Dealing with loss and death

[Y1gtfmd74i5u]

Wanted to create an open thread for everyone to discuss their losses and journey towards healing and reconnection. How have you rediscovered safety and healing with your loved ones?

 

[Wyote]

How have you rediscovered safety

Do you feel that loss comes with a feeling of losing safety? I'm not disagreeing, I just feel that every loss for myself has been a little different and I'm wondering how you have experienced and interpreted things.

 

[aeon]

It was sad when my father died, not because he died, but because of the manner in which he died. He died of ALS. I took some comfort in his death inasmuch as his suffering had ended.

When I was a child I was taught death was a part of life, and not something to fear or wish away. So when my father died, I could accept it right away. Of course, because of the ALS, I knew his death was coming, and when his death was imminent.

Did I grieve his death? I don’t know...at least not in the way it’s often described by other people. Over the last eight years there have been times when I wished he could have been here to see something, and in that sense, I miss him. And for sure, sometimes a combination of various things come together that remind me of him, and reconnect me with my memories of him, and I cry. I mean I cry, wail, and sob, and I am consumed by my feeling of loss. And then that is over and a few months will go by until it happens again. My watching baseball is typically the key triggering element.

But I talk with my mother about him, and we laugh, and together we celebrate him...perhaps most of all the things that made him human — because he was figuring it all out as he went along just like everyone else, with all that entails, but doing so in his unique way.

My mother also experiences the bolt out of the blue where suddenly the feeling of loss completely envelops her. And so she cries, in the way she does, and then it passes.

I cry when I imagine what it would be like to be my mother, and to lose him, inasmuch as I can, using my current relationship as a guide, and I am immediately and completely undone, and my only desire is to throw myself from a great height.

I think I grieved more for my mother’s loss than my own.

The other form of loss I have experienced that is close with me every day is me having been disabled by life-threatening illness. So loss of bodily function. But that doesn’t make me sad — it simply is. I’m fortunate to still be here and I do the best I can. Those losses are just matter of fact.

I think the defining element of growing old gracefully is one’s willingness to accept loss, of whatever kind, with grace. Because loss will come...of one’s own health, of one’s loved ones, of one’s friends, of one’s visibility in society, of one’s abilities, of one’s faculties, and in time, everything.

Should we be so fortunate to reach an old age, that is.

Oh, and 30+ years later I am still raw and bereft at the death and loss of my dog, so I won’t even attempt to talk about that. Except to say when you are loved unconditionally, and that goes away, the wound is grievous and it never really heals.


Namaste,
Ian

 

[April]

It was sad when my father died, not because he died, but because of the manner in which he died. He died of ALS. I took some comfort in his death inasmuch as his suffering had ended.

When I was a child I was taught death was a part of life, and not something to fear or wish away. So when my father died, I could accept it right away. Of course, because of the ALS, I knew his death was coming, and when his death was imminent.

Did I grieve his death? I don’t know...at least not in the way it’s often described by other people. Over the last eight years there have been times when I wished he could have been here to see something, and in that sense, I miss him. And for sure, sometimes a combination of various things come together that remind me of him, and reconnect me with my memories of him, and I cry. I mean I cry, wail, and sob, and I am consumed by my feeling of loss. And then that is over and a few months will go by until it happens again. My watching baseball is typically the key triggering element.

But I talk with my mother about him, and we laugh, and together we celebrate him...perhaps most of all the things that made him human — because he was figuring it all out as he went along just like everyone else, with all that entails, but doing so in his unique way.

My mother also experiences the bolt out of the blue where suddenly the feeling of loss completely envelops her. And so she cries, in the way she does, and then it passes.

I cry when I imagine what it would be like to be my mother, and to lose him, inasmuch as I can, using my current relationship as a guide, and I am immediately and completely undone, and my only desire is to throw myself from a great height.

I think I grieved more for my mother’s loss than my own.

The other form of loss I have experienced that is close with me every day is me having been disabled by life-threatening illness. So loss of bodily function. But that doesn’t make me sad — it simply is. I’m fortunate to still be here and I do the best I can. Those losses are just matter of fact.

I think the defining element of growing old gracefully is one’s willingness to accept loss, of whatever kind, with grace. Because loss will come...of one’s own health, of one’s loved ones, of one’s friends, of one’s visibility in society, of one’s abilities, of one’s faculties, and in time, everything.

Should we be so fortunate to reach an old age, that is.

Oh, and 30+ years later I am still raw and bereft at the death and loss of my dog, so I won’t even attempt to talk about that. Except to say when you are loved unconditionally, and that goes away, the wound is grievous and it never really heals.


Namaste,
Ian

*hugs*

 

[April]

Do you feel that loss comes with a feeling of losing safety? I'm not disagreeing, I just feel that every loss for myself has been a little different and I'm wondering how you have experienced and interpreted things.

I do. I find safety in those I love. So when I lose them, it feels less safe in the world. It's complicated though. Hard to explain because sometimes the opposite is also true.

 

[SpecialEdition]

I've reached the stage in my life where everyone above my parent's generation is dead and has been for a very long time. I grew up in a community that ended up being geared towards retirees and it seemed like people were dying all the time there. My high school had a lot of freak accident deaths with my classmates. I think that I grew up understanding that sometimes people just die. Sometimes it's old age, sometimes it's illness, sometimes it's accidents.

My grieving process is generally pretty quick. I'll usually cry at the funeral but it's more about other people's grief than my own. I don't feel a loss of safety or comfort when other people die because I don't think I've ever relied on any of those people to provide that to me. I've never felt deeply emotionally connected to anyone in my family. I'm sure when my parents die this will be a different experience, but even then I'm not very close with them either.

My cat dying was a different kind of grief that I'm still processing though. Something about pets is different.

 

[Y1gtfmd74i5u]

Do you feel that loss comes with a feeling of losing safety? I'm not disagreeing, I just feel that every loss for myself has been a little different and I'm wondering how you have experienced and interpreted things.

Yeah. Healing over natural loss vs something traumatizing is completely different. I’ve been questioning myself a lot lately. Thank you for clarifying. On that note: everyone please feel open to share without staying within a single subject. This is completely subjective to you and is open for support without any judgement.
I guess I’m dealing with loss on a a large traumatizing scale along with self induced loss so sorting through those can be difficult right now to heal from.

I’ll be back in 30 minutes to read everyone’s responses.

 

[April]

I've lost so much that I am kinda numb to it in a way. Its like my mind exists in a constant state of denial that comes across like I don't care. But to process all the death that I have experienced in the past few years would probably break something in me. Maybe it did, and thats why the numbness.

But, this being said, I still grieved. I still experienced pain and loss.

Maybe its because I wasn't truly close with the people? I mean of course I loved them they were family. Most anyway. But... maybe I have processed grief this way because I've not recently lost anyone I'm really close to? There are only very few people who I would experience significant mind-numbing pain if I lost them, to death or otherwise.

I was 19 or so when I lost someone truly close to me. That shook my world, but it was so long ago now it only feels like fond memories and less pain.

I've come to realize... I've no fucking clue what I'm doing or talking about. I'm just stumbling through life. Looking forward to seeing others post on this. <3

 

[Y1gtfmd74i5u]

Except to say when you are loved unconditionally, and that goes away, the wound is grievous and it never really heals.

I can see how this is true. It’s definitely when we start to internalize things that happened that we couldn’t have controlled and hold those mistakes to such a high regard that we couldn’t ever climb over the wall we’ve built. That lays on my conscience a lot everyday.

I find safety in those I love. So when I lose them, it feels less safe in the world.

I think we may spend a lot of time investing into someone that when it goes wrong we had already felt responsible for what we could’ve done to begin with. I think this is where a lot of patience in ourself, placing a very clear boundary for others, and self awareness may need to take priority in order to give again. I don’t find anyone safe. I don’t know why. I can’t track it to a single event. I can’t track it to just my parents. I know there’s a lot of them, it’s just subconsciously there, and maybe it’s okay to know our character can’t be based on our connection to others. It just gets lonely. It’s hard to do when we’ve all been through something deeply hurtful. Not just loss (because I do believe that our healing is a personal process that can’t be placed upon a scale of worse than another or better), but also that deep traumatizing stuff like being trapped in a situation, being abused (mentally, emotionally, physically, financially, etc), abandoned, witnessing it, etc definitely catalyzes it.
I don’t think that anyone here perpetuates this as much as I have. Especially within romantic relationships. Otherwise I think I stopped letting it affect me. Sometimes it hurts too much, so I think I stopped letting people in before they could even hurt me or get close to my heart at all.
Seeing people who allow others to see their heart so easily and quickly is painful sometimes not knowing how to help what to say what to do. So I can understand that being an even deeper loss than it already was.

No one feel like you can’t share what’s happened in your lives. I’m not going to judge. I developed DID through this whole process so I understand how quickly everything can be stripped away down to our own mind.

 

[Y1gtfmd74i5u]

I think the defining element of growing old gracefully is one’s willingness to accept loss, of whatever kind, with grace. Because loss will come...of one’s own health, of one’s loved ones, of one’s friends, of one’s visibility in society, of one’s abilities, of one’s faculties, and in time, everything.

Nail on the head for me. Thank you for sharing your insight.

 

[April]

Healing over natural loss vs something traumatizing is completely different.

So very true. I would give a million likes, if I could.

When my uncle died, it was because he choked in front of me and our family at a dinner. The fear and panic in his eyes is something I could never forget. I was much closer with him than anyone else I've lost. He was like a second father to me. So put together our closeness and the tragedy of how he died, and yes, it was very hard to process and it took a very long time. But I am 36 now. I was 19 then. It just feels like a scar now. You can see it and feel it but it doesn't bother you that much anymore.

Same with my grandma, even though she died of natural causes. I sensed it coming though with her, and braced myself. Made it easier. But I was still there at her bedside as she took her last breath and I cried. And it hurt.

 

[Anomaly]

Wanted to create an open thread for everyone to discuss their losses and journey towards healing and reconnection. How have you rediscovered safety and healing with your loved ones?

Safety... no. I think grieving is made out to be this public or communal process, but it is more so private in its manifestation. It hits you in the dead of night when you are alone with your thoughts, it catches in your throat when you find a totem of your loved one, or catch a whiff of their scent. It comes in unsuspecting waves and tremors that build and overtake you without warning, and sometimes in the most unlikely of places (i.e.: the middle of a grocery store aisle seeing a dog on the package that looks just like your sweet furchild).

In dealing with loss, I've found that there are few who are willing to process alongside others, and are less apt to discuss it or their own emotions. So, in a way, I was taught at a very young age that loss has a dichotamus nature; in that there is the public memorium part of it (funeral service), and in how it is manifested and processed alone.

The first time that I experienced death was when my friend was murdered. I was 9 years old. I didn't really process it, and I didn't learn about the gruesome way in which she died until I was an adult. No one would tell me why she died, not even my mother, so it made the grief extremely confusing. The school we attended forced me to go to the couselor two times to draw photos of her and speak about her, but it proved pointless. Many of the girls who were cruel to her and bullied us, got the same counseling, and were the loudest about how traumatized they were. That part was truly sickening. I reconnected with her mother and sister about ten years ago now, and they still grieve her constantly to this day. I have never really made peace with it. What she endured haunts me if I ever allow myself to go there.

The loss of my uncle was strange. He and I were close, and watching him suffer with AIDS, like his partner did, was horrific. He had to take handfuls of medications just to cope. One day, he took too many, and ended his life. His loss changed my mother and my aunt (his sisters), in ways that are difficult to describe. My mother is an extremely private person, and seeing her grieve in hearing about his passing, but then switching it off when I tried to process with her... it was just another example of how confusing loss was to me. At his funeral, I remember walking past his casket, and I had this overwheling sense that he wasn't there. I looked around at everyone wailing and I felt his cold hands, and suddenly I laughed out loud. I couldn't understand why everyone was sobbing in front of an empty shell. I kept laughing until I cried because it seemed so ridiculous to me. My mother was embarrassed, and pulled me aside to scold me. I just kept saying, "He isn't here. He's somewhere else, and he's laughing too." The very nature of funerals has irked me ever since. I can't stand the 'show' or the expectations of decorum. It is so odd to me. For this reason, I hope to never have a funeral.

The loss of my grandfather, who raised me, was the loss that still shakes me with grief. It has been nearly five years, but it still feels fresh when his memory comes to me unexpectedly. I was the only one in the room with him when he died, and while I feel honored that I got to be there, I also feel enraged at how much he suffered. There was a moment when they cut off his food supply because he was drowning (he had pneumonia). He couldn't speak because of the machines and tubes. The nurses kept saying that he didn't feel hunger or thirst, but I didn't believe them after he grabbed me and was panicked. He kept blinking towards my water bottle and grasping my hands. Then my aunt showed up with Taco Bell, and everyone was just sitting in his room eating. I couldn't bring myself to eat knowing that he hadn't eaten, and the look in his eyes watching everyone else eat, killed me. I knew he was hungry, and that he wanted to eat. He was starving. I begged the nurses to let him eat or drink, but they just kept giving me these tiny sponges to wet his lips and tongue. His mouth was so dry and cracked that it was bleeding profusely. I wept trying to give him as much water as they'd allow on this tiny 2 inch sponge. I will never forget the panic in his eyes, and how hard he gripped and clawed at me because he was in such pain. I felt utterly helpless. I wouldn't leave his side; he took his final breath still grasping at my hands. The grief I feel when I think of him can swallow all of the hours in a day, so I try to suppress it until I can bare it no longer. When that happens, I weep bitterly until there are no tears left.

I've lost other friends (some to suicide), lost other family (to cancer, to old age, to illnesses), but none have wrecked me like the loss of my Papaw.

The loss of pets is different than the loss of a close human. They spend their whole lives devoted and loyal to you, with a pure joy in your presence. I have lost three dogs who were family. Oliver Dean was my best friend for 13 years. He was like Eeyore in his old age; loveable, sweet, gentle, cuddly, plump, a bit melancholic. He moped around until he saw you, and he'd lift his big head and wag his little black tail with white end saluting you. He is the only dog that ever slept on the foot of my bed with me. Since his loss, I could never give that spot away.

Cowboy was my Papaw's dog, but he was given to me when he passed. He was the most beautiful Aussie Catahoula mix; hilarious demeanor, howled at the moon and ambulances, and had the softest fur of any dog I've ever had. One day, I came home to find blood trails with Cowboy bleeding to death in the side yard. I called an emergency vet to describe the wounds, and loss of blood, and they told me there was little chance he'd live. His back legs were completely torn apart. All I could do is wrap him in blankets, sobbing, and lay with him until he died. In the chaos, I didn't realize how bad Shyanne was, as part of me thought she was the one that attacked him. Her mouth was bloodied with blood all over her fur, and she was limping. I had no idea what happened, and I was confused why she'd go after Cowboy as she was a friendly dog. She was okay to be bandaged up, and I gave her medicine that night, but I was wrecked over Cowboy (and even writing this I am weeping thinking of him). The next day, I planned to take Shyanne to the vet to check her wounds, and make sure she was okay because I didn't understand why she'd attack Cowboy. After work, I went to go pick her up to take her to the vet, and found her attacked, bleeding profusely and Liebe also bloodied. I was devastated. I didn't understand, since my fence was completely blocked around all sides, no holes (that I could find), and no way in or out without opening the gates. I scanned the trees searching, desperate to understand and I was screaming in my front yard, begging for help, when one of the neighbors down the road came.

He said he saw a pitbull running down the street covered in blood two days in a row. The only people who had a pitbull were living next door. After taking Shy to the vet, I went over there and asked them if they knew what happened, and they said they didn't know (mind you, the man is a Sheriff for another county nearby). He looked me in the eyes and said he did not know, but his dog betrayed him because it came running out the door covered in wounds and bandaged up. I told him that I had a witness that his pitbull was running outside of my fence covered in blood for 2 days, and my dogs had all been attacked. He said he didn't know that his dog was attacking other people's dogs (which was insane to me that he didn't realize that when his dog is literally covered in blood). I asked him to go walk his fence with me to figure out how it got inside. Along it, there was a tiny section where my fence met his. His dog had eaten through the double chain metal fencing and opened a hole to squeeze through to get into the yard to attack my dogs.

I told him that I didn't want any trouble, but if he didn't move his dog to a secure area of his yard and fix the part of the fence his dog destroyed, that I would be calling to report him. In hindsight, I wish I had taken a gun and shot it right then and there. It has chased after children in the street, and attacked two other dogs in the neighborhood and killed them. Everytime I see that dog, the grief and anger of losing Cowboy and trying to rehabilitate Shyanne for years (she was never the same after that), is completely overwhelming.

Losing Shyanne to canine dementia last year was devastating. Watching her descend from being able to obey commands to losing all function and barely recognizing me in the end... I have no words for it. Having to deduce that her quality of life was gone, and rationalizing that I should have her put down was one of the most difficult decisions of my life. I came close to losing her so many times before that, but she survived; however, she couldn't beat this and I couldn't help her. It felt like sand slipping from my hands. I still miss her every single day. She is buried next to Cowboy under a flowering tree in my backyard. Sometimes, when missing them, I go out and lay in that spot and grip the grass in my palms. I imagine it is a tuft of their soft fur, and I cry.

 

[April]

Safety... no. I think grieving is made out to be this public or communal process, but it is more so private in its manifestation. It hits you in the dead of night when you are alone with your thoughts, it catches in your throat when you find a totem of your loved one, or catch a whiff of their scent. It comes in unsuspecting waves and tremors that build and overtake you without warning, and sometimes in the most unlikely of places (i.e.: the middle of a grocery store aisle seeing a dog on the package that looks just like your sweet furchild).

In dealing with loss, I've found that there are few who are willing to process alongside others, and are less apt to discuss it or their own emotions. So, in a way, I was taught at a very young age that loss has a dichotamus nature; in that there is the public memorium part of it (funeral service), and in how it is manifested and processed alone.

The first time that I experienced death was when my friend was murdered. I was 9 years old. I didn't really process it, and I didn't learn about the gruesome way in which she died until I was an adult. No one would tell me why she died, not even my mother, so it made the grief extremely confusing. The school we attended forced me to go to the couselor two times to draw photos of her and speak about her, but it proved pointless. Many of the girls who were cruel to her and bullied us, got the same counseling, and were the loudest about how traumatized they were. That part was truly sickening. I reconnected with her mother and sister about ten years ago now, and they still grieve her constantly to this day. I have never really made peace with it. What she endured haunts me if I ever allow myself to go there.

The loss of my uncle was strange. He and I were close, and watching him suffer with AIDS, like his partner did, was horrific. He had to take handfuls of medications just to cope. One day, he took too many, and ended his life. His loss changed my mother and my aunt (his sisters), in ways that are difficult to describe. My mother is an extremely private person, and seeing her grieve in hearing about his passing, but then switching it off when I tried to process with her... it was just another example of how confusing loss was to me. At his funeral, I remember walking past his casket, and I had this overwheling sense that he wasn't there. I looked around at everyone wailing and I felt his cold hands, and suddenly I laughed out loud. I couldn't understand why everyone was sobbing in front of an empty shell. I kept laughing until I cried because it seemed so ridiculous to me. My mother was embarrassed, and pulled me aside to scold me. I just kept saying, "He isn't here. He's somewhere else, and he's laughing too." The very nature of funerals has irked me ever since. I can't stand the 'show' or the expectations of decorum. It is so odd to me. For this reason, I hope to never have a funeral.

The loss of my grandfather, who raised me, was the loss that still shakes me with grief. It has been nearly five years, but it still feels fresh when his memory comes to me unexpectedly. I was the only one in the room with him when he died, and while I feel honored that I got to be there, I also feel enraged at how much he suffered. There was a moment when they cut off his food supply because he was drowning (he had pneumonia). He couldn't speak because of the machines and tubes. The nurses kept saying that he didn't feel hunger or thirst, but I didn't believe them after he grabbed me and was panicked. He kept blinking towards my water bottle and grasping my hands. Then my aunt showed up with Taco Bell, and everyone was just sitting in his room eating. I couldn't bring myself to eat knowing that he hadn't eaten, and the look in his eyes watching everyone else eat, killed me. I knew he was hungry, and that he wanted to eat. He was starving. I begged the nurses to let him eat or drink, but they just kept giving me these tiny sponges to wet his lips and tongue. His mouth was so dry and cracked that it was bleeding profusely. I wept trying to give him as much water as they'd allow on this tiny 2 inch sponge. I will never forget the panic in his eyes, and how hard he gripped and clawed at me because he was in such pain. I felt utterly helpless. I wouldn't leave his side; he took his final breath still grasping at my hands. The grief I feel when I think of him can swallow all of the hours in a day, so I try to suppress it until I can bare it no longer. When that happens, I weep bitterly until there are no tears left.

I've lost other friends (some to suicide), lost other family (to cancer, to old age, to illnesses), but none have wrecked me like the loss of my Papaw.

The loss of pets is different than the loss of a close human. They spend their whole lives devoted and loyal to you, with a pure joy in your presence. I have lost three dogs who were family. Oliver Dean was my best friend for 13 years. He was like Eeyore in his old age; loveable, sweet, gentle, cuddly, plump, a bit melancholic. He moped around until he saw you, and he'd lift his big head and wag his little black tail with white end saluting you. He is the only dog that ever slept on the foot of my bed with me. Since his loss, I could never give that spot away.

Cowboy was my Papaw's dog, but he was given to me when he passed. He was the most beautiful Aussie Catahoula mix; hilarious demeanor, howled at the moon and ambulances, and had the softest fur of any dog I've ever had. One day, I came home to find blood trails with Cowboy bleeding to death in the side yard. I called an emergency vet to describe the wounds, and loss of blood, and they told me there was little chance he'd live. His back legs were completely torn apart. All I could do is wrap him in blankets, sobbing, and lay with him until he died. In the chaos, I didn't realize how bad Shyanne was, as part of me thought she was the one that attacked him. Her mouth was bloodied with blood all over her fur, and she was limping. I had no idea what happened, and I was confused why she'd go after Cowboy as she was a friendly dog. She was okay to be bandaged up, and I gave her medicine that night, but I was wrecked over Cowboy (and even writing this I am weeping thinking of him). The next day, I planned to take Shyanne to the vet to check her wounds, and make sure she was okay because I didn't understand why she'd attack Cowboy. After work, I went to go pick her up to take her to the vet, and found her attacked, bleeding profusely and Liebe also bloodied. I was devastated. I didn't understand, since my fence was completely blocked around all sides, no holes (that I could find), and no way in or out without opening the gates. I scanned the trees searching, desperate to understand and I was screaming in my front yard, begging for help, when one of the neighbors down the road came.

He said he saw a pitbull running down the street covered in blood two days in a row. The only people who had a pitbull were living next door. After taking Shy to the vet, I went over there and asked them if they knew what happened, and they said they didn't know (mind you, the man is a Sheriff for another county nearby). He looked me in the eyes and said he did not know, but his dog betrayed him because it came running out the door covered in wounds and bandaged up. I told him that I had a witness that his pitbull was running outside of my fence covered in blood for 2 days, and my dogs had all been attacked. He said he didn't know that his dog was attacking other people's dogs (which was insane to me that he didn't realize that when his dog is literally covered in blood). I asked him to go walk his fence with me to figure out how it got inside. Along it, there was a tiny section where my fence met his. His dog had eaten through the double chain metal fencing and opened a hole to squeeze through to get into the yard to attack my dogs.

I told him that I didn't want any trouble, but if he didn't move his dog to a secure area of his yard and fix the part of the fence his dog destroyed, that I would be calling to report him. In hindsight, I wish I had taken a gun and shot it right then and there. It has chased after children in the street, and attacked two other dogs in the neighborhood and killed them. Everytime I see that dog, the grief and anger of losing Cowboy and trying to rehabilitate Shyanne for years (she was never the same after that), is completely overwhelming.

Losing Shyanne to canine dementia last year was devastating. Watching her descend from being able to obey commands to losing all function and barely recognizing me in the end... I have no words for it. Having to deduce that her quality of life was gone, and rationalizing that I should have her put down was one of the most difficult decisions of my life. I came close to losing her so many times before that, but she survived; however, she couldn't beat this and I couldn't help her. It felt like sand slipping from my hands. I still miss her every single day. She is buried next to Cowboy under a flowering tree in my backyard. Sometimes, when missing them, I go out and lay in that spot and grip the grass in my palms. I imagine it is a tuft of their soft fur, and I cry.

Holy fuck you have me sobbing with you over your pain and loss. Please let me hug you forever. I'm so sorry.

 

[Anomaly]

Holy fuck you have me sobbing with you over your pain and loss. Please let me hug you forever. I'm so sorry.

((Hug)) <3

 

[David54]

After two years of six hours a day with my brother as his nurse, I heard his last heartbeat..
my role was to carry the family, so I did what was expected of me.
I still process that day..33 years later..
my parents have passed, and with both I had a role to play, and I played it..
at the end, there was no one to care for me, and the processing continues.
it is manageable, most of the time.
how to proceed grief and loss?
be there.

 

[aeon]

@Anomaly

I suppose the fact the first paragraph held me rapt such that I reread it three times with the same wash over me each time, and each time, becoming more tenderized and contemplative should have been a map of what lay ahead...

...well, I can get off the internet for a while. Not because what you wrote was the best thing I will read today, but I guess there’s that too...but because I have need to collect myself.

harrowing it was,
Ian

 

[April]

@Anomaly

I suppose the fact the first paragraph held me rapt such that I reread it three times with the same wash over me each time, and each time, becoming more tenderized and contemplative should have been a map of what lay ahead...

...well, I can get off the internet for a while. Not because what you wrote was the best thing I will read today, but I guess there’s that too...but because I have need to collect myself.

harrowing it was,
Ian

Right!!! She had me feeling so much!!!

 

[Anomaly]

@Anomaly

I suppose the fact the first paragraph held me rapt such that I reread it three times with the same wash over me each time, and each time, becoming more tenderized and contemplative should have been a map of what lay ahead...

...well, I can get off the internet for a while. Not because what you wrote was the best thing I will read today, but I guess there’s that too...but because I have need to collect myself.

harrowing it was,
Ian

I apologize if it opened wounds for you, Ian. I suppose that is the trouble in sharing some of these things with others. It wasn't my intention to overwhelm anyone, but I understand. I hope that you can find moments of joy as a salve today. The fortunate thing about life is, there are many pleasant memories for each unpleasant one.

<3

 

[aeon]

I apologize if it opened wounds for you, Ian. I suppose that is the trouble in sharing some of these things with others. It wasn't my intention to overwhelm anyone, but I understand. I hope that you can find moments of joy as a salve today. The fortunate thing about life is, there are many pleasant memories for each unpleasant one.

<3

No apology needed, as it was more like a field in my mind that had long been fallow had its soil turned over...I was remembering things from 30+ years ago that I have not thought about for 25+, and that those memories were still in me, now unlocked, really surprised me. And the mention of smell...wow, there they were, palpable to me...and it came in a flood, so for a moment I was bewildered.

Plus, moments like that can reconnect me to my body such that I realized it was nearly 5pm and I hadn’t yet eaten anything today.

Cheers,
Ian

 

[Anomaly]

No apology needed, as it was more like a field in my mind that had long been fallow had its soil turned over...I was remembering things from 30+ years ago that I have not thought about for 25+, and that those memories were still in me, now unlocked, really surprised me. And the mention of smell...wow, there they were, palpable to me...and it came in a flood, so for a moment I was bewildered.

Plus, moments like that can reconnect me to my body such that I realized it was nearly 5pm and I hadn’t yet eaten anything today.

Cheers,
Ian

I know exactly what you mean.

PS: Here's to having something delicious to eat. I haven't eaten today either. >.>'

Spoiler