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Gender: Female
Member since: Fri Nov 26, 2004, 04:56 AM
Number of posts: 29,530

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my grandma

back in the day, even before the "great" depression
she had two children
the family was poor, life was hard
it was self induced
she did not die--thankfully
she later had two more kids (my mom being one of them)
we had the conversation at the kitchen table one summer afternoon
it was the summer after the supreme court ruled on roe
i was 14

(there was a lot to our conversation that i won't get into. she was glad it was finally legal.)

" I don't know how I will live without her."

i felt the same way with my mom.

but i managed. and i continue to manage. and you'll do the same.

i hope you have an easier time of things than i did. if the hospice offers bereavement counseling please take that step and go. i am certain it would be helpful for you.

years and years ago, after my dad died, his church offered a two month weekly counseling group session to family members who had lost a loved one. even tho i wasn't a member of the church, and i'm not religious (in the traditional sense) i went. it helped me a great deal. years later, when my mom died, i had no professional help and it took me years to get back closer to being myself. (actually, i'm still not completely back.)

i read that you told her you loved her over and over. we are both so fortunate that we were able to do that. remind yourself of that once in awhile when you need some comfort.

my life's journey picked me up and dropped me on a new path after my mom passed. it was an unexpected turn, and a very unwelcome path and i didn't want to be there. if i had a choice i'd go back to my old path where my mom was physically present. but the time finally came where i was supposed to learn to live without her. it's one hell of a lesson to learn, that's for sure. can't think of anything harder i've gone though. and i'm sorry that you are going through it now. just go slow, and take it easy. one step at a time. the fog eventually lifts.

"Your Mother is always with you.
She's the whisper of the leaves as you walk down the street.
She's the smell of certain foods you remember, flowers you pick and
perfume that she wore.
She's the cool hand on your brow when you're not feeling well.
She's your breath in the air on a cold winter's day.
She is the sound of the rain that lulls you to sleep, the colors of a
rainbow. She is Christmas morning.
Your Mother lives inside your laughter.
She's crystallized in every teardrop.
A mother shows every emotion .......... happiness, sadness, fear,
jealousy, love, hate, anger, helplessness, excitement, joy,
sorrow... and all the while, hoping and praying you will only know the good
feelings in life. She's the place you came from, your first home, and she's
the map you follow with every step you take.
She's your first love; your first friend, even your first enemy, but
nothing on earth can separate you.
Not time, not space...not even death!"
--author unknown

my heart goes out to you

i'm very sorry you are going through this.
it sounds like a very devastating experience.

hold tight to the love you have for her and the love she had for you. i believe that is what keeps us together across the great divide.

after my mom passed i started setting a place for her at the table for all the holidays and special occasions, as a way of remembrance, and welcoming her to join us--after all, there was no other place she'd rather be on these special days than with me and my daughter. we even continue to celebrate her birthday with her favorite food and a cake. and today, when i go to my daughter's home, there will be an empty chair and place set at the table. it has become a tradition based in love and the belief that our spirits never die.

i hope you find some comfort today and in the days ahead.

dear anniebelle

i didn't mean to sound flip or cold when i replied to you the other night. (i am concerned that i may have given you the wrong impression.) i most definitely meant to send you that hug.

i started writing several things and backspaced to erase them--struggling to find the right words. and, finally, i decided no words were right--just a hug.

but now, it's earlier in the evening, and i'm more coherent than i was at two in the morning so let me say that your post brought tears to my eyes, that i'm so sorry you have lost so much and that you are as alone as are, that i'm glad you have rescued and take care of your furry companions, and that my heart is heavy and i empathize with what you are going through.

i, too, continue to struggle with my grief, and i know how absolutely deep that well of darkness gets. while i so often feel alone and isolated, i do have my daughter and my little doglet, and a couple friends i can talk to. i guess i tend to isolate myself rather than reach out to them. i'm not sure why but i would guess i don't want to "burden" them more than i absolutely *have* to, i feel i have poured my heart out to them enough these past six years since i lost my mom, and that, in some strange way, my sorrow and grief has begun to turn more inward--as if it is more private now. and i can just imagine/hear my mother saying to me: "you are in a serious state of depression" and perhaps i am.

and that kind of sounds like a place you might be as well. and i am so very sorry.

so the other night, i read your post and i cried, and felt i could offer you nothing--i had no uplifting words, no advice, no solution, no salvation ... and in my mind i put my arms around you and cried along with you. and at the time i just couldn't seem to put it into words.

and i have thought of you between then and now, with sadness and with love, and i'll be thinking of you again and hoping there are mornings and nighttimes that you find peace and comfort, where you smile, and sing, and temporarily forget what brings the sadness. (i wish that for me as well--for all of us here.)

after reading your reply to kesha i will offer up a small bit of advice--turn off the damn news. it's a drain on your energy and it's never positive (which, i suppose, is what makes it "news worthy". for several years after i lost my mom i stopped all news. i didn't have the heart for it, couldn't do a thing about it, and i was broken enough without it beating me up day after day and making me feel worse than i already felt. and while being out of the loop as far as news and politics went obviously didn't "cure" me from my depression, i feel that i eliminated something that otherwise would have contributed to me feeling worse. when i wanted to watch tv and just veg out i realized sitcoms didn't make me start feeling anxious or distressed so i stuck to those. mostly i still do.

sometimes i feel like it would help me so very much if someone would just tell me "it's going to be okay" -- i think even if it's not okay now, it *will* be...eventually it *will* be. and on those extremely rare occasions when someone actually does tell me that it makes me feel a bit better, a bit relieved, a bit assured.

i don't know if those words will have the same effect on you, but just in case--i want to tell you...

anniebelle, it's going to be okay.
i promise.

"a message from spirit"

that's so funny! thanks for sharing it n/t

...sending you and your daughter love & sympathy...

"we traveled down the path together,
beneath the sun, through stormy weather;
goodbyes like this are not forever"


it's better/easier than it was

when it comes to dealing with my grief, my sadness

it's as if there is a part of me that has hardened, or resigned; a part that is so tired from the sadness, so exhausted, that i have -- finally -- become numb.

and that numbness carries over into my days, an indifference, an odd preoccupation or distraction, an inability to truly focus on so many things.

but today was one of those days when i forgot, momentarily, what was lost. those sacred moments have become so few & far between for me. they are so amazingly joyous--those precious few moments when i can actually believe that the person i have grieved for has not died; that her absence in my life is temporary and her return is imminent. (almost as if she has gone on vacation and is expected home very soon.)

today, for a few moments, my brain allowed me that bliss.

"all the experiences of grief become part of the narrative of love for the one who died"

"Based on my own and my patients’ experiences, I now like to say that the story of loss has three “chapters.” Chapter 1 has to do with attachment: the strength of the bond with the person who has been lost. Understanding the relationship between degree of attachment and intensity of grief brings great relief for most patients. I often tell them that the size of their grief corresponds to the depth of their love.


"All sorrows can be borne if you put them in a story or tell a story about them,” said the writer Isak Dinesen. When loss is a story, there is no right or wrong way to grieve. There is no pressure to move on. There is no shame in intensity or duration. Sadness, regret, confusion, yearning and all the experiences of grief become part of the narrative of love for the one who died.


above essay written by psychotherapist Patrick O'Malley
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