Visualisation And Thinking Positively

It feels appropriate to be writing this blog exactly a year after my stepdad passed away. I wanted to write about visualisation and how it helped me in the lead up to his memorial. My mum had asked me to read a poem on the day and I wanted to be sure I could deliver it without getting emotional. In preparation, it wasn’t enough to just read the poem over and over daily for about a week. I had to visualise myself reading it inside the church on the day. I imagined standing at the lectern in front of the rows of people, all dressed in an array of colour and not the usual drab black. I made a point of imagining myself reading the poem slowly and calmly, with confidence and composure. Every day I practiced and went through this same visualisation.

During the spring, I’d read several self-help books and in the week leading up to my stepdad’s memorial I finished another, ‘The Secret’ by Rhonda Byrne. All of these books were more or less saying the same thing. I was reminded about the importance of being positive and seeing things positively. I was really feeling it. I was so energised and much happier. Literally, the day after finishing ‘The Secret’, I picked up the sheet of paper to practice reading the poem and suddenly, I had a light bulb moment. Even though I’d been reading the words repeatedly several days before, the meaning behind them instantly became clear. The poem was all about viewing death positively and celebrating life. It spoke volumes to me. No longer was I just reading the words, but feeling them. It wasn’t easy, but definitely easier. I was sure I could deliver the poem on the day with confidence now I believed and embraced the words and their meaning. But, just to be sure, I continued to visualise and practice daily.

There’s a slight drawback with visualisation. Not everything is as we picture it. On the morning of the memorial, ahead of the service, I went to the church with my mum. I discovered the interior was nothing like I’d imagined it. There wasn’t just one nave, but three, and I’d be standing in the middle. This threw me! Where would I face? Where would the lectern be positioned? Thankfully, there was time to consider everything, and I was able to practice the reading. I felt happier after that.

The challenge for me during the service was that my reading of the poem was to follow on from my stepsister’s reflections. I’d at least had the foresight to suggest to my mum that we have a hymn in between us. I was very grateful for that on the day. I have no recollection of which hymn it was. I don’t even recall singing. I just remember wiping away the tears, taking some deep breaths and repeating to myself, ‘You’re confident, calm and composed’. The moment of truth had arrived and it was time to read the poem.

He Is Gone

by David Harkins

You can shed tears that he is gone

Or you can smile because he has lived.

You can close your eyes and pray that he will come back

Or you can open your eyes and see all that he has left.

Your heart can be empty because you can’t see him

Or you can be full of the love that you shared.

You can turn your back on tomorrow and live yesterday

Or you can be happy for tomorrow because of yesterday.

You can remember him and only that he is gone

Or you can cherish his memory and let it live on.

You can cry and close your mind, be empty and turn your back

Or you can do what he would want: smile, open your eyes, love and go on.

I was pleased with how my reading went. I wasn’t quite as calm and composed as I’d imagined, but that didn’t matter. The visualisation exercise and positivity had helped. Thankfully, no one could see that my knee was trembling beneath my skirt!

For me, the most touching and memorable moment of the service came right at the end. My stepbrother played ‘The Last Post’ on his cornet. It was very moving. As the music filled the church, I imagined my stepfather sitting at the helm of his boat, setting off to sea. He was smiling as he waved goodbye. Tears rolled down my cheeks, but I felt a sense of peace and calm. I was letting him go.

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