Shortly after my father died, I went back to work, doing a production of THE ADVENTURES OF TOM SAWYER at the Denver Center in Colorado.  Many of my theatre community knew that he had been ill - as someone who worked consistently, I had been turning down work to be with my dad and my mom and sisters.  I stood outside the theatre building, and a man I had worked with several times, I’d call him a friend, was smoking a cigarette. We said hello and he asked how my father was, and my eyes welled up with tears as I told him he had died.  

 

This man literally recoiled stepped away from me, retreating, his hands floating up as if I was contagious or might attack him.  

 

Has that ever happened to you?  Someone reacts to your pain and you immediately shove it down, suck up the tears, wipe your nose, put on a big smile so they can be comfortable.  Your whole body tenses and aches, vacuuming up all those stress hormones and making it come to a complete stop in a matter of seconds.

 

It sucks.  

 

And requires so much energy.  Energy that when you are grieving, you simply don’t have to spare. The headache starts, the throat collapses, the breath becomes shallow as you try desperately to control everything that is screaming in your body and heart to be let out.

 

Luckily for me, less than 15 minutes later, I ran into another friend, a student at the grad school there.  He asked me how my dad was, and again, my eyes welled up as I explained he had died, and this young man grabbed me in a bear hug.  My whole body collapsed as I wept and he held me,  letting me cry, all while saying, “I’m so sorry, Rachel, I’m so sorry.”  

 

I’m welling up right now, writing about this. 

 

This young man moved towards me, not away.  

 

I am forever grateful for that.

 

I’ve realized that we are ill-equipped to deal with grief, even though it is an inevitable, intrinsic part of the human experience.

 

So ill-equipped are we that we are surprised when someone doesn’t look away, but rather we expect and take in stride those that back up, don’t meet our gaze,  pretend they didn’t see us, or literally cross the street in avoidance.  

 

I believe we have lost something by not being able to turn towards someone’s suffering. We have lost connection, meaning, deep friendship. We have lost the ability to feel pride in taking care of someone else, to savor that feeling of being present, calm in a moment, to be someone’s witness, someone’s quiet hero.

 

In 2016, my 13 year old nephew died of a drug overdose. I was newly transplanted in London, and didn’t have any close friendship.  I was once again lucky to have a group of women who didn’t shy away from my suffering and rallied around me.  

 

In the years following my nephew’s death, I started creating work around death and dying, including a short film called STILLNESS, which recently wrapped its festival run, having screened in over 35 festivals worldwide, garnering 15 awards.  

 

You can watch it here: STILLNESS

 

Grief and loss permeates my creative work – my non-fiction essays, my short stories, flash fiction. 

 

And all of my learning revolves around holding space for others, helping them through this scary, huge thing that is grief. 

Helping them to becoming familiar and comfortable with being uncomfortable.  

So here I am now:

 

A Professional Certified Coach (PCC) with the ICF 

Certified from Barefoot Coaching in Personal and Business Coaching, 

Formerly a certified Grief Recovery Specialist,  

Studied with Dr. Mary Frances O’Connor, Author of The Grieving Brain,

and The Human Givens Institute on the Rewind Technique and Guided Imagery.

 

And currently studying Neuroscience in Transformational Coaching with BeAbove Leadership.  

 

All of these (in addition to my theatre background) make my practice agile and fluid.  

 

However, my REAL credentials are my own experiences with loss:

 

The death of my darling father, Michael Fowler

The death of my young nephew, Ryan Ainsworth

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In addition to moving constantly throughout my lifetime

(including internationally),

losing tribes,

changing careers,

various traumas

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through all of these having felt and dealt with much heartbreak and isolation.

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So now, 

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I hold space for people in pain

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I help you navigate the unchartered waters of loss and the uncertainty they bring. 

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I help you explore who you are now that you have been through this loss.  

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Reveal to you that they are not broken,

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YOU are just beautifully, lovingly, painfully human.