Recovery is slow, but greater things are yet to come

I am enjoying sitting and reading and of course listening.

I have just heard a song whose chorus says "greater things are yet to come" and I believe it. There is so much of a practical nature to accomplish and at the same time the depth of the loss gets deeper. The more I think about her , the more I miss her.

And now there will be more. It's hard to explain in this medium but more loss is expected and soon. It all makes total sense for those involved, but some of us will be left behind, thankfully not like the book series.

Recovery is slow but it is happening. So many things remind me of Ruth. Having her things reminds me, seeing her written instructions for a Rhubarb cake reminds me, looking at and dealing with the things in her purse reminds me. She too kept things for a long time.

Recovery means getting better and believing that greater things are yet to come, even in the midst of this great loss. I guess that greater things might even trump the great loss at some time. I have to believe that because being positive is so much better than being negative and being dragged down will not happen. Life will find a way and in the midst of more loss, joy will return, first ion memories, then in activities and then in greater laughter when reunions occur. Yes, recovery is slow, but greater things are yet to come.

Waves of Grief

I can't remember it being like this. The grief comes and goes like massive waves crashing on me like the ocean. There are relative times of peace or is it just distraction? Then the next wave comes and it washes over me and is bitter like the gallons of salt water at the sea.

I can't and won't control it. It is a message that I still have a heart. I want to cry again but I am now afraid that I won't stop again. Once again that fear of losing it to the despair sits on my shoulder and says go ahead and see what happens.

What love is this, that I miss you so much that I need constant distraction to drive you out. I don't want to drive you out though, I want to remember you and I want to smile and laugh with abandon and in joy. I can't look at the pictures yet, I can't see you like that, I have to remember you before cancer eat it's way through your beautiful body. More than a shell you were, you were a vessel of great beauty that was used to reflect His great joy and peace to so many other people.

The waves still crash on this ragged shore. He had no idea what collateral damage would be when he acted out  2 years ago. He had no clue because he was so selfish and because of that many more are left to mourn a greater loss.

What a weird thought, if he hadn't done it, then I wouldn't have this loss to speak about. Not that I am about to thank him, but it does make me think and know that all these actions are related and someone is in control, no matter what.

Numb including the skull

Buried and memorialized in less than three days. How could it be over that quick?

After what seems like a lifetime of interaction, I will never see her again this side if heaven. What is positive about that? I am tired, angry, lost, hurt, so sad and in such a deep place right now. I want to talk with her again, I want to know how she is, I want to know if she has warmed up yet, the last time I touched her she was so cold, I hated it.

I know I'm not supposed to ask why. But I'm just not that good that I can't ask it. Why and how is this part of some perfect plan? Why couldn't she live longer, why did it have to be this way? How can the survivors manage given the depth of the loss? Never mind the rest of us with no blood relationship to her. I know that at some time all will be revealed and I will have a great big aha moment, but it just isn't working for me right now. I am so tired it seems that everything hurts right now.

There's been too much taken from these little ones. Am I jealous of her peace? You bet I am but I don't begrudge her of the absence of her pain, I am glad for that, but why did it have to be this way? I can't seem to find the peace to this right now.

I haven't cried this much ever. I cried during church today because the songs reminded me so much of her. I cried when I was finishing her eulogy on the computer. I cried when I practiced the song for her in sound checks. But when it came time to deliver, I made it through. I have the ability to turn that part off when needed, but now I can't turn this part off.

I need sleep. I am hurting so much and I am so numb at the same time. I am hurting physically, emotionally and even spiritually. Is there an answer? Do I just do what I told all these people to do today? I'm not sure I believe myself anymore I don't even know what I believe, I need sleep and soon.

To sleep perchance to dream. No thanks, I have no interest in dreaming right now, I just want to shut the lines down and rest. The demands of tomorrow scare me, how can I perform well given what I just went through?

I am numb and angry, sad and tired, lonely for her voice and her gentle voice to talk to the shepherd, he'll know, he'll understand, he's been lonely, sad, hurt, numb, he's been there.

I hate it cancer and death stink.

So hard to let go

I lost a friend today. She was so much more than a friend to me. She went peacefully at 5:40 am, I saw her within ten minutes and sat and cried as I have never cried before. She was certainly a mother figure, a mentor, an example and someone who was more real than most people I have met. We talked daily for over two years and we didn't just talk about the weather. We talked about deep life experiences and the effect of great losses on our lives. We always talked about the bible. For the past 2 + years I have been able to read my bible daily and from these readings at least one verse stood out for her and her husband. She  gave me a purpose that I have not felt before. I was responsible for keeping her up to date in my life. Through this I was also responsible for not giving up, but for ensuring that I kept reading as I had agreed to.

I'm supposed to write a eulogy for her. I have never written one before and it is weighing heavily on me. What do I say about her that borders on such a personal relationship? She did not want too much made of her in this memorial service. She didn't want people to hear all the good things about her, rather she wanted people to hear about what and who she believed in.

She was a Christ follower. She knew the bible well. She had committed much of the bible to memory and much of her personal bible was covered in highlighted parts. These verses spell out her life and her relationship with her Lord.

So many people have said: "she's no longer in pain" and that is true, but the selfish me wants her still here so I can draw deep from the well that she is. The selfish me wants her here longer than her creator does and I have to listen to Him and "let her go". But it's too hard to do that. I wasn't finished with her yet, I wanted so much more from her and I realize that her body was worn out beyond her time frame and she needed to go home. She even said it several days ago, when asked she nodded that she was tired of this earth and wanted to go and visit with her daughter and her Lord.

And there she is, meeting Val and Jesus who said t her "well done good and faithful servant enter into your rest". She needed and deserved rest, while I still have work to accomplish. I have practical things to do for her, her husband and their grandchildren and I have much more to do. I will follow my path and wait for my turn to break free from this harsh world. Today I fight with letting go, some day I will be be waiting to go and see her again.

It's still too hard to let go, but there is coming a day when I will see her again. When that day arrives, I will have no pain, there will be no tears and death will be defeated and there will be no more dying and that's a much better prospect.

Commenting stopped again

As soon as I opened up the possibility to comment, I once again received either spam or comments from someone who chooses to comment in a language that I cannot read. I do not wish to hear from someone who refuses to communicate with me in a language that I understand.

Based on this, I have once again suspended the ability to comment. There are ways for me to control who comments and I am in the process of investigating those now. You may have to become a member of this blog to be able to comment. I will post soon to advise how to do that if you wish.

Until then I will miss your welcomed and english feedback

Why is it so hard to let go?

A loved one lies dying and I don't want to let go. The weird thing is we have only known each other for two years and four months and I love her as if she was my mother. In the time since that terrible day when her daughter was taken, she and I have developed a deep relationship. She had so much to share that many others also were recipients of her gift of love, joy, laughter and loco parentis. She became "mother" to many of us, her new family and we welcomed the mothering. Now we are taking care of her and her remaining family because the mounting losses are encroaching on them from what appears to be all sides.

I hate cancer. I hate what it has done to her and to so many others. She on the other hand accepted her difficulties with the same grace that expresses the deepest faith I have ever seen. How can one woman be so deeply gifted and yet so deeply challenged? God knows and just like Job and his patience, she walked with God and would not curse Him for His choices. No, she welcomed God's plans, because His plans are higher than her plans and His thoughts are higher than her thoughts. She trusted in Him that He would deliver her from all of this and one day He will provide her with a heavenly body, with no pain, no death, no dying and no more tears.

I already miss her. All that is left is a shell and the ability to barely move. I want to turn the clock back and talk, we had daily "dates" where we would talk about the bible, life, the children, the sadness and the joys. Now, we communicate by my reading the bible to her, by the gentle touch of a hand, by a tender kiss and by her blinking her eyes. I have learned so much from this wonderful woman that it may take years to unpack the thoughts. In the meantime, I will let go ever so slowly.

What is this great plan? For what reason were we introduced to this family? She said yes to a simple invitation to stay in our home after her great loss. If she had said no, none of this would have involved us. But, she said yes. She chose to invite us into her world and then in her loss she brightened our lives. I feel strangely guilty for getting so much because of her loss. And now I watch her as she fades from this world into eternity. She goes confidently into the dark night. She does not fear because she knows where she is going and I will miss her greatly.

But why? There I said it, why? I want to shake my fist and scream why. I don't want to lose another Mother.  I know I will soon and the demands of the practical will take over and I will be busy, but I will not let go.

Talkin' about dreaming....... (no spoilers)

I posted about dreams the other day and wondered aloud about what has happened to dreams and dreamers. And then I went to see "Inception". There are no spoilers in this post.

The tradition in our house is that at least once each summer when both my kids (young adults) are home that they go to a movie with Dad. We delayed this years instalment as long as possible because I am still in recovery mode. We didn't want to mess with tradition (who does?), so last Saturday (yesterday) I sat way too long watching a movie. Enough about bad decisions, the good one was going to see "Inception".

All three of us loved the movie. What a great flick. The story reminded me of some of the studies I researched in the early 1980's in my experiential psychology courses at Brock University. One set of studies was regarding "lucid" dreams. One of my professor's (Dr. Harry Hunt) and I planned to do some replication studies about the relationship between lucid dreams and migraine headaches. Unfortunately, my career got in the way and I quickly completed my degree and joined the rest of the working world. If I remember correctly we were going to try to replicate the work of Oliver Sacks (yes, he of "Awakenings" fame and so much more) including sleep studies etc. Oh well, that never happened. I wonder how Dr. Hunt is by the way?

Back to the movie; having been directed not to watch previews by my children, I was nervous about what I was going to see, I asked my daughter about parts that might make me jump (not good for the recovery), I laughed out loud, I was amazed, shocked, rarely scared, but did jump once (just a little one, more pane than pain). There is no political mumbo jumbo, no attacks on Bush, or Obama (although that might be fun for a change). There are tons of reviews out there, but the best review is the people. Are we all lead astray like a flock of sheep on this one? I don't know, you'll just have to decide for yourself. But, it will be very baaaaaaaaaad if you miss this one.

Immediately following the film while driving home, I said to the kids that I might not go and see this movie again, and then within ten minutes I announced to them that in fact I do want to go and see it again, and soon. That's my review, in ten minutes I realized that there was probably so much that I missed that I just might want to see it again. I think I'll wait for a few more weeks before I go, I'm still sore from yesterday.

That was a dream that lasted 128 minutes.

Some people think the flight attendant is a hero?

I don't get it.

The guy was sworn at (allegedly) and got bumped on the head by a piece of luggage. It appears that someone on the plane didn't play by the FAA rules, and of course he has been an arbiter of these rules for twenty years.

Does that give him permission to swear at everyone on the plane? (he allegedly used the intercom system), to steal (he took beer that was not his to take) to potentially put people at risk (he opened and then exited by the emergency chute)? Then it is reported that he ran to his car and drove home without finishing his shift (yes I assume that this is not normal end of day practice).

What in this scenario makes this guy a hero? To steal (and modify) a line from an old movie "he got mad as hell and didn't take it anymore". That's not the way I taught my children to respond to difficulty and I bet that many of you out there taught the same. Oh yes there have been days when I might have wanted to say "take this job and shove it", actually to be honest, there was only one time and I didn't do that. I faced the difficulty, created a plan and successfully moved on without burning bridges.

I try to treat others with respect even when I receive disrespect from them. The people I rub shoulders with, work with and many others follow the same standard. They have chosen the higher approach (pun not intended) when they are treated with disrespect because they know that they are called to treat others the way they want to be treated.

When we lash out we do not know what will come back. This person will likely lose his job and potentially pay a higher price for his choice. Yes, it was a choice he made. We all have to take responsibility for our actions. Isn't that something most people learned and then taught their children?

A hero? Definitely not in my opinion. A hero is someone who is admired (although some do admire this person) and also idealized for courage, achievement and nobility. None of these were expressed in his behaviour. This is not the hero I would "hold" up for others to emulate.

Too bad though, he was a twenty year employee and that's quite an achievement isn't it?

Dreaming...............

Does anyone dream anymore? I am not asking about the night terrors, or wonderful imaginations that occur during sleep. I wonder does anyone dream about doing something that hasn't been done by someone else, or done by so few people that it seems almost crazy?

I just read about Ed Stafford on www.walkingtheamazon.com. This man has walked the entire length of the Amazon over the past two years. Can you imagine doing that? I can't even imagine dreaming about doing that. But why? What stops me from dreaming about some "adventure"? Does it have to be an adventure? What is dreaming anyway? One definition speaks of "imagining or inventing something". Life sometimes is so dull that dreaming has become all but forgotten.

When did I last dream? When was the most recent investment of time thinking about and imagining something to complete? Why don't we allow people to "daydream"? This modern culture sees no benefit in sitting and thinking. There is always someone to ask uncomfortably "what are you thinking about" and thereby interrupts the thought process. I can't dream if I can't sit and think uncontested.

As that wise philosopher, Richard O'Brien, once wrote "don't dream it, be it". Maybe he had it right all along and then maybe not. To focus on the accomplishment eventually means the death of the dream, doesn't it? Oh bother, as a certain bear would say.

Can you see the real me? Can ya, can ya?

No I haven't been listening to Quadrephenia lately, however maybe I should. I digress of course, if you have never listened to this wonderful piece by The Who, or haven't listened lately, you should.

I heard someone use similar words to the title of this post today. Then she began to talk about masks and the practice that most of us have in wearing masks to hide who we really are. I do it and you probably do it too, so let's be honest about it.

I'm quite sure I have posted about this before, the Greek actors or "hupokritēs" wore masks just for that reason. They were two sided. We, however can be more than two sided, can't we? "Why" is the question that I have. Why do we determine that we need to wear a mask? Why can't we trust others enough to be open and honest? Why can't we trust ourselves to be open and honest with others.

The question asked is can you see the real me? What or who is the real me? I have spent time in solitude on numerous occasions trying to answer that ever so simple question. I don't need to answer the simplistic questions that can be answered with empirical data. I do need to answer the questions that delve deep past the masks and lies. I need to drill down below the tapes that have been playing for so long. They don't define who I am. That is something that I am happy for.

Can I see the real me, Can I, can I?

I was thinking about sandals recently........

Yes, sandals, and no, not the expensive resort although we have been planning a trip to celebrate our 30th wedding anniversary.

I have been thinking about the piece of foot apparel. I am not developing a fetish, so you can forget about those crazy ideas. I was thinking about these wonderful sandals that my beloved had me buy because they are supportive (both of them, the sandals and my beloved) and they should help me with my recovery. They were not cheap, they weren't even inexpensive, and they will help.

Thinking on those lines, I remembered as a youngster what my father would do in the late spring and early summer, when my feet would be getting too big for my shoes and there was no money for buying new shoes. My dad, along with all the dads on our street and probably most of Walkinstown and Dublin, would cut the front out of the shoes so that my toes could wiggle freely in the air without restriction. There was no shame in all this, everyone did it. Clearly, no one could afford the luxury of new shoes the way that we can buy them to the tune of Imelda Marcos. It doesn't appear to be something that happened in North America, at least my beloved never had this type of home made sandal.

It makes me think of the limited resources that my parents had. The were both born in 1921 and were married on June 5, 1944. They lived through times of abject poverty both in financial and emotional terms. But they found a way. My parents raised 7 children in a home smaller than my first home of 1000 square feet. They didn't have central heating (never mind air conditioning). The heated our home (the home I was born in; 109 Bunting Road, Walkinstown, Dublin 12) with coal. I can still remember the coal delivery days having to put newspapers down to try to minimize the inevitable dust the collier would leave behind. I remember going out to the coal shed to fill the scuttle and bring it in to heat the house. I remember laughter and singing. I remember the angry times too but as I get older the sad and bad memories are being replaced with the good and happy ones. I remember the many Irish Christmas mornings (I celebrated 11 there) and the orange in the stocking. We didn't have and couldn't afford fresh fruit, so Christmas was about more than toy presents, it was about a Jaffa orange, all the way from Israel. There was the mesh packets of Cadbury's chocolate, the annual compendium of games and the books, usually followed by my Dad saying to me "Robin, read everything you can get your hands on, it will be the best education you can get".

My Dad's pet name for me was Robin. I can't recall when that started, probably when I couldn't comprehend anything but food and nappies. He continued to call me that even for many years after we came to Canada. It was one of the ways that he demonstrated fondness towards me. There were many more, I'm sure.

That's what I love about doing this blog thing. One single thought, a mental picture becomes an engine through which my mind takes me through the forgotten recesses of memory. A simple thought about a sandal, a mere piece of footwear, has brought me back 45 or more years. What a gift I have been given with the ability to remember.

I wonder what will stimulate the next venture and bring the next memories to light? I have my book by my side so that when they do arrive like the birds at the feeder, I can write them down so as not to lose the thought.