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Meanwhile, in Toronto, the book was released...

Kenn Chaplin — Tue, 13 May 2008 15:47:33 +0000

While I was in Montreal last week the anthology containing two of my stories was released in Toronto.

Still Here: A Post-Cocktail AIDS Anthology

OHTN - The Ontario HIV Treatment Network - acts as a collaborative network of people living with HIV/AIDS, health care providers, consumers, researchers, community-based organizations and government policy relating to the care of people with HIV in Ontario.

Dying Man's Daily Journal - Responsible for your own life

Bill Howdle — Tue, 13 May 2008 15:31:40 +0000

Back when I first started this blog I had several purposes or goals in mind. One of my main objectives I suppose was to encourage people to live life, enjoy it. At the time I was primarily thinking of those with chronic or even terminal health conditions. So many are putting up the good fight, the fight to just physically stay alive, be it even for just one more minute, hour, day or what ever. It is so sad that so often it seems we have to come to the point of realizing our live will be ending soon, that it is only then that we can really appreciate the value of it, the value of what we had, the value of what we are about to loose. It is difficult to accept you may not have a future. I mean that literally in the physical sense, Knowing I may not have a tomorrow, I may not even have the rest of today. I have come to realize and appreciate the importance of every single moment of time. I don't know how many moments I have left so I can't afford to waste even a single one.

I remember back to when I originally received my prognosis. It was the one and only time I got any sort of an estimated time frame. I now realize I sort of 'bullied" that guestimate out of my young family doctor. Those words are like burned into my mind, "there is no way to tell, it could be 3 days, 3 weeks, 3 months, a year, maybe a year and a half even 2 years if you are lucky." Well here I am 3 1/2 years later and still going strong. I am still seeing years stretched out in front of me. From my heart my guestimate is another 15 years. I even told my cardiologist about this, he just smiled and said "good for you, a positive attitude and a strong will to live will give you years".

I back then I did a lot of reading on death and dying. I can say I have no fear of what lies after, I am scared of the physical process of dying. OK, I admit I am a wimp and pain just doesn't appeal to me in any way.

As I read I realized or learned that there are many people that on getting such a prognosis, just basically curl up in a ball, give up on life and simply await the arrival of death. I suppose my "target audience" was those in that similar situation. I wanted to get across or stress the idea, "hey we are not dead yet, we know every moment of life is precious. We know our supply of precious moments may be limited, so lets enjoy them. Make the most of every moment we have, live life as it was intended to be lived, cherish and enjoy ever precious moment we do have left."

That was but one of my goals in starting the blog. As time went by and the more I read, the more I posted and the more wonderful comments came in, I realized and the more I thought about it I realized, very few people healthy or other wise are actually living, life but more enduring it. I realized healthy people both young and old, were so caught up on the busy tread mill of life they were missing out on the precious moments of life. In my own inept way, I started to write to encourage those people to take a look at their lives. Live them today, so that when you are actually lying on your death bed you are not filled with regrets over wasted precious moments. Then it is often to late and we leave this world carrying those regrets with us.

If I went back all the way through the blog I am sure it is at least hundreds if not thousands of times I have said, Life is to be lived and enjoyed, NOT endured.

Recently, I have sort of "stumbled up" a whole different group of people that are in fact enduring and not "LIVING" life, in fact not being allowed to live, life as it was intended. This being the abused, those physically, emotionally, sexually abused. It almost makes me ashamed to admit I am a man, when I read of how the largest part of this abuse is put on women and children by other males. You will notice I said "other males". I do believe no real man has ever abused a woman or a child. Sadly there are far to many, males because of age or size out there pretending to be MEN. They are in fact not MEN but instead over grown male delinquents with major problems, seeing themselves as men just because of size or age. Real men in fact look down on this group with nothing but disgust. A real man knows he should use his size and strength to protect all of those in his life and around him.

I sit here sadly thinking of how precious life is and of how so many don't seem to realize it or take it for granted.

I hope all that read this will have many many healthy happy years of life in front of them. But, I say this to all about your individual life expectancy.

'THERE IS NO WAY TO TELL, YOU MAY HAVE 3 DAYS, 3 WEEKS, 3 MONTHS, A YEAR, MAYBE A YEAR AND A HALF, EVEN 2 IF YOU ARE LUCKY."

Again, I say I do hope all have many years ahead of you. But, think about it, that is something that can never be taken for granted. Everyone of us if "lucky" to have today, we automatically assume tomorrow will always be there. Accidents happen around us all the time, in the work place, on the highways and even in the home. Do you seriously think the last person killed in an automobile accident, hadn't been taking tomorrow for granted. Who knows how many times each of us have been spared or saved from say an auto accident. Who knows if maybe the annoying phone call that came just as we were on our way out the door, didn't delay us just enough so we weren't driving through an intersection at the exact time a drunk driver was to run the intersection and hit our car. We just don't know, maybe it was fate, or luck who knows?

Recognize ever moment of our lives as having been intended to be really lived and enjoyed. What ever your circumstances maybe, if anything or anyone is preventing you in any way from doing this, have the courage, the strength to make what ever changes are necessary. Ultimately every individual is responsible for their own lives, their own decisions. (excluding parents raising children) Allow all others to make their own decisions, life their own lives as they see fit to do so, to be responsible for their own life. To all, Please take on and accept that responsibility and make any changes necessary to allow you to live your own happy healthy life.

Transition

Jill Terry — Tue, 13 May 2008 13:57:42 +0000

Haunted by memories
Visions…
Images…
Plague the mind
Too many minds
Loss greater than death
Dying a thousand times
Each time I think of you
And remember –

I Cried......

gingerporter — Tue, 13 May 2008 08:01:28 +0000

I cried.....now to some that is not such a big ordeal, for me, it is enough to get marked on the calendar. Why? I trained myself to not cry. I had years of training and discipline. It was simply a matter of not allowing the person beating me to also have the satisfaction of knowing they made me cry. I did an excellent job of it if I might say so......I did such a good job that when I cry....everyone is alarmed.

It was something that was said to me today.....I may have read more into the comment or hesitation then was meant....I started to dwell on the conversation. I tried to remember each nuance, each pause and thought to myself that maybe the other person was just being kind.

I started to cry. It was in those few brief moments that I felt so alone. This is not the type of loneliness one feels just because there is no one present to talk with or in my case in the correct time zone that I felt comfortable calling and bawling on their shoulder through the phone. This was a soul deep aloneness. The type of aloneness that one feels in total abandonment.

When I was in Bible College, we had to give our testimony. I gave mine. I always try to give my testimony showing how awesome the power of God is and how He moves in our lives. There was a young lady there who came over to talk to me. Her name was Peggy. Peggy had tears in her eyes and gave me two verses. The third I read while reading in Psalm 27.

Psalm 27:10 When my father and my mother forsake me, then the LORD will take me up. (KJV)
Psalm 68:5 A father of the fatherless, and a judge of the widows, is God in his holy habitation. (KJV)
Psalm 27:14 Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart: wait, I say, on the Lord. (KJV)

I sat here remembering how lonely I was in college. I moved out of my foster home/legal guardian's home and into the dormitory. I don't think I have ever felt so lost and alone then I did that first year. I spent Thanksgiving, Christmas and Spring Break in the dorm. I had no where to go. I was planning on spending the summer living in the dorm but an elderly lady in the church I was attending at the time invited me to stay at her house through the summer. Next year rolled around and I found myself facing "eviction" over the holidays. The previous year I was the only female staying in the women's dorm. The dorm parents lived in an apartment that separated the mens and womens dormitory. They wouldn't be there for the holidays so the school would not allow a young lady to stay by herself.

I still had a problem of having no where to go......I was working at the time at the local department store. One of my coworkers offered to rent me her attic for the times I needed a place to stay. I would just have to have somewhere to go the actual holiday. All of her children and grandchildren would be there and there wouldn't be any room for me. She offered to let me stay....but it was with hesitation so I knew she was just being kind.

It suddenly struck me that maybe today's offer had been made out of politeness. In my heart of hearts, the longing and need to have family is so strong that I didn't want to see that the offer was maybe just one made of familiarity and an invite to come over knowing that you really would not show up.

So........I cried. Then I cried some more. I cried to God. Those verses came back to me in a flash. I sat reading and glanced down to Psalm 27:14.

"Wait on the Lord: be of good courage, and he shall strengthen thine heart..."

I struggle with a family that sooooo hates me because I married their son. When I got married I thought that God was going to give me the family I had always longed to have. I am still required to call my husband's family "Mr and Mrs".

I struggled with my family....growing up with the abuse that was ignored and brushed under the carpet. The desire to just belong, to know the love of a parent can be so overwhelming. This has been a struggle for me lately along with a few other emotional issues being tossed to and fro in my heart and head.

Tonight as I sat crying....I remembered that I have a father who is the Father of the fatherless...." All though I may be forsaken He will take me up." He is "up" in His holy habitation.

The internal battle raging isn't that I have a lack of family whether it be biological, adopted or a former foster family. The battle that rages is the battle of acceptance. It is growing up with a father who did not exemplify the relationship we have with our heavenly Father. I know this struggle well. It causes doubt. Lots of it. We doubt that a heavenly Father can love us when no earthly parent can....We constantly grapple with the thought of forgiveness when forgiveness was a tool used for blackmail and parceling out the love that should have come freely. Forgiveness always has a catch to it. How can we accept or believe that when we do wrong or err in our Christian walk that we can be forgiven. We certainly weren't as children. We have difficulty trusting those who say they love us to continue to love us. We know the minute we "mess up" the love will be gone. It is what we have been conditioned to know.....like my refusal to cry. (Which I hate doing by the way.....)

Psalm 86:5 For thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive; and plenteous in mercy unto all them that call upon thee. (KJV)

My husband has learned first hand the struggles of being married to a women who grew up going through some pretty abusive situations as a child. I believe he might tell you it has been a daunting journey at times. I will tell you that God created him as the man for this job. His assignment.....? Me.

I sat here feeling sorry for myself. Until the Father to the fatherless reminded me that I am one of His. Only He knows when I will be able to join Him...so in the meantime....He gave me a husband and three children. It has been an interesting journey.....this family of mine.

I learned how to be a child and what it was like to play as a child....How? By playing with my own children. I learned what it must have felt like to break a dish and be forgiven and not broken in return....How? By forgiving mine when they have broken something. I have raised my voice...I won't lie to you....But I was beginning to see that all I should have learned....I was taught by none other than the Father to the fatherless.....God in his holy habitation. I just didn't always know He was there.....I wasn't quiet enough to listen.

Things have been very noisy. I think today's pity and crying were to get me to be quiet enough to hear my Father talking to me. Sometime He needs to separate us from everyone so that we will turn to Him directly.

"Wait on the Lord........he shall strengthen thine heart....."

Just make sure you are quiet enough to hear Him....

Resistance is Futile

anniegirl1138 — Tue, 13 May 2008 08:00:50 +0000

A writer I met through my blog mentioned in a conversation that her Yoga instructor was always reminding her to not resist (during a pose) but to give in to it. Anyone who has taken a yoga class or practices it regularly will tell you that the more you resist relaxing into a pose, the harder and more painful that pose will be. I was thinking about this again during my Thursday yoga class. I have been practicing yoga since mid January now and am not a yogina by any means. Every class I am appalled to find yet another errant muscle that has been coasting along with minimal effort for far too long. My hamstrings being a perfect example of style without substance. As I attempted to coerce them into a response other than pain, I put my friend's yoga instructor's advice to work - again - and found that I could ease myself just a tad further into position.

"Quit resisting"

My friend uses that line, or something similar, on her children when they are rebelling against things that are good for them in the long run but not so much fun now. Reminds me a little of the Star Trek Next Gen line, "Resistance is futile" because often the things we fight hardest against are not evil Borg attempting to assimilate us, but change that is necessary due to altered circumstances in our lives. Just the ordinary growth experiences that touch everyone's lives sooner or later which sounds more innocent than they can sometimes be.

Ironically, during my time on the widow board I was given the very same advice that the yogina gave my friend. "Don't resist." Only in this instance it was grief I was being counseled to submit to. Good enough advice in the early months, but many widowed people don't take it the next logical step which is not resisting your new reality. What they mean when advocating "non-resistance" is surrender to the ever present undercurrent of sadness. Drowning really. No amount of sorrow however is going to change the fact that forward is the only direction in life. Time runs in one direction and does so with relentless disregard of whether or not a person is coming along willingly or being dragged like Lot's Wife with both eyes on the past.

I am going to close with a few passages from the Hip Tranquil Chick:

"while leading a retreat in costa rica last summer, we went to a popular butterfly garden and for the first time i saw a caterpiller emerge from its cocoon into a wet, wobbly butterfly. its next phase was to dry out its wings so it could fly. a truly remarkable sight.

since 1999 when tranquil space began, i have felt like a caterpiller on numerous occasions, struggling to dry my wings and fly. as we embark on this exciting new journey, i return to the image of the wet, wobbly butterfly. change is always scary, sexy, risky, and a constant state despite continual resistance to it.

in buddhism, the concept of impermanence is a gentle reminder that so much of suffering is brought on by resisting change. nothing is our lives is unchanging – our thoughts, emotions, work, relationships. so why the struggle and grasping for continual control? why do we stay in the cocoon?

in college i read that we regret more the things we don’t do than the things we do do. that statement serves as a gentle reminder every time i question emerging from a comfortable cocoon."

Another Day in Paradise

greatpoetrymhf — Tue, 13 May 2008 07:21:50 +0000

I am to learn to make this heaven on earth.

Just consider this then another day

In Paradise.

The angels sang their songs.

The children sang along.

The old women sat out on the stoop.

The young women chopped up meat for soup.

The sunset was brilliant.

I thought I saw heaven in the the skies.

All in all, just another day in paradise.

The Evil Monkey

Erika — Tue, 13 May 2008 06:18:45 +0000

I woke up abruptly in a fever this morning, my body sticky with sweat and my heart hurting. I felt this deep sense of grief, I felt like crying. And moments after I wondered why I wanted to sob, why I felt so carved out and empty, I remembered my dream.

This is really fucked up, this dream I had and I've been thinking about it all day. It's haunting me and I'll never forget it as long as I live. How can something that never really happened except for in the caverns of my midnight mind have such a resounding effect on me and the rest of my life.

Since Sampson died, I've been having a few dreams per night about losing something after I've neglected it. They've alerted me that there's something much greater behind this bunny than the situation might initially convey.

I've only ever felt apathy toward animals. It's always sort of been a joke in my family... "Erika can never remember to feed the cat's!" and my mom alllllways had to remind me time and again not to forget to let the dog in the house, and she even gave my cat away because she knew i wouldn't really mind either way.

This is something that I'm ashamed about. I hate that I have been this way. I'm a loving, passionate, considerate person toward (most) humans. Why do I become so selfish toward animals? It is a selfishness that I want to be able to correct. My biggest fear is the reflection this might have for raising my children someday. Among all the things I want to do and become in my life, I've always know that above all else (undoubtedly)... raising a few amazing children and being the best mom that I can possibly be is my purpose in life. Underneath almost every decision that I make, I'm already considering my children. This might seem strange or difficult to understand, but I live my life striving to be the best possible person so that I can be the best possible mother. And the thought that I can't even care for an animal unravels fears that I wouldn't be able to care for a child someday.

Sampson the bunny became this ascribed symbol, without even myself realizing it, of a pivotal change that I craved for; learning to have feelings for an animal. I want to care for and love something, but humans are quick tempered and unpredictable with their emotions, so why shouldn't and why wouldn't I be able to truly love an animal? These were my thoughts and hopes. I loved Sampson, but I still neglected him. I failed to notice what he was blatantly expressing. And so I lost him.

These dreams I've been having for the past few days touch on these fears I've just elaborated about. And my dream last night was so vivid an symbolic I've been really, deeply effected by it.

I dreamt that I was hiking somewhere beautiful near my home and I felt really happy, and all of a sudden I came across this beautiful baby in a beautiful basket. The baby was naked and warm and she wasn't crying, just looking at me with these huge, amazing brown eyes and this calm face and I fell in love immediately. The child was remarkable. I had to care for this baby, it became my child in my mind. I was going to raise this baby. My thoughts never considered that I should take the baby home with me. We belonged out there, together. So i ran home to bring things back for the baby and for me, and when I returned a big ugly monkey with stringy brown hair and an evil face was devouring it violently right in front of me and the child was screaming and that's when I woke up.

It makes me cry whenever I think about it, and I can't seem to really erase it from my mind if i'm not being productive at work or doing something that consumes my thoughts. This post is sort of written in the midst of my grief about it, and I don't have anything further to say except for I hope I see that happy baby alive and well in my dreams tonight.

God be with them...

solarix888 — Tue, 13 May 2008 04:09:30 +0000

the victims of the China quake. Wish them all the best in this time of agony and grief.

Earthquakes and Elections

Susan from SC — Tue, 13 May 2008 03:41:33 +0000

I first heard about the earthquake in China from a colleague in Beijing. He phoned to say that everyone in our office there is okay. But I'm still worried, thinking of a family member who travels to China regularly on business, not just to Beijing, but into the interior. I hope to hear soon that he's safe at home, or safe in China.

As I wait for news, I've been surfing the net, looking for recent news articles on the quake. I was glad to see that Melissa Block and Robert Siegel from NPR were there by chance. Their story brought tears to my eyes, though, as they recounted the parents mourning their children outside the middle school. Earthquakes are terrible things.

The aftermath of 1989 Loma Prieta earthquake was a personal nightmare for me, seeing the devastated houses on my street, chasing off looters, and wishing that those infernal news helicopters would go away. It was like living in a war zone. I remember hearing the distant cries as a group of people kept vigil, and periodically shouted the name of someone trapped in the rubble of a bookstore blocks away. She was later found dead, likely killed in the initial shock. It was horrible. My heart goes out to the people in China. It will be a long time before their lives, their cities and towns, return to normal.

While surfing for earthquake news, I did find one article, not about China, but about the election, that struck a more hopeful chord. A blogger lauded John McCain, including a recent video of McCain asserting that the U.S. should follow the Geneva convention, and not torture its prisoners. This was uplifting news for me. Living in a democracy, I know that my preferred candidates aren't always the winners. I would prefer Obama to be our next president, but if the Republicans prevail in November, I can rest a little easier knowing that McCain has taken this stand on the issue of torture.

In a day filled with tragic news, it's nice to find a little hope.

Honoring the End

susangpyp — Tue, 13 May 2008 00:50:15 +0000

Many times I read posts and emails from people who, hurt and upset, turn their wrath on the soon-to-be-ex and say things like, "Our relationship never meant anything to you." or "I just wasted x years of my life with this." or "How could you do this after saying you loved me.." etc etc etc. or they become obsessed, OBSESSED, with "How can one person say this one day and then the next day it's over?" These are themes we've gone over before on here.

We either want to lash out or demand answers to questions that have no answers. It's a way of saying "I'm hurt and I want you to feel how much.." or "Here's my hurt. FEEL IT."

We want to make sense out of something that doesn't makes sense TO US.

We want to shoot verbal arrows hoping to penetrate the armour.

We want to find the one place where the ex still holds some tender thoughts and feelings for us and we want to make it hurt the way we hurt.

We want to make them flinch and we want to let them know we are down but not out.

It's like a contest. Us versus the feelings they say they don't have. And we know we win when we reveal the feelings we know they do have. But what have we won? Not a lot of anything. We've won an acknowledgment from someone who once had ENORMOUS feelings for us that they stil have a little feeling for us. We've won an acknowledgment that it might not yet be over. We've also bought a little bit of time for a relationship that is truly in its death throes. Keeping it on life support is not going to change the inevitable truth: its about to or already has died.

It's very hard to take an emotional beating and say "Thanks, it's been great. Have a nice life." We are wounded and we want to lash out and say nasty things. Or maybe nasty things are being said to us. Uncalled for things. Sure, break my heart and blame me for it.

We can't be saints and just sit there and take it...so we lash out.

I've written on here about the time I ended a relationship because we each had come to a point in our personal journeys where the relationship no longer worked.

Together and alone, we each had done a lot of personal improvement, had worked out kinks in the relationship, used the relationship to figure out what needed healing and healed it, loved each other and had built a nice life together.

For the most part we ended things with dignity and grace. But a few times, and once it happened in a restaurant, I became upset and started crying and/or yelling at him.

My intellectual self understood that the end was necessary, and my "getting better" self really didn't want someone who couldn't seem to tend to his emotional problems inside a relationship without blowing it up. I knew that if we went on at this point it was going to be detrimental to both of us. I really didn't have what it would take to get us through his inner searching. My insecurities had already been rearing their ugly heads and I was feeling less and less important as the weeks wore on. The situation was becoming very difficult and I just hurt and I wanted to stop hurting.

But tearing our world apart, and having to explain this to my kids who were quite close to him, would get to me sometimes. And the emotional part of me would just lash out every now and again.

Why did it have to be like this? What was wrong with the way things had been? Actually there was nothing terribly wrong with how anything had been. Our life had been working well. But something was not sitting right inside of him and he had to go find out what that was. He wasn't "finished" and until he was a finished product, he couldn't continue the commitment that our relationship demanded. And on most levels, I didn't want him to but on a deeper, more childish "I want what I want when I want it" level, I was having a temper tantrum about where we were.

It was hard on both of us, on the kids, on our pets, on our friends. But it was at the end. It was over. And there was nothing that anyone could do about it.

Sometimes there is no explaining how we, the once mighty WE, the once invincible US, the love story that no one thought would ever quit, happened to have gotten here.

Sometimes relationships just take a wrong turn and there is no turning back from that wrong turn. Sometimes endings just happen. Sometimes people do wake up one morning and think, "I want to do something else." or "I want to be with someone else." or, in our case, "There's more work I need to do before I can truly commit to anyone."

And it hurts and it's hard. NO DOUBT ABOUT IT.

And sometimes we want to take all of our anger and all of our pain and throw it at them. That or a lamp.

Even when we know what we need to do: write about it, talk about it, feel our feelings and move on...we don't WANT to do that.

We have moments in our moving on where we don't want to talk to our friends, we don't want to curl up in bed and cry, we don't want to go on a date with someone new, we don't want to work out, we don't want to find new friends, new interest and new goals. We don't want to do the stupid relationship inventory or life inventory or goodbye letter. We just want to shriek at the ex and say things like "How COULD you?"

And if the ex does not happen to be around we just turn the questions with no answers around and around in our head. And that is what we want to do. And that's ALL we want to do. Even when we know we are living in the wrong questions, the ones without answers, the ones that are going to keep us stuck and miserable, we go there anyway. And we stay there...and there is no good for us.

Being angry or stuck in the question continues the relationship and keeps it continuing...and we need for it to END.

Most of us start having "relationships" in middle school. We then have a series of relationships through high school and early adult hood.

What most of these relationships have in common is that we have them, we leave them and hurt or get angry or do nothing until another one comes along.

What we don't do, officially, is close them. We drag them with us, through the next relationship and the next and the next and the next.

So our life becomes a string of relationships that are not quite over because they're unsettled and unfinished in some way. And we keep taking them with us.

If we get stuck in the "anger at the other person" or endless questions about the hows and whys and did we matter and do they think of us and what is going on NOW (months after it has ended), we don't get to close it...we don't get to TAKE CHARGE of the ending.

Because the REAL ending happens when it ends within us. When we take charge of the ending and point ourselves in the direction of our future, not our past.

When our recovery becomes about us and not about them. When our questions are about what were WE doing in the relationship and what have we learned and what are we going to do next, NOT what are they thinking and do they think about us and did we ever really matter and what did he or she mean when he or she said x, y, or z.

Instead of being swept along by the questions that come up at random when we're feeling down or bored or lonely....we take charge by deciding what the questions are, we take charge of the ending. WE decide how it ends for us. We become the person who decides when it ends and how it ends. We don't let the ending happen to us, we take charge of it and of our own lives.

Our bored or restless brains might be swept up in the questions about what they meant and how they meant it or or what happened and how it happened and what are they doing now and are they thinking of us and do they hate us or want us or trying to make us jealous and does he or she really like that person they seem to be dating/screwing/marrying?

But we can say STOP and IT DOESN'T MATTER. . Remember: it doesn't matter what he or she is thinking or feeling or doing. So long as we are stuck over there in those questions, we never never never get to move on. We do the Relationship Inventory and the Life Inventory to see, REALLY SEE, what was going on with the ex, with ourselves, with our lives. We answer the questions to the best of our ability for us to learn something about US, not to figure out Mr. or Ms. Screwy Brain. We have to keep the focus on us because that is the only thing we can do anything about.

When we are sick and tired of wallowing in the anger AT someone else, the hurt BY someone else and the questions that only someone who is not here can answer, it is time to turn the questions back to us. What did we think? What were WE doing? What are we feeling? What are we hoping for from here on in.

And in taking charge of it of it, we honor it, and in honoring it, we close it.

Once and for all.

And next time we get to start anew and start fresh and not be dragging the unfinished business and unanswered questions and unsettled feelings into our next relationship.

And that will allow us to have healthier relationships with better, more finished, people.

Take charge of the ending.

Finish the finish.

Honor the ending.

Close it with an emphasis on you
and your life
and your future.

Honor the ending by taking charge of it today.

Chapter 15 - Torture: part 1

Roads — Tue, 13 May 2008 00:17:18 +0000

Four rosy apples
Hanging on the tree
Four rosy apples
Hanging on the tree

But the wind blew one off the tree
And now there’s only three
Three rosy apples
What shall I do?
- Traditional

October 17th – November 8th 1996
A pair of meetings in Canada loomed, and I flew back across the Atlantic for two lightning trips inside three weeks.

Calgary looked fantastic in the cold autumn sunshine, with the maple leaves turning gold and the first hesitantly blobby snowflakes falling.

Hermione helped at home whilst I was away, and Jenny had miraculously escaped from the house to buy me some especially thoughtful birthday presents – a golf net, since I couldn't get out to play now, and a pruner for the garden.

I could see that Jenny was becoming more and more tired.

She tried to time her painkillers so she wasn’t drowsy whilst driving, and that would leave her feeling sore and uncomfortable each evening.

The doctors suggested that she switch to morphine, which would more easily address the pain without affecting her so much. In fact, it made her drowsier than before. And in that one moment, that was the end of driving, and that was the end of her working, too.

One day whilst I was away, another of the drugs reacted badly with Jenny’s system, and she was sick non-stop for a whole morning until Julie, our District Nurse, could administer an anti-emetic.

By the time I returned from my second trip to Canada, having lost my luggage, bought a complete new set of clothes in Calgary and had five hours’ sleep in three days, Geoff and Jenny were both exhausted, too, and it took all of us the whole weekend to recover.

That Sunday, I snatched a few hours to plant hundreds of new bulbs in the garden.

I could see that the next spring might be Jenny’s last, and I was determined to make a real show for all of us to remember always.

: : : : : : : : : :

we bore him away

coromandal — Mon, 12 May 2008 23:32:12 +0000

"Blithe was the morning of his burial, with bird and song and sweet-smelling flowers. The trees whispered to the grass, but the children sat with hushed faces. And yet it seemed a ghostly unreal day,—the wraith of Life. We seemed to rumble down an unknown street behind a little white bundle of posies, with the shadow of a song in our ears. The busy city dinned about us; they did not say much, those pale-faced hurrying men and women; they did not say much,—they only glanced and said, “Niggers!”

We could not lay him in the ground there in Georgia, for the earth there is strangely red; so we bore him away to the northward, with his flowers and his little folded hands. In vain, in vain!—for where, O God! beneath thy broad blue sky shall my dark baby rest in peace,—where Reverence dwells, and Goodness, and a Freedom that is free?"

~from W.E.B. Du Bois' The Souls of Black Folk (1903) in which he describes the Atlanta funeral procession of his infant son

Use this Lord

Cult Survivor — Mon, 12 May 2008 23:10:11 +0000

A hard night tonight. Looking at the plants my wife planted last year. Seeing the bulbs that have broken through the ground and the flowers are just beautiful. I miss her so much. She is such a beautiful woman - intelligent too. Lord, I don't know what you will make of this loss for me but I am comforted knowing that somehow it will be used for Your glory.

The tears fell freely tonight. I just cannot describe the anguish I feel. Maybe anguish isn't the right word. I guess mourning is better. It's as if my wife, living six miles away, has passed away. Lord, I love her so much. She had become a part of me and her loss is no less felt than my hand or my eye. Everything I've tried to do she can do better. Somehow she remembered all the stuff that I have never managed to do. She juggled kids, and appointments, and always found time to cook, and clean, and even bake cookies for me to bring to work.

My wife, I love you so much. I adore you. It's not just those things you did but just your presense. Hearing you humming and singing hymns quietly was just so beautiful. You put up with me for quite a while, Kiddo. I always thought it would be forever.

Lord, I commit my beautiful wife to you. Please keep her and protect her as I cannot much longer. Please bring her happiness, joy, and lodge forever within her heart. Lord, please use this separation and divorce somehow to your Glory. I give it all to you. The beautiful things we had and the hard things we had. Our children, our fear, the love that we had shared. My wife. Myself.

My Lord, it is yours.

Author's Spotlight: Barbara Smith, author of From Ashes to Glory

bcbreview — Mon, 12 May 2008 23:01:51 +0000

Barbara Smith is a Licensed Minister under the pastorate of Pastor Marvin L. Winans of Perfecting Church in Detroit. She is an instructor in the Academy to Perfection, which is the church's Sunday School Department. Min. Barbara is the Founder and Executive Director of Hidden Jewels International; a growing ministry dedicated to empowering and instructing women in the knowledge of Jesus Christ. In addition, she has been a Registered Nurse for nearly 20 years and has incorporated her medical knowledge with scripture to provide an in-depth explanation of biblical principles.

From Ashes to Glory

When the tragedy of sexual abuse takes hold, a victim can feel destroyed and worthless. From Ashes to Glory discusses the aftermath of rape and how it affects every area of a victim's life by examining the life of Tamar, daughter of King David. Join author Barbara Smith as she provides a conversational text exploring the medical and biblical perspectives of rape and recovery, taking audiences to hope from hopelessness and reminding us that abundant life as a survivor is available through Christ.

Buy this book on BlackCBD.com.

Oops, Wrong Patients?

thememoryartist — Mon, 12 May 2008 21:51:23 +0000

Hymes over at Charlottesville Prejudice and Civil Rights Watch called my attention to the (Forced Drug) Treatment "Advocacy" Center's latest post: Oops, Wrong Patients, which references the study mentioned in this news article, and I am about to fly through the roof. If you would like to read the actual study, you can download it here: is-bipolar-disorder-overdiagnosed?

I'm just going to clean up my comment on Hymes' post a bit and use it and expand on it here:

Oops, wrong patients?

Someone slap them, please !

"Oops, we just happened to have incorrectly diagnosed you with bipolar disorder at age 17 and drugged you with our state-of-the-art psychiatric drugs, making you one of the “sickest of the sick” and causing serious physical health problems, making it impossible for you to function and involuntarily committing you 26 times for your iatrogenic symptoms…OOPS!"

I would have been one of those that could have qualified for those AOT programs they love to push. The 26 hospitalizations have been the result of the oh-so-"restrictive" commitment laws we have in this country. Instead, at age 35 I am getting my life back without their poisonous drugs and pursuing the education I could not complete. Instead of "maintaining within the community" and attending psychiatric "rehabilitation" programs for the rest of my life, I'll be graduating with a double major in Studio Art and Psychology with a minor in Art History at the end of 2009. Yeah, I’m so worried about relapsing into my “bipolar disorder” since going cold turkey off of a ton of meds two and a half years ago. Not. Not only that, but I haven't been anywhere near a psychiatric E.D. or inpatient unit. But hey, that might simply be the benefit of staying away from psychiatrists. Oh, lookout, that shooting spree I was supposed to go on after going cold turkey off the psychiatric medications must be coming up any time now. Or not.

"Oops, we've totally reconstructed your identity and life with our arbitrarily given label. Oops, we caused your "psychosis" with our "antipsychotics" and other "medications" while providing "treatment" for that arbitrarily given label. Oops, you've lost what should have been some of the most productive years of your life, because we drugged you with medications that made it impossible to complete your education, or effectively engage in therapy for post-traumatic stress disorder. (It's not like good therapy is all that readily available anyway, right?) That's okay. At least you're doing it all now. Oops, we've left you with permanent chronic physical health problems that will only get worse, problems that will make it unsafe or impossible to ever have children of your own, problems that will probably cause your death much sooner than that of the general public. Oops, you couldn't work? Well, hey, we got you disability benefits...a free ride. Okay, so you lost your home of 17 years and can barely make ends meet and are in severe debt that you will never be able to repay. Oh, and yes, we know that no insurance company will ever cover you for health or life insurance, because of your psychiatric "history". Sorry about that. Oops, oops oops...we were wrong."

Just how the hell does TAC and the other compassionate fascists..umm "advocates"...propose that psychiatry “correctly” diagnose people with these “serious mental illnesses”. Huh? There are no objective biological tests for the diagnosis of mental illnesses. NONE. Just the good ‘ol mental disorder cookbook- the DSM, and personal prejudice. Uh, I mean "clinical judgment". But yeah, keep talking out your asses TAC!

If they’re going to insist on calling them brain disorders, they damn well better be able to prove that they are. But they can’t.

This garbage infuriates me. Oops? Like they dropped their cookie on the damn floor? My life and health and well-being has been incredibly damaged here, and not just mine, but that of so many friends and people that I love dearly. Actually, I am one of the lucky ones. Yes, this is lucky. But here we have TAC and NAMI and other "advocates" for mental health treatment that want to make it easier to do this to people, while pretending that forcing "treatment" with psychiatric drugs against the will of people with these labels isn't part of the problem, but rather the solution to the horrendous mental health care system in this country.

Oops!

What if the medical community had been diagnosing cancer based on nothing but symptom checklists, self-report and clinical judgment and had been surgically removing the supposedly cancerous organs of those patients whether they wanted that surgery or not…oh, and then suddenly, the medical community decides that maybe half of those people didn’t really have cancer, and that they should only be forcing surgery upon the sickest of their patients…but alas…they still don’t have tests for cancer and still must guess who actually had cancer and who does not? Never mind the people who didn’t actually have cancer that are now missing organs and limbs or who died during surgery…Oops!

Would that be any different?

home

bookbabie — Mon, 12 May 2008 21:26:27 +0000

So we ran away from home for five days and tried to put some space between us and the grief. The hustle and bustle of traveling, the sights and sounds and the bright warm sun of another place, a place miles and worlds away from where "it" happened temporarily slowed down the cracks forming in our hearts. Of course, the only way out of grief is to go through grief and I know that is what my son and his sweet wife will be experiencing for a very long time.

Human pain does not let go of its grip at one point in time. Rather, it works its way out of our consciousness over time. There is a season of sadness. A season of anger. A season of tranquility. A season of hope. ~Robert Veninga

Snakes, Samskaras and Messages from Beyond

yogamum — Mon, 12 May 2008 18:06:53 +0000

Over the past week, since seeing these mating snakes that found their way into my backyard, I have heard numerous stories about snakes. I have read about snake mythology in various cultures. I have been thinking, and dreaming, of snakes. Maybe if I thought hard enough, maybe if I asked enough questions, I would be able to figure out What It All Means.

I don't think I will ever know What It All Means. But I do know two things: I believe the snake sightings are connected with my dad's death on March 31. And I believe I know an answer to one of my questions: Why snakes? (I mean, why not owls, or bunnies, or something else?) All I can do is tell you what happened and what I think I am supposed to learn from it.

About ten days after my dad died, my mom saw a black snake in her backyard. In twenty years of living in that house, in the Arizona desert, she had never seen a snake in her yard. Two friends were visiting with their three-year old granddaughter, and the man, in his haste, killed the snake. My mom said, "I wish he hadn't killed it. I just wanted him to take it out of the yard."

Two weeks after that, I saw three snakes mating in my yard. I had never seen snakes in my yard before. I will admit, my initial reaction was fear and revulsion; that was my mom's friend's reaction as well. And that, my friends, is what we call samskaras in yoga philosophy -- our conditioned, habitual responses to experiences and events, our unexamined reactions. My response was pure samskara: Snakes bad! Snakes scary! Must get rid of snakes! Honestly, my main thought upon seeing those snakes was I want them OUT of my yard and I want to SEE them go, so that I absolutely know they are gone.

After I wrote about it here, and got some responses that confirmed my initial reaction and some that urged me to look deeper, I decided that seeing the snakes had actually been an auspicious event, something I should have paid more attention to at the time. I was actually sad that my neighbor chased the last snake off, as it was obviously fearful.

Yesterday our family went for a hike in a local canyon. It was a gorgeous day, and the trail was full of families hiking and biking and enjoying the clear, warm weather. About ten minutes into our hike, an Indian man, walking alone, said, "There's a rattler over there, on the right side." I looked, but didn't see a rattler; honestly I doubted that he'd seen a rattler. We kept going, up the trail, along the river, and back downhill. As we finished up our hike and approached the parking lot, we saw something: a gorgeous three-foot snake with the same markings as the ones in my yard, making its way across the trail, dodging bicycles and pedestrians. It moved with such grace, and everyone stopped to watch it pass and slither its way into the protective underbrush. My kids were thrilled. We talked about how beautiful it was, and how amazing it is to watch snakes move. I told them, finally, about the snakes in the yard and they wished they had seen them too. And then FreckleBoy said something that blew me away, something that brought it all together: "That's like the snake on my rock! The one I got in Arizona!"

I paused. "What rock?"

"The rock I bought in the airport when we were on the way to visit Grandpa. I bought one with a cactus on it and gave it to Grandma, and I kept the snake one."

"Did Grandpa see it?"

"I think so. I think I showed it to him."

Well, that is where I stopped in my tracks, in the middle of the trail, and started to cry. I told FreckleBoy that the snake rock (an airport tchotcke, a flat round stone with a black snake etched into it) is a very lucky rock, and that he should hold onto it. After the tears, I felt like everything was okay, that I had finally gotten the message of the snake. The snake sightings had paralleled my grief: denial (killing the snake), anger (I want those trespassing snakes GONE!) and finally acceptance (seeing the snake for what it is, something beautiful and natural). Someone could probably write a fullblown essay about that, bringing in all sorts of mythology and imagery from different cultures and traditions. I am not going to. This is enough for me.

So why snakes? Of course Dad, as an anthropologist, was familiar with snake myths in many cultures, especially native American ones. And yes, Dad saw the snake rock and so that is an image that would have been present in his mind during his last days. But honestly, I think that the reason is even simpler than that: because when you see a snake, you pay attention. A snake makes you pause, verify (is it poisonous?), and think in a way that seeing many other animals does not. I can't tell you if Dad sent the snakes. I can tell you that the message I took from them was this: Stop. Pay attention. Look beyond your initial reaction. And see if somehow, you can incorporate the beautiful, graceful, pulsating energy of the snake into your own life.

Letter to My Mother: Five Years Later

caroldodell — Mon, 12 May 2008 15:13:44 +0000

Dear Mother,

This is my fifth Mother's Day without you.

I should clarify: without you physically here.

You are indeed, here.

I talk to you and listen to you more than ever. Never thought I'd say that.

Your stories, wisdom, advice, and crazy sayings all come out of my mouth.

Your stories, wisdom, advice, and all crazy sayings come out of my mouth.

You are remembered, your songs sung, and your recipes grace my dinner table often.

I'm now the family matriarch, and I’m somewhat comfortable with that new role. I’m the remember-er, the keeper of the stuff (birth, marriage, and death records, photos, jewelry, heirloom furniture), the family repository. In some ways, I don’t feel dignified or old enough for this role, but I guess I am. Old enough.

I still long to be somebody’s daughter. Do you ever get over that?

And yet, I do see that I needed you to get out of my way. Sorry, mom, but it’s true.

I needed this emotional space so that I could step into my own womanhood. This transition is natural. Mothers die. I too, will die. This is to make room for all the new mothers and all the new daughters. But mothers don’t just die, their seeds fall into the hearts of those who love them.

I also don’t want to sugar-coat you–or us. We were far, far from perfect.

I’m not even interested in perfect, who learns from perfect?

I see some wrong choices you made–some wrong choices I made.

I understand why: pain, fear, selfishness.

By analyzing “us” I can learn a few things, make different choices. I can’t imagine you being bothered by this now because whatever the “here-after” is, it has to put our petty issues in perspective, and I refuse to think of an eternity wracked with guilt and regret.

You’d be proud though.

My skirts are longer now, and I actually do own a slip.
I wear your broaches and scarves when I talk about you to caregiving and Alzheimer’s groups–and I show your picture. I talk about you more now than when you were alive, and part of me finds that rather annoying. I hope to have as long of a shelf life as you are.

I’m a mother-in-law, which is completely weird, and I understand things different now.

I understand how trusting someone to love, respect, and care for your child is so scary, even when your daughters or sons are grown and tell you they don’t need your protection. They do. Spiritually, emotionally, not in your face, tell you what to do, but in a broader sense.

I understand how a wedding isn’t just about the bride and groom–how your dreams, your hopes, your family’s expectations somehow get tangled in the mix. It took me 25 years to stop blaming you for controlling my wedding.

I understand how you long to have a quiet alone moment with the child you bore–how it’s hard to be second fiddle to person who once thought you carved the moon out of cheese and flung it to the sky.

I understand how hard it is to scoot one seat down and let the next generation take center stage when you feel like you barely got there.

I eat breakfast every day, something you couldn’t force me to do as a kid. I also hear those words slip out of my mouth–”Wear a hat, it’s cold.” I think of you and me, and all the hats I snatched off my head the second you weren’t looking, and here I am, dolling out the same advice. Did put a whammy on me?

I also insist my children call me every day. Just like you did.

It was the best thing you could have done, you know.

Even after five years, I so miss our calls. I can’t tell you how irritating they were, some days.

But those ”I’m all right, busy today, love you, mom,” calls kept us going. I thought they were just for you, about you being needy.

I think of all the things I didn’t tell you in those phone calls –all the marital fights, the worries about my first gray hairs, my own children rebelling against me, the world’s best mother. I didn’t tell you what was going on in my life–not with words, but I think you knew because I know. I can measure the tone of children’s voice with my handy mother-barometer I now possess.

You didn’t need me to say things out loud, but you took your cue and prayed.

My daughters call every day. They do it automatically because I’ve forced them into this habit.

Many days are short and sweet–and I too, listen to what all is not being said.

I miss you in a million small ways. I miss having a woman to pal around with–not to necessarily agree with–lord knows that wasn’t out strong suit. But I do miss your company, your sense of style, and I remember everything, everything you loved–pecan pie, Co-cola as you used to say–and a Snicker’s bar, homemade macaroni and cheese, and fresh sheets. Somehow, your preferences are now a part of my own–a way to remember you.

I’m a different woman now. Caregiving,sitting beside a loved one as they pass from this earth changes a person. I find myself more tolerant of the ambiguities of life and perhaps less tolerant of social situations where people simply posture, brag, or argue for the sake of arguing. I don’t have the patience for that sort of thing–even when, and especially when it’s coming out of my own mouth.

You’ve made me into an old soul. I could sit outside in a lawn chair and stare at the stars for hours.

But death had another effect on me as well–I want to live, to accomplish something you and my daughters will be proud of, to really be present–for all the big and small moments, to accept myself and those I love on an “as is” basis knowing good people only get better. I can trust that this world still has a lot of goodness left in it, and I can be patient enough to wait for it. I can also accept the random chaos, the sorrows of all kinds of losses, and the uncertainty of something as out of our control as the weather or a nasty disease can obliterate your life as you know it at any time.

It’s all part of the package.

You’d be proud of me. I’ve grown up a little. I love with a fierceness, and I’m tired of taking guff from people who just don’t matter.

I’m somehow coming into my own as a woman, a wife, a mother, a friend. Did you have something to do with that? Did caring for you, learning from you, learning how to be a woman, how to become a widow, how to grow old, and how to die get incorporated into me? I hope so because I can’t fathom how to do all this without you.

I need you to still teach me. I need your Southern wisdom. I need you to disagree with me. I need to butt up against somebody who will sharpen me a bit, force me to figure out what I believe–and what I don’t. I need a mother who will tell me, “Don’t buy that dress, your thighs look like tree trunks in.”

No one but your mother would dare.

I share this day with you.

You taught me how to be a woman, complex and defined, and how to be a mother even when your kids are grown and no longer think they need mothering--but they do, only in more subtle ways.

You taught me how to dig deep for strength and sit by someone dying without dying myself.

How not to fall apart. How to choose hope and faith when circumstances would say otherwise. How to speak my mind and hold my tongue, as needed.

You taught me that I could love more than I could ever imagine.

~Your daughter.

~Carol D. O'Dell is the author of Mothering Mother: A Daughter's Humorous and Heartbreaking Memoir

available on Amazon

www.mothering-mother.com

Family Advisor at www.Caring.com

Syndicated blog at www.OpentoHope.com

www.kunati.com Publisher

Thank You for Not Sending my Brother to OZ

leakelley — Mon, 12 May 2008 13:43:02 +0000

One of my brothers lives in Oklahoma. I spoke to him on the phone yesterday to make sure he was not one of the folks who have been tragically effected by the tornados ripping through that area.

He is fine and I am thankful.

It is being said that this is the worst tornado season in ten years.

Also, with the Earthquake in China, the Cyclone in Burma, and a treacherous week of catastrophe for so many, my heart goes out to those who have lost loved ones, been injured, and are scrambling to find food and shelter in the wake of devastation.

I am thankful for the safety of my brother as I feel sympathy for so many sisters (and others) who cannot feel that way this morning.

"P.S. I Love You"

Anne — Mon, 12 May 2008 12:45:34 +0000

It's a great movie...it's a chick flick by most definitions, but it's one of the best movies I've seen in a while in that category.

I definitely recommend you rent it and watch it, if you haven't seen it already...but when you watch it...make sure you have tissues handy because it may just catch you off guard and you may end up crying or at least getting teary eyed in parts.

I didn't cry...but I came close in a couple parts and I did get teary eyed quite a few times...but I also laughed and smiled and it was a movie that was about love, loss, grief, mourning, moving forward with life and happiness - finding it no matter the circumstances and so many other messages came across in the movie to me.

I LOVED the movie and want to go buy it and add it to my collection now. I highly recommend it.

On another topic, I had a pretty good Mother's Day, but right before I went to watch the movie with my fiance, I was having some of the Mother's Day Blues hit, you know the ones...it's just that I sent e-cards and gift cards to both my girls moms and my own mom and both my girls moms sent me something, said thanks and acknowleged me, but my own mom didn't.

This was the first Mother's Day since I placed my first, who's now 5, that my own mother said nothing to me and sent nothing to me on Mother's Day. I didn't call her though I debated about it, but I thought hey I sent her a card/e-card and a gift certificate so I thought she would call or e-mail me back to say thanks or to send me something to say Happy Mother's Day, but she didn't do anything.

I, of course, haven't been talking to her really at all for the past week or so since I left on my little vacation down here to AZ to visit and help my fiance's parents with wedding reception planning for down here. Plus I did take the break to come down here on this little vacation to take a break from her and her constant harrassing and twenty questions driving me crazy with stress etc. with the wedding planning. If you know much about me and my relationship with my mom, you know I don't get along the best with her and there were many issues that came out in counseling that had to do with her and that I discovered that she was a big part of reasons why I made choices I did even though I ultimately made my own choices and everything else on my own - she contributed greatly to the way some things happened, which weren't positive and it also boiled down to co-dependency, which I'm now a recovering co-dependent, but my mom has not figured these things out yet and tries to suck me back in to her world where she controls me and everything, which I don't let her control me or my life in any way anymore.

My mom and I have grown apart over the past 5 years or so because when I started to realize her unhealthy influence on me and start working on my own path of being healthy without letting her have the same power and influence on me as she use to have most of my life, it was when I had and placed my first girl. Then it became even more of a noticeable distance and more of a noticeable gap that I let grow and pushed away from her and her unhealthy influence 3 1/2 -4 years ago when I realized even more through counseling as well as my own personal insights etc. how unhealthy it was for me to let my mom in my life too much because of the co-dependency issues and self-esteem issues.

It's just that I use to always know without a doubt that even though my mom and I don't get along the best, she would at least acknowledge me and thank me for her cards and gifts on Mother's Day and she didn't this year. I don't know if she didn't do it because I didn't call because I thought the card and gift certificate was good enough or if she didn't do it cause she didn't want to stress me out more, but the sad thing is...I think and I wouldn't be surprised at all if she did it just to spite me, to be petty and throw a tantrum in her own way because I wasn't there on Mother's Day, because I took a break from her, because I don't let her control me anymore, because I don't let her in my life the way she wants so she can control things anymore, because I haven't let her plan MY wedding the way she wants it, because I have taken a stand for myself even with her as my own mother and she doesn't like it, because I didn't call her even though I sent her a card and a gift certificate...when I didn't even feel like doing that much for her on Mother's Day.

It hurts me, saddens me and upsets me to think that my own mother would and may have stooped that low to hurt me because things aren't going her way and I'm not letting her in my life to control me or do what she wants anymore.

But at least my fiance and his family recognized me and were great with me for Mother's Day and at least both my girls mothers recognize me and sent me something too. My sister-in-law and a few other family members at least sent me something even though my own sister and my own mother didn't...it doesn't bother me so much that my own sister didn't even though I sent her something...it just bothered me that my own mother couldn't send me anything or even at least just have thanked me for her card and gift certificate...but I guess I shouldn't be too surprised and I suppose there's always the chance that I'll get an e-mail or a call in the next day or two from her saying she's sorry she was busy or something and that's why she didn't acknowledge me on Mother's Day...somehow I don't know if any excuse she gives will be enough...that's just more reason to me for the rift between us to grow and more reason to me why I still won't let her back in my life the way she wants to be where she can control me and things.

So, that's how I was thinking and feeling when I cuddled up with my fiance and we watched the movie, "P.S. I Love You" and then I realized while watching it and after it was over that I have the most important people in my life who love me unconditionally, respect me and acknowledge me whether my own mother does or not. I have one of the best things that's ever happened to me in my fiance...he always looks out for me and my well being and he was the one who suggested this break from things and saw how the stress and my mom was affecting me negatively and he's pampered me, let me stay up late, sleep in, help when I can, do what I want and never forced or pressured me into anything. He spoils me rotten, he's truly my other half and when I was watching this movie about love and life, I realized for the first time, I have what I want and I don't have to look anymore...this is really it.

I don't know how to explain it really, but in the past when I was dating, semi-engaged or unofficially engaged etc. with other guys and we watched some love story movie together...I always found myself looking at myself and the guy I was with watching the movie and wondering if this was really as good as it got and couldn't there be someone better for me out there...I realized often times watching those kinds of movies with other guys that they weren't the ones for me and watching those love story movies with these other guys in my past made me think and want more than what I had with that guy or in that relationship.

But this time, watching this movie of a love story, I knew that this wasn't as good as it gets, that it will only get better for me with my fiance, that our love will only grow deeper and stronger...and I knew that there is absolutely no way that there could be anyone better out there for me than him...he is it and I couldn't be happier nor could I have picked a better guy than him. What watching this movie of this love story made me realize was that I had the best there was for me and it made me want to enjoy and make every moment with him the best.

It made me realize I'm the lucky one and that life's too short to dwell on what I may not have with my mother or others when I have something this wonderful with my fiance and such great friendships and relationships with both my girls mothers and so many friends and others, you know who you all are. I couldn't be luckier, more blessed and more loved than I am.

Thanks to all of you who love me unconditionally and are always there for me, you know who you are and I send all my love and hugs to all of you as well.

THE LAST RITE OF PASSAGE………………..

asqfish — Mon, 12 May 2008 09:00:24 +0000

Last night Ben wrote………………..
"I hope you are doing well. I'm writing because a few of Tariq's friends have been planning on how to remember Tariq at our graduation ceremonies this year. The planners for graduation decided that a good time to have one of his friends say a few words and lead a moment of silence for Tariq would be at Last Collection on Saturday, May 31, and it was decided that I should say a few words…………."

He attached an article he had written which said………..
"When I argue that we should embrace “ethical irreverence” as a concept, I mean to say that we must open our hearts to the people who have led us to where we are today. At the same time, we cannot afford to give our professors and parents the pedestal they might assume. We graduate to change the world, not to revere it.

As I write my last piece for The Phoenix, a newspaper for which I have written almost continuously since my second week as a student here, I think of would-be fellow graduate and my former Phoenix colleague, Tariq, who died in a car accident in July 2005. On the surface, our friendship may have seemed unlikely — I, a Jewish day school graduate from suburban Washington, DC; he, a Muslim from Georgia.

What we shared, and what I learned from him, were the seeds of what I am proposing here. His open-heart, love for his friends and love for life were complemented by a sense that no icon was too sacred for a good laugh or a little fun.

At newspaper meetings, he was always willing to challenge the conventional wisdom expressed during any debate, regardless of if we were discussing a profound political matter or whether or not to get pizza after a Monday night editorial board meeting.

In the spirit of ethical irreverence that Tariq, in many ways, embodied, I tried jokingly to provoke him by arguing at the cafeteria dinner that Abraham Lincoln was, in fact, our country’s worst president, as he should have just let the South secede so that we wouldn’t have to deal with it today.

Tariq, proud of home and family, clearly would not let this preposterous point stand. His defense of the South was just as vigorous as his epic discourses on the merits of “crunk” rapper Li’l Jon. I write this column with the memory of his unmistakable laugh and deep heart in my mind…………"

Soon after reading this, I thought………How amazingly lovely of Tariq’s friends to remember him as a rite of passage from college.

I immediately knew I could not miss this evening with Tariq’s friends as they meet for the last time to then be scattered like the petals of a dandelion by the wind of time.

And then the Executive Assistant from the Office of the President wrote…………..
"I am writing to let you know that as a part of the Commencement activities this year Tariq's friends wanted very much to honor him and have selected his friend Ben to offer a tribute to him during the Last Collection on Saturday afternoon, May 31.
The President will, as well, speak of Tariq in his remarks to graduates and their families. We would like to invite you to attend the weekend's events and ceremonies if you would wish to do so………."

Do I wish to do so? Yes I do! Will I be able to sit through two days of remembrance, I would like to. It seems a rite of passage for me in seeing Tariq’s friends grow up and graduate and leave the confines of the college walls wearing his memory as a deep sweet fragrance which refreshes their life as they move on. Will it be easy?………No it will not.
Does Paul wish to do so………only to Ben’s talk. He does not feel he can sit through the graduation ceremonies. Will I ? I don't know, but I feel I have to be there to represent Tariq and pass on his joy at this important milestone in the life of his friends.

So Paul does not? at least not to the graduation, And I do…..So where does that leave us?

In my minds eye I imagine the garden amphitheatre where the last drama of Tariq’s college life, and his friends will take place. His friends one by one will receive an acknowledgment of their maturity and their ability to survive the outer world, as they will pass in front of us enveloped in the happy aura of the event.

Sitting in the amphitheatre where I sat with Tariq in life, I will be with his friends knowing that he has already graduated into a Magnificient realm of Bliss where he is happy and well taken care of.

For Tariq, Im, Ebad and Nabeel, Allah SWT promises in Surah Al Insaan:

076.011: But Allah will deliver them from the evil of that Day, and will shed over them a Light of Beauty and (blissful) Joy.
076.012: And because they were patient and constant, He will reward them with a Garden and (garments of) silk.

076.013: Reclining in the (Garden) on raised thrones, they will see there neither the sun's (excessive heat) nor (the moon's) excessive cold.
076.014: And the shades of the (Garden) will come low over them, and the bunches (of fruit), there, will hang low in humility.
076.015: And amongst them will be passed round vessels of silver and goblets of crystal
076.016: Crystal-clear, made of silver: they will determine the measure thereof (according to their wishes).
076.017: And they will be given to drink there of a Cup (of Wine) mixed with Zanjabil
076.018: A fountain there, called Salsabil.
076.019: And round about them will (serve) youths of perpetual (freshness): If thou seest them, thou wouldst think them scattered Pearls.
076.020: And when thou lookest, it is there thou wilt see a Bliss and a Realm Magnificent.
076.021: Upon them will be green Garments of fine silk and heavy brocade, and they will be adorned with Bracelets of silver; and their Lord will give to them to drink of a Wine Pure and Holy.
076.022: "Verily this is a Reward for you, and your Endeavour is accepted and recognized."

……………And for Ben and all of Tariq’s friends at college:

002.062   Those who believe (in the Qur'an), and those who follow the Jewish (scriptures), and the Christians and the Sabians,- any who believe in Allah and the Last Day, and work righteousness, shall have their reward with their Lord; on them shall be no fear, nor shall they grieve.

Would you go to the graduation ceremony of the friends of your dead child? ...........And Should I?

My Garden Gives Me Little Surprises (Or Is It the Fairies?)

Lorna Tedder — Mon, 12 May 2008 06:20:23 +0000

" Will you dance with me, Mother of the World?" -- Sharon Knight

Sometimes, you find things in your garden that you'd forgotten.

Mother's Day was a little strange to me this year. The girls gave me some terrific presents, and afterward I took the girls to the farm to visit my mom, which was fun. I enjoyed running through the fields of grass--its subtle hues of green, gold, pinks--waving in the Spring breezes as the dog jumped over the grass that was taller than he is like a dolphin rising and falling through the water. It was funny and fun and pleasant, but there were some surreal moments, too.

On the way home from dinner with my mom and girls, the sun was still high in the sky and we made a detour through the cemetery. That's not unusual. I often drive by my grandparents' graves to "pay my respects" when I'm in town. It was strange that I'd forgotten until I'd already turned in at the cemetery that Daddy's there, too. It was...disconcerting...to remember so suddenly.

We watched "3:10 to Yuma" with my mom, figuring she might like it--as Shannon and I certainly enjoyed the pretty men--but afterwards, I was suddenly hit by one of those energy waves that I don't get as often now. I never could discern its origin, just that it was one of my "boys" somewhere, anxious. The feeling stayed through the night, and through the day as well. It is less so tonight, but still there and still anxious. No, it's not Daddy. This is the energy of a young man, yearning yet somehow blocked from contacting me, most likely by himself. And though you might think it would be easy for me to pinpoint, there's more than one man in that situation.

Mother's Day is always a bit difficult for me because the memories of the last Mother's Day of my marriage are still vivid and tears at old wounds. They are memories that might slip unnoticed into the night except that they are too merged with Mother's Day for me to separate the two. Unfortunately, my plans for a Mother's Day dinner outing with the girls didn't go as I'd hoped. I didn't find out until too late. They'd earlier thought that they would be with me for dinner but instead they had to go to their paternal grandmother's for dinner, so I was alone with my thoughts for a long while.

I spent some time walking around my garden before sunset, trying to ground and shake off the disconcerting energies of the weekend. I haven't been in my garden much, between our camping trip and a busy week at work, so it seemed that some things had grown quite a bit. A few surprised me, not because they'd grown so much in the past week or so, but because they'd grown so much in the past week when they've been invisible for years.

There's a line of oaks the squirrels planted for me that are suddenly tall and shading the back patio. A redbud that I planted fifteen years ago did not grow AT ALL for several years, so I dug it up and planted it in an area where it seemed much more likely to flourish. It didn't . It's lanquished for ten years. But in the past two weeks, it's shot up two feet and entwined itself with a young oak that's come up long since it was planted.

If I look around my gardens, I see other flowers and trees that are suddenly flourishing, with no explanation (not counting "Fairies at Work") . Yes, I've pruned some areas of the yard, so I notice some of the flora more but many of these just SUDDENLY seemed to spring forth after long years of being runts in my garden.

I suppose it's like that with traits and abilities. Some stay in the background and then, one day, they suddenly burst forward, growing by leaps and bounds, taking centerstage and outpacing everything around. In any case, it was a lovely Mother's Day gift from my garden.

Messages

Linda — Mon, 12 May 2008 05:57:23 +0000

I titled this post this morning, before Nat, Anna, and Ruby arrived. I didn't know then, what I know now.

When Nat and Owen were growing up, they sometimes asked me what would happen to them if I died first. I always told them that if something happened to me, I would find a way to communicate with them. I didn't know how, but I would find a way. Magical thinking? Maybe. Maybe not.

Sometimes we say things to our children, to others, without knowing the impact. We guard ourselves, and hope we're saying those things they need to hear, those things that will help them through tough times. Then, everything changes, and we are the ones who hope we hear things that may take on a magical tone - because we need to hear them.

I spent today just hanging out with my family, as I wanted, and I'm grateful. As simple as our plans were, we had one of those days that came crashing in with too many unspoken objectives and too little time. Packing, cleaning, laundry, reminiscing, cooking. We got through it, and I was the fortunate mother who realized, yet again, that motherhood is forever.

Significant moments of our day together:

They brought me flowers.

Ruby hugged me and said, "I'm going to treat mothers very nice today." (She's five.) She wished each and every one of us a Happy Mother's Day, individually. Didn't matter that only two of us were mothers.

I was packing up some office supplies and found a stack of greeting cards. I don't throw them out, I keep them. The last card in the stack was a Mother's Day card. It was from Owen, from last year. This is what it says:

Happy Mother's Day

Guardian angels

will sing you a song

To make your heart happy

and light all day long.

Wishing you the special Joy

that only God's love brings.

Underneath the card's preprinted message, Owen wrote:

"Hello, hope your mother's day was a happy one, this card is weird, the Union and Howard's Station was fun. Love Owen"

Owen rarely wrote anything other than his name on greeting cards.

Nat asked me last week what we did for Mother's Day last year. I couldn't remember. When I read Owen's card, I remembered everything. Dave, Owen, and I drove to Occidental to meet Nat, Anna, and Ruby for breakfast. The wait was long for our table at Howard's Station, so we put our name on the list and walked the couple of blocks to The Union Hotel, where we got coffee and milled around, then walked back. Our table still wasn't ready, so we sat at a picnic table by the parking lot, drinking our coffee drinks and talking. When our table was ready, we went into the restaurant, and spent our morning together. All of us, just hanging out.

Last Monday, I received two CDs of Owen photos from Carla, his former girlfriend. She wrote in her note, that there was a short video clip of him. I waited until today to look at the photos and the video. I needed my family with me. None of us have any video clips of Owen, and I didn't think I could handle watching it, without them. We watched, and it was both okay and torture. Seeing his face looking out at the lens, and his hand moving across the screen, was unlike anything I could have imagined. His hands are unforgettable. Yet, seeing his long fingers move, sent me to a place I rarely visit, except in dreams. 15 seconds, that's all. 15 seconds of motion, long ago now. God, he was beautiful. Nat and I cried, sitting on the couch, remembering, and missing him more than anyone can know. 15 seconds, and a lifetime.

At dinner tonight, Ruby told Nat to tell me this: "Nowen said to tell Linda I love you very much." He did.

After I talked with them, I went to the porch, and watched the sunset. The wind was blowing. I said to the sunset and the wind, "Thanks, Owen, for sending the message. I love you, too, Owie. Oh-Wind, I hear you." I cried mother-tears, and waited for the calm that did not come.

Nat came out, and I asked him about what Ruby said. He thinks I'm a little woo-woo, but he couldn't deny the serendipity of the day. After a few minutes of talking, I said, "Nowen. No Owen. N'Owen. I didn't hear it that way at first." He said, "Wow, you're slow now." I laughed and we talked about how hard it is to get through our days. He said, "And, the wind's blowing." Last year, in the days after Owen was discovered in The River, the wind kicked up to unbelievable speeds and blew his chair off our porch. None of us has ever forgotten the power of the wind in those days, nor the power of Owen's presence - in his absence.

Several people called me today, to see how I was doing, and to wish me a Happy Mother's Day. It was hard for them to say those words, even knowing I'm still a mother. I knew they were struggling...and I know how much they love me. Thanks, guys. I love you, too.

This post comes at the end of a long, quiet period of reflection, and I have two messages and a song to share. Two messages from Lea Kelley:

Mother's Day Proclamation

Thank you for the Mother of My Invention

When I drove out of Nat's and Anna's driveway last night, tonight's song is the one I first heard on the radio. Owen wasn't a fan of The Police, but indulged me when I listened to them. I think he liked them more than he let on. Why else would he have watched the Sting concert with me, late one evening in San Diego? Maybe, just to hang out with me. We did a lot of that.

What do I know now? Nothing. And, everything.

And, tonight's song: Message in a Bottle, The Police (the last time I saw Owen was on May 28, 2007 - almost a year ago - "A year has passed since I wrote my note, I should have known this right from the start, Only hope can keep me together, Love can mend your life but love can break your heart...I'll send an SOS to the world...I hope that someone gets my message in a bottle..."

http://youtube.com/watch?v=eJJgM23gLh8

Grief, Loss and Support

columbiaagedcare — Mon, 12 May 2008 05:46:27 +0000

Aged Care Australia has released a number of great tips for those who are dealing with grief, loss and support.

Grief is a natural reaction to a painful loss. It is a normal emotion. We feel grief when someone dies and also during and after other major changes and losses in our lives, such as:
• moving or migrating
• changes caused by war, accident or chronic condition
• separation or divorce, and
• children leaving home.

Everyone experiences loss at some time during their life. Losses such as the death of a family member may be very obvious to other people. Personal or private losses are less obvious and may not always by recognised by other people, yet they can still be very painful.

What does grief feel like?
Everyone responds to grief in their own way. If you are grieving you may sometimes feel physically unwell as well as emotionally upset. You may experience:
• shortness of breath
• loss of appetite
• crying, or
• tiredness and sleep problems.

Grief can also cause deep feelings of: numbness, loneliness and emptiness, anger and resentment, confusion, ongoing sadness, or loss of interest in the things you used to do. These are all normal reactions to grief.

Some people assume that grief is an illness - that there is something wrong with the person who is grieving. But grief can often be unresolved, complicated or delayed.

Grieving is a process, not an isolated event. Many people continue to grieve in subtle ways for the rest of their lives. When someone close to you dies, you may feel a whirlwind of emotions, from intense grief and loss to relief and calmness. You may have jumbled thoughts, a somewhat foggy feeling and difficulty making decisions.

You may also wonder what life after caring will be like. Remember, there is no set time for grieving – it's an intensely individual matter. For some it takes longer to feel that the fog is lifting. Here are some ways to help yourself:
• Talk to someone you trust about how you're feeling and the difficulties you're facing. Don't bottle up your emotions.
• See your doctor – be open about how you're feeling.
• Call the Commonwealth Carer Resource Centre on 1800 242 636 and ask about the National Carer Counselling Program (more information).
• Look for other people who could support you. Perhaps you could revisit the staff and other carers at the aged care home, or your carer support group.

Grief counselling
Often, talking to someone you trust about your feelings can help you feel less isolated.
Grief counselling can assist you to:
• understand and express your feelings
• cope with the reaction of others
• adjust to life in the absence of the person who has died, or
• utilise additional support available within the community.