who navigate the bearing of the unbearable.
I am an interloper, I have no letters after my name, and yet, I am accepted here for the 5 days of advanced training, but, in truth, it is a complex dance as I weave twixt my own grief and how I may help another.
We are led by Dr Jo herself, whose indomitable spirit has created this hallowed space and this therapeutic model.
We humans assemble from near and far.
We are in various states of emotional muscle tone.
Some suffer in child loss and others not, but have chosen to place themselves in the midst of that palpable agony, seeking the learning to reach in and offer a hand to others who are altered as we are, for the letters after their names fell short in this work.
This is not a therapists office.
Here at the farm, we that live with catastrophic loss, may lay bare our open wound, unhealed, raw, fierce, and we do.
We are terrifying, but we are also glorious.
As we work the training together, the lettered ladies watch and hear us.
They ask and we reply and often react. They side bar us privately with more intimate questions. This is a genius think tank where we all feel safe to probe beyond accepted protocols.
We exchange experiences, what works towards better outcomes, and what falls short.
This is a place to speak our truths and all of us do, in generous authenticity.
How lucky are their clients to have found these truth seekers?
I love them for their courage to do this work as they voluntarily step into the tangled threads with which we, without choice, inhabit.
As we practice this egalitarian model on eachother, we unearth in emotional excavation pain and trauma beyond the landscape of dead children. Letters or not, all are laid bare…holding eachother’s wounds tenderly as we, together, find our ways forward.
We laugh and we weep.
And, we become one.
This shit works!
This is a force for change.
I am proud to be a part of it.