It’s Ok To Go – adapted

This poem was written by Lori Daoust. She wrote this poem for her father when he was dying. I was deeply touched by her words.

And, the words echo through my brain. “It’s ok to go…”

You were sick and so tired and we all knew,
that God would soon come to take you.
You fought so hard, so very long,
but through the pain, you stayed strong.

We all knew there would come a day,
when God would come to carry you away.
It doesn’t make it easier to say goodbye,
and I try so hard not to cry.

I couldn’t help but feel defeated,
or maybe even cheated.
But how very selfish would I be,
to hope and pray you could stay with me.

So as you lay there,
I whispered “It’s ok to go”
Say “Hi” to loved ones waiting on the other side.
I know some day; you’ll be there when I take that ride.

Source: It’s Ok To Go, Dying Poem http://www.familyfriendpoems.com/poem/its-ok-to-go#ixzz2fBAN5IpI
#FamilyFriendPoems

Grief Intelligence: A Primer

For the past 25 years, I have worked with thousands of grievers. I have sat with widows and widowers, the young and the old. I have offered tissues to bereaved parents in their inconsolable grief. I have normalized, educated, listened to and championed those grievers who, through tremendous pain, still engaged with life.

In the decades since my book Transcending Loss was published, the grieving process has not changed. As I interact with grievers from around the world, I am reminded of the universality of grief. And though each person has their own journey, still they share many common experiences.

Yet, still, I see and hear so much misinformation and confusion around grief. Principally, this comes from the widely-held myths that grief should be easy, that grief should be short, that grief has closure, that people should get on with their lives unchanged and that ongoing connection with the deceased is somehow pathological.

So, in trying to set the record straight, I’m offering seven principles in this primer on grief intelligence.

Most people don’t learn these lessons until life thrusts them onto the roller coaster of major loss. However, if we can get the word out, then perhaps a new generation of individuals will feel more supported and understood when it is their time to grieve.

1. Grief is a normal reaction — Grief is the natural emotional and physical response to the death of a loved one. Although our society desperately wants to avoid the messiness of deep sorrow, there is no way out except through the pain. Typical numbing techniques such as medications, alcohol and food are only temporary distractions to dull the pain.

Letting oneself grieve by going directly into the pain — in manageable doses over a long period of time — is healing. Avoiding the pain simply forces it to go deep into the heart where it subtly affects emotional and physical health.

2. Grief is hard work — Grief isn’t easy and it isn’t pretty. It involves tears, sleepless nights, pain, sorrow and a heartache that knocks you to your knees. It can be hard to concentrate, hard to think clearly, hard to read and easy to forget all the details of life that everyone else seems to remember. Grievers frequently feel that they’re going crazy and they sometimes wish to die. This doesn’t mean that they’re actively suicidal, it just means that they’re grieving.

3. Grief doesn’t offer closure — Closure is an idea that we like because we want to tie up our emotional messes with a bow and put them in the back of a closet. But grief refuses to play this game. Grief tends towards healing not closure. The funeral can be healing, visiting a gravesite can be healing, performing rituals, writing in journals and making pilgrimages can be personally meaningful and healing. But they will not bring closure. Closure is relevant to business deals but not to the human heart.

4. Grief is lifelong — Although we all want quick fixes and short-term solutions, grief won’t accommodate us. Many people want grief to be over in a few weeks or a few months and certainly within a year. And yet, many grievers know that the second year is actually harder than the first. Why Because the shock has worn off and the reality of the pain has truly sunk in.

I let grievers know that the impact of grief is lifelong just as the influence of love is also lifelong. No matter how many years go by, there will be occasional days when grief bursts through with a certain rawness. There will be days, even decades later, when sadness crosses over like a storm cloud. And likely, every day going forward will involve some memory, some connection to missing the beloved.

5. Grievers need to stay connected to the deceased — While some might find it odd or uncomfortable to keep talking about a loved one after they have passed, or find it disconcerting to see photographs of those who have died, it is healthy to keep the connection alive. My heart goes out to a generation or more of grievers who were told to cut their ties to their deceased loved ones, to move on, almost as if they had never existed. Such unwitting cruelty! It is important to honor the birthdays and departure days of deceased loved ones. Their physical presence may be gone, but they remain in relationship to the griever in a new way beyond form, a way based in spirit and love.

6. Grievers are changed forever — Those who expect grievers to eventually get back to their old selves, will be quite disappointed. Grief, like all major life experiences, changes a person irrevocably. People don’t remain unchanged after getting an education, getting married, having a baby, getting divorced or changing careers. Grief, too, adds to the compost mixture of life, creating rich and fertile soil. It teaches about living and dying, about pain and love and about impermanence. While some people are changed by grief in a way that makes them bitter and shut down, it is also possible to use grief as a springboard for compassion, wisdom, and open-heartedness.

7. Grievers can choose transcendence — Transcendence has to do with gaining perspective, seeing in a new way and holding pain in a larger context. Seeing one’s grief from a larger perspective allows it to be bearable and gives it meaning. For one, transcendence might mean reaching out to those who suffer. For another, it might mean giving to a cause that will benefit others. Grievers who choose transcendence recognize that they are not alone, that they share a common human condition, and that they are amongst so many who have experienced love and loss. They use their pain in a way that touches others. The pain is still there, of course, but it is transformed.

So I invite you to reflect on these grief principles, how they might be true for you and how they might be true for someone you know and love. Share and share again so that we might spread grief intelligence far and wide. Perhaps we can effect a change so widespread that grievers will know what to expect. Hopefully, we all can be comforted, in small ways, by that knowledge

Reblogged from http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ashley-davis-bush/dealing-with-grief_b_3716013.html

Vic would have said ….

Life is truly known only to those who suffer, lose, endure adversity and stumble from defeat to defeat. Anais Nin

“Who wants to die? Everything struggles to live. Look at that tree growing up there out of that grating. It gets no sun, and water only when it rains. It’s growing out of sour earth. And it’s strong because its hard struggle to live is making it strong. My children will be strong that way.” ― Betty Smith, A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Sometimes in tragedy we find our life’s purpose – the eye sheds a tear to find its focus. ~Robert Brault, www.robertbrault.com

Watch a man in times of… adversity to discover what kind of man he is; for then at last words of truth are drawn from the depths of his heart, and the mask is torn off. ~Lucretius, On the Nature of Things

When it is dark enough, you can see the stars. ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

When the Japanese mend broken objects, they aggrandize the damage by filling the cracks with gold. They believe that when something’s suffered damage and has a history it becomes more beautiful. ~Barbara Bloom

The soul would have no rainbow had the eyes no tears. ~John Vance Cheney

The darkest hour has only sixty minutes. ~Morris Mandel

What am I doing?

This is one of the most heart wrenching posts I have read in a long time. I read a lot of blogs written by grieving mothers. Why did this post affect me to this extent? I don’t know. Maybe because this mother’s grief feels as real as my own grief. Maybe it is because I am doing the same. Writing and desperately trying to keep my Vic alive…hugs and tears Gatito.

My Bright Shining Star

What am I doing Kaitlyn? What am I trying to do by my endless blogs about you, the photo albums, the posts on Facebook, the printed out version of my blog, the printed out comments by your friends after you died on your Facebook, in my private messages and by email, the posts I made on Student Doctor Network warning them of what could so easily happen if they don’t heed the warning within them of depression, for posting about you In the off topic sections of forums I belong to that are about motorcycles, RVing, and cats. Posting on suicide survivor forums. Posting every video and song that remotely has to do with what you were and I am going through. Making DVD slides of you. Going through all you music CDs, going through all your recent things, old things, things I put up long ago, things that are…

View original post 581 more words

Your children are not your children…

Of course I have read the words of Khalil Gibran many times. Yet this morning I read these words with and through different eyes. I read the blog post of one of my favourite bloggers –

http://deodatusblog.wordpress.com/2013/09/10/your-children-are-not-your-children-they-are-sons-and-daughters-of-lifes-longing-for-itself-says-khalil-gibran/ and was overwhelmed with the exquisite words of guidance contained in this beautiful poem.

Read this with me.

“Your children are not your children.“

“Your children are not your children.
They are sons and daughters of Life’s longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you.
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.
You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the make upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness.
For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He also loves the bow that is stable.” – Khalil Gibran

As a mother who carried a precious baby in her womb for almost 9 months my eyes lingered on the words “They come through you but not from you.” Vic came from me? An umbilical cord that was never severed, bound us together from the first second she were conceived. Even though death took my child from me the umbilical cord of love that bounds us cannot be severed. My love for Vic supersedes the bonds of death.

So no, I don’t agree with Gibran although I understand what he is saying. In this case I prefer literally translating his words…

And though they are with you yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts, For they have their own thoughts..

How poignantly true these words are. As a parent it was horrible watching Vic make mistakes…knowing that her actions and decisions would lead to heartache and tears. How I wished that she would see things my way! My way would have been the safe way. Vic would have been spared rivers of tears and mountains of heartache. My way would have deprived her of great joy and happiness. As a mother I picked up pieces, held her and loved her. I could not protect her. Vic had her own thoughts!

You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.

I housed Vic’s little body. The moment of greatest sadness in my life was when Vic’s soul left her body. I was grateful that her suffering was over but devastated that our journey as mother and daughter was over. I knew that she instantly became an elevated being removed from the hardship and indignity that she suffered on earth. I knew that she would never be prod, cut, hurt or be humiliated again. As her mother, I bathed her and dressed her one last time, as I did when she was born. No other prying, clinical hands would touch her again. I was beyond grief knowing that I would never be able to talk to her again. I would never hold her again. I would never hear her say “Love you Mommy” again. My soul mate, my life was gone. My child’s soul now dwells in the house of tomorrow that I cannot visit or even comprehend.

You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

I never wanted Vic to be like me. Vic was strong, brave, loved, cherished, admired, gentle, loving, forgiving and vulnerable. I am tough, logical and emotionally distant. I allow very few people close to me and, if they betray my love and trust, I cut them out of my life. As a little girl, Vic said to me “I don’t want to be like you Mommy. I just want to be a normal mummy.” Vic was the one who taught me patience, unconditional love, forgiveness and to take a chance on life and love. Vic lived every second of her life. She did not fear emotion. She did not fear love and trust. I pray that her sons will remember these qualities their mother possessed. I pray that they will be more like her than me. I did however love Vic first and everyone else second…

You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the make upon the path of the infinite, and He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer’s hand be for gladness. For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He also loves the bow that is stable.”

I was the bow that send my precious girl-child forth.

The boys do archery as an extracariculum activity. To be a good archer you need consistent anchor points: An anchor point is the place on your face where you pull the string back to consistently. This anchor point should be exactly the same all the time for a consistent grouping of shots. My parents taught me, by example, the importance consistency in values, discipline and love.

An archers grip on the bow handle should be lax and comfortable. My first instinct as a parent was “to grip the bow hard to stabilize it”. My parents taught me to be a comfortable parent. I did my best. I could not do more. No amount of tightening the grip on Vic, her discipline or my love and caring for her would have made me a better parent. My grip was lax and comfortable. My child was an amazing example to the world.

Whether you’re doing target archery, 3D archery, or bow hunting, it is vital to concentrate and focus on one precise spot that you want to hit. As a parent is was difficult to stay focused all the time. Lots of things “get in the way” of parenting. A new love, work, own dreams and ambitions…Yet I gave birth to my incredible baby girl and I knew I had to remain focused. Vic had to come first. She did not chose to be born. I chose to give birth to her.

Archers are told that to be relaxed whilst aiming, is one of the great secrets to success… As a parent it was almost impossible to relax. I spent my child’s life trying to keep her alive. If I relaxed I know it could have led to her death. When your child is sickly, you are overprotective… Today I wish I had relaxed more. I wish I had spent more time discussing things that, mattered to Vic than the number and colour of her bowel movements and vomiting sessions. I wish I had relaxed about her smoking. Smoking did not kill her. Doctors did.

“At the heart of it, mastery is practice. Mastery is staying on the path.” With parenting we practice as we go. We don’t ever stop or give up. I wish that we had more gladness in our lives and less sorrow and pain.

What I am certain of is that I was a stable bow. I was unwavering in my love and commitment to Vic and now her boys. The Great Archer held us in His great Hands.

I found this beautiful poem on http://warrenlgdemills.com/2013/05/11/umbilical-cords-a-mothers-day-poem/. Warren is an amazing poet and I have found much solace in his words.

Umbilical Cords – A Mother’s Day Poem
Posted: May 11, 2013 in Affections
Tags: love, mother’s day, poems, Poetry 1

Umbilical cords
Are but metaphors
To represent the eternal
Connection between mother
And child.

Though that cord may be severed
That love supersedes the bonds of death.
For they are the cords of life!

When a child is born
so is a mother.
It is the graduation of a girl
To a woman.
The transition from
Woman to mother.
The ascension of adult
To goddess, creator of life.

Oh great goddess,
Would you understand
The power within you?
Would you fathom
the role you play
On the stage of life?

By your love
Is a great man groomed.
By your neglect
is his future family doomed.
By your touch
Is intimacy first understood.
By your hand
Does he separate bad from good.

Oh great goddess,
For every good child
Reared from your breast
There is a star in the cosmos
To be named after you.

Though that cord was cut
You replaced it with one unseen
Your care, patience for years,
To provide the world with one more
Decent young man to make this world
A better place.

-WLGDM

When a child dies…

“When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for which has been your delight”. ~ Kahlil Gibran.

At times the pain and feelings of desolate loss is overwhelming. I know it is because I loved Vic so much. I am grieving because I miss my child, the mother of my grandchildren, my friend. I miss drinking endless cups of tea…. sometimes laughing and sometimes weeping.

I have grown used to not constantly checking my text messages when I sit in meetings. I have actually forgotten my phone at home on two occasions. I miss the countless phonecalls, finding little notes everywhere…. a soft kiss on the forehead.

When a parent dies, you lose your past; when a child dies, you lose your future. – Anonymous

Extra tablets for your birthday…

A year ago I posted this…

Tomorrow, on the 31st of August, we will once again celebrate Vic’s life! Every year, for the past 10 years, we expected it to be Vic’s last birthday. Today I know that Vic will live forever. She will continue to fight for another day, week, month, year…. Tomorrow we celebrate life!!

Tonight I sat doing Vic’s medication for the next 24 hours, and I popped an extra Jurnista into tomorrow morning’s tablets. Janis Ian sings “and in the winter extra blankets for the cold…” and I sing ” and on your birthday extra tablets for the pain….. My gift to Vic an extra tablet so she can a better day.

So, on the eve of my child’s birthday I am sitting thinking of what my prayer for Vic would be if I still knew how to pray.

I would pray for adequate pain relief. I would pray for some quality of life time for Vic with her boys. I would pray for Vic to have financial independence. I would pray for Vic to have peace of mind. I would pray that Vic would have enough faith in her dad and I to know it is okay to let go…the boys will be safe with us.

I do thank God that Vic is still alive. I thank God for Dr Jabber Hussain and Jurnista. I thank God for Vic’s incredible boys. I thank God for the brave decision that Vic made not to have further surgery. Above all, I thank God that Vic is home.

Tomorrow Vic will have a busy day. She has a 08:00 breakfast appointment with Lee, a 10:00 manicure booked by Esther, afternoon tea (at home) with Robbie Cramp and then dinner at a restaurant of her choice with the boys and us. I know it will take a superhuman effort but I have “rests” scheduled for the birthday girl in between events.

What is a relatively quiet day for us is a marathon for anyone as ill as Vic. I know that she will try so hard to survive the birthday and the party day. Somehow I don’t think she will manage it all. I just hope that she has a good day so she can spend some constructive time with her boys. They will need to remember this as a good birthday in years to come…..

On Saturday we will celebrate all the August/September birthdays. Vic on the 31st of August, Henk on the 2nd of September and Tom on the 4th of September…. I hope Vic will be able to handle two busy days in a row. Maybe the birthday high will carry her through it!

We have a family tradition of doing “birthday eulogies”. Everyone present gets to say something nice about the birthday person. Over the years I have told Vic how brave she is, what a fighter she is, how beautiful she is. This year I will I will merely thank her for being here!

Everything else has been said.

In three day’s time…

In three day’s time we will celebrate Vic’s birthday.

On Monday, at Heathrow airport, I unthinkingly picked up a bottle of “Beautiful” perfume. I looked at the bottle of perfume and put it down as if it was a snake that was ready to strike… Vic is dead. This year she will not wake up to the sound of us singing “Happy Birthday”. There will be no shrieks of “Oh, thank you! This is EXACTLY what I wanted!” There will be no birthday party this year.

Vic opening her birthday gift from her Dad last year. The boys were so excited and everyone wanted to set up the “iPad”…

This year we will light candles for a precious mother, child, friend… We will send prayers to Heaven.

We whisper your name…

Some days I sense Vic’s closeness. I sometimes smell her. But I cannot touch her. I cannot hear her voice.

The boys and I light candles for you my precious baby…

We whisper your name

The boys write your name in the sand…

You send us feathers from Heaven….

How we miss your brave smile…

How I miss reaching out and being able to touch you

Holding you my precious child…

Yesterday, today, forever……

I love you Angel Child!

“Time takes us farther away…”

I have battled to blog. I feel that my words are rehashed from one post to the next. My emotions are the same.

My DiL and the three girls have spent 3 weeks in South Africa. It has been amazing hearing the patter of little feet down the passages, shrieks of laughter and anger… I will always cherish the little arms around my neck, the warm little bodies in my bed. I cherish the time I got to spend with my DiL; the chats into the early hours of the morning and the countless cups of tea. It reminded me of when Vic was still alive. I dread leaving England on Monday to return to my solitude and grief.

I feel guilty about posting my same tearful stories of grief and I feel guilty that I have become embarrassed by exposing my soul to the world – friend and foe alike.

The past four weeks life has been easier. I have laughed and smiled. I have had fun.

In 8 days’ time it is Vic’s birthday. I am filled with trepidation as to how I will cope. The second I think of Vic, tears well up in my eyes and there is this stabbing pain in my heart. I have decided that I will not move Vic’s ashes into the garden. Vic will remain on the sideboard where I can see her and run my hand over her little casket. Vic will not be exiled into the garden. She is part of our lives and she will remain exactly where she is.

I am wondering whether I should bake Vic favourite chocolate cake… The boys want to send up Chinese Lanterns we actually wrote messages on, on New Year’s Eve 2010. Vic was desperately ill in hospital and moved into ICU on the 1^st of January 2010. She was devastated. The staff allowed us to spend the evening with her.

Vic being moved to ICU on New Years Day 1

At 12 O Clock we went outside to send up the Chinese lanterns. It rained and we undertook to do it when Vic was home again. Somehow we never did. When we returned to the ward, the staff had assembled in the visitors lounge. Someone had conducted a Mid-Night service. The staff sang beautifully and prayed for the patients. Many of them laid hands on Vic. Vic cried. Jon-Daniel was inconsolable. We all cried.

One of my blogger friend’s sent me this email “Oh, Tersia. You are held tight in the grip of horrific grief. Simply knowing that someday you will wrench free from such a suffocating grasp brings no relief at this moment. You already know you cannot fight it. Flow with the “ocean of tears.” A great deal of the horror is behind you, but you are reliving it. I distinctly remember that the WORST time in my grief came at six months and followed me until the end of the first year. Like an amputation without anaesthesia – you are deeply suffering and so many people feel your pain. Keep writing, crying and feeling. The ocean of tears will take you to a new shore. Time takes us farther away from our loved one. That is the agony and the anaesthesia. Such conflict that creates! Feel my hug because I’m with you.” http://judyunger.wordpress.com/

Another one of my blogger friends, Julie, is taking a sabbatical from blogging. She wrote “Just until my heart catches up with my voice. So much is happening, and so much is not happening – argh!”

I wonder whether my heart will ever catch up with my voice…

Mother and Child

In the 206 days since Vic died I have never missed her as much as now.

My UK daughter-in-law and her three girls are visiting. The poor little poppets have all had a gastric bug. The girls are amazing and I love them with every fibre in my body and they love me too. What struck me once again this week is that incredible bond between a mother and daughter. When a child is ill they want their Mommy. There is no substitute for a Mommy.

Dr Christiane Northrup, author of the book Mother-Daughter Wisdom (Hay House), says: “The mother-daughter relationship is the most powerful bond in the world, for better or for worse. It sets the stage for all other relationships.”

No other childhood experience is as compelling as a young girl’s relationship with her mother. Mothers impart on their daughters how she feels about being female, what she believes about her body, how she takes care of her health, and what she believes is possible in life.

Jennie Hannan, executive general manager of services at counselling provider Anglicare WA, agrees. “How a woman sees herself, how she is in her adult relationships with partners, and how she mothers her own children, is profoundly influenced by her relationship with her own mother,” she says.

When Vic was ill she wanted her Mommy. Last year, when she had her arm operation, she was so distraught in ICU that the staff asked me to stay with her around the clock. With each and every major surgery she ever had (excluding one knee operation), my face was the first she saw. Vic knew that I stayed outside the ICU until she was released into the ward. More often than not, I was not allowed to sit with her all the time but she knew I was there.

I am not exactly gifted in sewing or knitting… (It was the only subject I ever failed at school) yet I knitted Vic a massive blanket in 2007 sitting outside ICU and next to her hospital bed. I only ever knitted at hospital and I am a very slow knitter. If we had buried Vic I would have buried her wrapped in her blankie… My life ground to an absolute halt when Vic was in ICU or hospital.

Witnessing this incredible bond the past 2.5 weeks has brought back incredible memories of Vic sitting on my lap, her little arms curled around me and her head nestled into my neck. That incredible trust and reliance between us.

My daughter-in-law and I sit and chat into the early hours of the morning. She has a happy disposition. Her life revolves around her family. She has an easy laugh and great sense of humour. If ever I went into a Quiz Show and there was show business section I would want her next to my side. When she goes to bed she gives me a hug. I love this woman for her kindness and compassion.

I realised how much I have missed that companionship, our chats into the early hours of the morning. Somehow it truly made me realise that my child is dead and I am alone.

Jared, Vic’s eldest has come down with the girls’ gastric bug. His dad brought him home early because he wanted to be home…. He got straight into bed. I sat down next to him and asked him how he was feeling. I could hear the tears in his voice when he said “really ill…” I could hear the forlornness in his voice; his longing for his mother to be sitting on his bed.

Dear Mommy… Words could never explain what you mean to me…It always meant so much to me that no matter how bad you felt or how sick you were, you always went out of your way to do anything and everything you could for us… Always going out of your way to make everyone’s life easier especially mine…

You were always my hero… No matter how sick you were every morning you woke up and got dressed. Even if you didn’t do anything you always looked your best…

I love you so much mommy… You made such an impact on everyone’s life that you will never be forgotten…you will forever live in our memories as the bravest woman and best Mommy of all time…

No one will ever be able to replace you…

Jared

Jared is alone today. Jon-Daniel lit candles for Vic when he arrived home. Jon-Daniel is alone today. How can such a tiny, sickly person leave such a horrific void in our lives? A mother and a child cannot be substituted or replaced. It is as simple as this.

Precious Vic, we miss you so much!! We are all feeling miserable without you. We miss that incredible bond we had with you. We want you back at home.

That flight…

Aarthi Raghavan has once again honoured Vic and I with a beautiful poem… Aarthi is a brilliant poet whose work I love! This poem moved me to tears
I honestly know nothing about Aarthi. I do not know whether Aarthi is male or female, single or married, childless of parent…All I know is the heart of this amazing poet.

Aarthi has a pure and compassionate soul, is giving and soulful…Thank you Aarthi for these beautiful words and remembering my precious child.

You have a Gift! And you share it!

After I read this post I printed it and went outside and sat on the swing in Vic’s Angel Garden. The sun was gently setting and the air was cool. I felt Vic’s presence next to me. I feel stupid to write this but I spoke to her out loud. I told her how much I missed her and how huge the void is in my life without her. I read Aarthi’s words to Vic.

I felt her presence in the breeze, I heard her whisper “I love you Mommy” I felt at peace.

Thank you Aarthi for remembering Vic and honouring her with your beautiful words!!! You would truly have adored her.

that flight.

by ART

Vic and Tersia.. they occupy many of my thoughts, day, night, or times when I look for inspiration.. not words.. just inspiration.. that can make me smile, make my heart beat soft, constant and in comfort… I wish to dedicate this poem to a wonderful mother and her amazing daughter, for I know they are inseparable :)

often she smiled
thought to herself
why she had to deserve
all that which was unfair

she thought about her mom
her tears, her smiles
her heart beating in worry
and out of care, out of deep love

she lived her life like none of us
she smiled for special reasons
not fake, real special they were
for they reached your heart

they tried so hard
to seek happiness together
make memories forever
loving all that was on offer

even in the middle of
uncertainties
they managed
to share their stories

they made me wonder
of the beauty of love,
motherhood
of all things truly beautiful in this world

that flight
which she eventually took
must have been beautiful
freeing her from a lot of things

making her ever more precious
in our hearts
in our memories
in our thoughts
in our lives…

i wish i could have seen her
in person
made her smile
and then had a chance
to smile with her

it would have been bliss
indeed
to have a friend like her
to have been happy as her
for she is truly special…

:) I love you guys.. and I love your words Tersia… I will forever be glad to have met you.. even if it were through words…

http://citystone.wordpress.com/2012/10/23/to-vic-and-her-wonderful-mom/

http://citystone.wordpress.com/2013/08/06/that-flight/

https://tersiaburger.com/tag/httpsickocean-wordpress-comauthormysticparables/

http://sickocean.wordpress.com/category/poetry/

http://citystone.wordpress.com/2013/08/06/even-if-i-write-it/

The whimper

I am in such a bad place. I have been trying to write a post for 4 days. Words elude me.

Very dear friends of ours lost their son and two granddaughters on Thursday. It is a family murder/suicide and my heart is breaking for the family. Our friend, the father of the son who committed suicide (and murder) phoned on Wednesday night to hear how I was coping with Vic’s 6 month anniversary… On Thursday – on Vic’s 6 month anniversary I sympathised with him and his wife on their devastating loss….

I am in shock (as is the entire community) and heartbroken for our friends, his parents and the grandparents of the two beautiful girls. I fear for the mother of the girls. Her life is out of danger, but I cannot imagine her pain or imagine her recovery and healing…

I have been thinking about how different our grief is but I will write later. Now I have to cry.

Reposted from http://reneejulene.com/2013/07/11/the-whimper/ There is a sound that somehow I had forgotten. I don’t know how I forgot it because it is a sound that I am all too familiar with. It is the sound of a broken heart. It is the sound of the leveling of the soul. It is the sound of exhaustion. It is the sound of anguish. It is the noise made after there are no more tears. Losing a child is not loud, forceful and superficial. It is quiet, deep and profound. It is the saddest sound of all. It is the whimper of a mother who has lost a part of her very being, her child.

http://www.toms-travels.net/wp-content/uploads/2012/12/3candles.jpg

William Shakespeare and his grief

In 1596, while writing the play “King John”, Shakespeare’s 11-year-old son, Hamnet, died. In “King John” William Shakespeare offers us a glimpse of what it means to truly live with grief: to accept its presence into one’s daily life.

Shakespeare’s overwhelming grief is evident in the words of Constance.

http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O133688/constance-and-arthur-shakespeare-king-oil-painting-stothard-thomas/

Synopsis of The King – http://www.shakespeare-literature.com/King_John/0.html

Richard I, also known as Geoffrey Plantagenet, also known as Richard Cordelion is killed by a man named Austria. As left in Richard’s will, his youngest brother John becomes Richard’s successor to the crown of England. However, Constance, widow of Richard’s younger (and John’s older) brother Geoffrey, feels that her adolescent son, Arthur, should have become the new king of England. Constance appeals to the King of France, Philip, to help her oust John from the throne and place Arthur on it. A third claim to the throne appears (though none of the characters ever acknowledge him) in the personage of Philip, a bastard son of Richard I, actually older than Arthur, and much more similar in manners and looks to Richard I than Arthur is. John knights the Bastard (as he is called throughout by Shakespeare) and allows him to accompany him to the city of Algiers (in France) where they, along with Queen Elinor (the mother of both King John and Richard I), confront King Philip (of France). King Philip is actually helped by the man Austria, supposedly since Austria is sorrowful for having killed Richard I. King Philip’s son, Prince Lewis (the Dauphin), also helps his father threaten King John.

The two kings and their armies fight one another to prove which is the true king of England to Hubert, a leader in Algiers. Hubert cannot be convinced, and instead offers a compromise whereby Prince Lewis marries Blanch, daughter of Richard I and niece to King John. The kings agree and the marriage is settled, with the dowry including some outlying British lands and peace between King John and King Philip. To appease Arthur, and more-so his mother Constance, King John makes Arthur the Duke of Britain and Earl of Richmond. Constance does not appreciate the titles, since she only wants her son Arthur to be king. The Bastard does not approve of the marriage and entitlements, and fears bad things will become of it.

On the wedding day, Cardinal Pandulph (a legate under the Pope) arrives and orders King John to allow the Papal chosen Archbishop of Canterbury to take office, an act that King John had not been allowing. King John continues to disobey the Pope’s wishes, and consequently, Pandulph excommunicates King John. Out of fear of repercussions, King Philip abandons his peace with King John and war breaks out again. During battle, the Bastard kills Austria (in revenge for Austria killing Richard I, the Bastards’s father), King John captures Algiers, and John captures Arthur. John orders Hubert to return to England with Arthur and to kill him, hoping Arthur’s death will secure John’s title to the throne (reminiscent of Richard III). Pandulph suggests to Prince Lewis that he try to become King of England, playing on the English subjects’ inevitable outrage over Arthur’s sure-to-come future murder by King John.

Hubert tries to burn out Arthur’s eyes (an unexplained shift from murder), but cannot, though he tells King John that Arthur is dead. The English Lords denounce King John for killing Arthur and secede to help Prince Lewis. In sorrow over the kidnapping and death of her son, Constance dies. Queen Elinor also dies, though reasons are not given. Hubert then tells John that Arthur is in truth alive, cheering him up, though unbeknownst to anyone, Arthur has leapt to his own death from a castle wall. King John repents to the Pandulph and is reinstated into the church. War on English soil ensues with the Bastard actually leading the army and acting as the King, since King John falls ill and seems incapable of making decisions. The Bastard’s army wins the day’s battles. A dying Frenchman, Melun, warns the English Lords that Lewis plans on beheading them as soon as the battle with the English is over, so the Lords switch back to King John’s side. Resting at a monastery, a monk poisons King John, though the monk himself dies after tasting the food for King John. King John’s son Prince Henry shows up (a fourth claim to the English throne) in time to witness his father’s death. Pandulph convinces the French to make peace and return to France, and Prince Henry is named the new king. Time period is approx. 1210-1216 A.D. Also, King John signed the Magna Carta, though Shakespeare makes no mention of this.

Not unlike any mother Constance characterizes Arthur as “my all the world” and “my sorrow’s cure.” She exults in his beauty and his royal birth, hangs over him with adoration, and sees his infant brow already encircled with the diadem.

When bereaved of her son, grief not only “fills the room up of her absent child,” but seems to absorb every other faculty and feeling — even pride and anger. In her grief she of him only as her “Pretty Arthur” and not a future king.

“Grief fills the room up of my absent child.
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me.
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words.
Remembers me of all his gracious parts.
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form.
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.”

No other feeling can be traced through her frantic scene; it is grief only — a, mother’s heart-rending, soul-absorbing grief — and nothing else. Not even indignation nor the desire for revenge interferes with its soleness and intensity.

In 1725 Alexander Pope decried Constance’s extravagant mourning as unworthy of Shakespeare’s genius.

It is clear that Pope did not see what Shakespeare so masterfully portrayed… Constance as a typical mother… It is also clear that Shakespeare had experienced and lived with the ignorance and insensitivity of friends and maybe even family….

“Grief fills the room up of my absent child…”

CARDINAL PANDULPH: “You hold too heinous a respect of grief.”

CONSTANCE: “He talks to me that never had a son.”

KING PHILIP: “You are as fond of grief as of your child.”

Other quotes that reflect Shakespeare’s insight into grief.

“My grief lies all within
And these external manners of lament
Are merely shadows to the unseen grief
That swells with silence in the tortured soul.”

“Give sorrow words. The grief that does not speak whispers the o’er-fraught heart, and bids it break.”

I am hopeful that Shakespeare experienced true friendship in his grief and that these words were not a cry, but rather an acknowledgement of love and friendship received.

“He that is thy friend indeed,
He will help thee in thy need:
If thou sorrow, he will weep;
If thou wake, he cannot sleep:
Thus of every grief in heart
He with thee does bear a part.
These are certain signs to know
Faithful friend from flattering foe.”

http://thinkexist.com/quotation/he_that_is_thy_friend_indeed-he_will_help_thee_in/330866.html

“Every one can master a grief but he that has it.”

William Shakespeare plays shows great insight into the grief. He words continue to speak for grieving people even today.

I feel so rudderless today. I cannot even articulate my own grief….

http://www.shakespeare-online.com/plays/characters/constancebio.html

http://www.consolatio.com/2005/04/grief_fills_the.html

http://shakespeare.mit.edu/john/john.3.4.html

http://www.opentohope.com/400-years-later-shakespeare-still-wise-about-grief/

http://hearingshakespeare.blogspot.com/2012/07/have-i-reason-to-be-fond-of-grief.html

http://www.archive.org/stream/cu31924013161322/cu31924013161322_djvu.txt

Vic’s ashes

I truly felt that I should shatter some of Vic’s ashes at Chaka’s Rock. Once I got there I started doubting the wisdom of my decision. We walked on the beach and I waited for a sign….for a white feather to find me.

Friday morning it was time to return home. I had still not received a feather….and Vic was coming home with us – all intact!

The boys and I decided to scatter flowers for Vic. She loved symbolic actions!

It was a pretty dismal day. It was as if the angels were sad for us too… It was gently drizzling when we made our way to the beach. We decided to go to Vic’s favourite spot. Every single year Vic would insist on getting to the beach at least once! She walked with drips stands, we pushed her in her wheelchair, and we carried her to the edge of the water.

The tide was coming in. For a while we just stood on the beach staring at the sea. Looking at the gentle waves crushing on the sand I knew that the flowers would be washed out again.

I tossed the first flower. The boys followed suit…

I stood there mesmerised by the ethereal life of the crashing waves. It was as if the waves whispered “I was here and I lived a life”… Waves formed, were pushed toward the shore, where they collapsed and returned to the ocean. Sometimes waves leave behind ocean treasures they have picked up and carried along with them. Sometimes, the foam, created when air mixes into the water, is the only thing left behind. On Friday the waves carried the flowers back and forth – back and forth crushing the flowers and disposing of the gentle pedals.

The boys and I wrote on the sand. The waves erasing our words….

We stood and our tears mingled with the salty sea water.

The flower pedals were strewn on the beach in the shape of a half heart…

After a long time we left. Our faces wet from the rain and our tears.

Strangely we were at peace. We had survived another first. Next year we will return to Chaka’s with some old memories but also with new memories!

https://tersiaburger.com/2013/07/03/i-am-waiting-for-a-sign/

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