Greta

I don't think grief resolves. I think we hold it like a coin, flipping back and forth. I'm really trying to see and carry both sides of the coin like open palms. I am horrified to read about Marty's departure. She is irreplaceable. I am grieving.

My prayers and heart go out to you. Compound shocks, repeated thunder, no available shelter. There are many loving arms here. I come here to cry, and read beautiful thoughts by compassionate people. I am helped by the support others show others, as I am most pained by the harm others cause others. Nothing is worse than helpless waiting. There is nothing to do but breathe in and out. Remember to eat and above all else, protect your sleep, by whatever means necessary. All love, Greta

I too am tired of resisting the truth of impermanence and the reality of loss. I come here, read posts, cry, feel kinship in sorrow and occasionally shriek in shame and despair. Harry, your words are strong and go straight to the heart of my struggle. It is some sort of penultimate struggle to let go and let "God." I am grateful for all of you. Last time I was on, I deleted my post because I was embarrassed by my desperation. I have a "stop and start" style I do not like. I am unreliable.

I sold a house because of bad memories, too quickly and rather carelessly. I simply stayed in a motel for months and months relishing the simplicity of a suitcase. I simply ran. Planning is essential, and impossible at this moment. My heart goes out to you. Greta

Thank you for keeping us safe, Marty. I know of no other site (and unfortunately) not that many therapists that take care of their people with such diligence and constancy.

Happy Birthday Mary! Your posts have given me endless comfort. Do something outrageous today. xx

Dear People, I'm so sorry for the last post. I am heartbroken, and we all, all of us here, know that how one handles grief defines one's character. I didn't know how little character I had until I lost my mother, lost my family, lost my connection to some larger family of decent human beings. I'm sorry. Greta

Post deleted. I apologize ... don't know how to delete topic.

I haven't posted in a long time. Harry, your poem is powerful and true. Sadloser, you are not a loser though you have lost. I hear and I have known utter despair. My mother's death was an atomic bomb -- each family member's character revealed in the flash, each destiny determined by proximity to blast -- the actual caretaker is soaked with sweat and swims in "hot" rivers of radioactive tears with half-lives of 7 kazillyun dark-years. Harry, you got me started. My family blew up after my mother's death. I didn't want to see what I saw in the flash. I was surprised. I felt sorry for her in a way I never did when she was with me. I felt ashamed of my sisters with good reason. At first I wore their shame. I don't don that shroud every day now, though I am no example of shining recovery. My mother died on a plane 17 November 1998 with me on the other side of the bathroom door. We were on a bereavement flight back home to Denver, having just buried Mom's brother and my closest, closest most beloved Uncle Bill. They died exactly one week apart, exactly at 9:15 at night, and boy-oh-boy did my more "fundamentally" religious family object to my impression that she was simply taken up to be with Bill and Daddy; Daddy, whom we had nursed for a long eight years at the farm. I apologize for rambling, but I am beginning to realize that what I saw back then and what I felt back then, how my people behaved back then -- I have spent years and years wishing my sisters were different, and they, of course, are the same, as am I. I've done amazing things in the intervening years. Despair propelled me into deeper study, travel, originality. But every Christmas I am in the States, I am the little Matchstick Girl, my nose against the window. Truth demands, after so many years, admitting to myself that death is surrounded by such a great variety of losses and broken bits that I cannot and time did not mend my family. Sadloser (just sad and [temporarily] lost) great flowers can grow from despair. The most beautiful flowers. I know all about the weeds ... but bit by bit ... your roots will hold and your blooms will thrive. I am in a season of grief, and the weather forecast is shamefilled sleet and slippery perspective. I can't wait for sunshine and summer.

tytybaby, I too am sorry for your loss. I kept a voice mail message from my mother on my home phone until I sold my house. Deleting is difficult for me. I don't want to delete anything connected with her. Elaine, Such good advice ... leave it for now. Gamer, Your posts are so very sweet and caring. You've a pure heart. Jude, I hope you're well. You're so right about Marty ... she's an intuitive healer, isn't she? She quite literally saved my life. I have been so very, very angry, my loss was so long ago, I thought I had no place to go. Marty welcomed me so warmly and firmly, her suggestions so spot-on and re-directive ... I too am grateful for our loving listener and guide. Marty, Your warmth and wisdom support all of us. You're a wonderful teacher. My gratitude is boundless. I met a librarian today whose grandchild was murdered by the father. They still have the trial to go through, and even though we're strangers (were strangers) she asked me over for coffee next week. Somehow, my re-cycling period has opened doors in my own heart. Such an encounter might have frightened me before, but I can channel responses from loving hearts on this site. I'm learning to be open again. I referred her to this site. I'm so very, very grateful for this site and the people who come here. I don't judge myself so harshly after reading others' stories. I'm less afraid, even hopeful. Greta

Dear Lee, I'm so glad you found your way here. You will be made wonderfully welcome, I assure you. I too lost too many people too close together. My most favorite uncle died, despite my desperate deal-making with God, and on the way home from the funeral, Mom died on the plane. They were best friends, and died a week apart, almost to the minute. I felt like he lifted her off the plane (from his mouth to God's ear). I will always miss them; they were my best friends (and greatest champions). My kids are slightly older than you. I was away in Europe for a long time and we too drifted apart. I guess I took for granted that I would always be their mom, no matter what. There are great people on this site with lots of comfort and wisdom. I'm learning a lot from them. It helps. You can say anything you like, no matter your mood. Up one day and down the next -- all is normal. You sound like a great guy. Keep writing. I'm a beginner here, and I'm not very skilled at offering comfort, but I'm so very, very sorry for your loss, and your "occupational" isolation. Breathe deeply, eat well, and smile at strangers. I wish I were better at this. If you were standing in front of me, I'd give you a hug. Crying is good. Grieving takes it's own course, has its own clock. You're in my prayers. Greta

Dear All, Has anyone advice on helpless rage? I need spiritual and practical advice. I can't handle medication. I tried Prozac ages ago (while nursing my Dad) and stopped because I became obsessed with my mother's vodka (I'm not much of a drinker, but ........ wow! I couldn't get enough) AND obsessed with suicidal ideas. Years later, I tried Paxil, and three weeks later slit my wrists. Peter Breggin http://www.breggin.com/ is largely responsible for exposing risks to adults. I'm sure it works for some people, but not for me. I know the medication issue is taboo here ... just relating my own experience. SSRI's are not an option. Nor is Xanex or Valium (and it's babies, Ativan, etc.). I like those drugs, I like 'em a lot, but they only mask the pain (for me). Ativan is a great drug, will stop a seizure in it's tracks, helps with sleep -- just not good for me, except temporarily. I have to find a way to overcome my anger. I am eating myself alive with rage and sorrow. I was my parent's caregiver for many, many years. My older sisters really didn't show up, except to criticize. My oldest sister still maintains I am responsible for my mother's death, on a plane, on a bereavement flight home from her brother's funeral. Mom had a stroke on the toilet, with me waiting on the other side of the door. Waiting, waiting. Since then, I have been cut out of the family. No Christmas, no Fourth of July, no Thanksgiving. I wasn't included this year either, and I begged. I begged and begged, and cried and cried. Death is unfair, and Life is unfair, and I have slipped back into older, darker places that I thought were on a high shelf, dealt with and put away. I am ashamed of my anger, and ashamed of my inability to let go of people who don't want me. I understand, because I hate myself as much as they hate me. I know this is an awful post. Please don't send me away; I will listen to any advice any of you have. Please don't send me away. I am ashamed of my failure to cope. I've got to get strong, and get strong quick. I'm ashamed of my helplessness when I used to be so strong. Please don't send me away. Greta

Dear Susie, Thank you for your beautiful post. It made me cry. Everything seems so purposeless sometimes. How beautiful of the family to set a place at the table to honor your husband and his gift of life. Imagine such joy born of such sorrow. Truly a beautiful post. Bless you. Greta

On my first trip to London, a very dear friend took me out on a nightwalk to listen to the blackbirds ... tiny creatures with yellow eyeliner and beaks, who can imitate anything -- babies crying, conversation, other animals. They belong to the same Genus as our North American robin (though smaller), and lay blue eggs. I loved their mysterious nightly gatherings on rooftops and trees, discussing politics, poetry and lost loves. I am convinced they possess language and are ardent debaters. One morning, I heard a bird caught in the plumbing shaft of my building, calling, calling ... I know this is very dark, and I apologize for that, but sometimes things happen so suddenly and so finally and so tragically. One mis-step and the world disappears. Blackbird blackbird caught, down the shaft ringing through the building calling, talking to his friends chirruping her children oh blackbird, my Europe bird of Plzen, Prague and London from tree and ledge, in human tones holds forth the robin's cousin cousin of my mama's robin singing in a pit echoing through the pipes and walls of panelak and heart sweet doomed soul, how far the light too high; there is no purchase. one mis-step and the world disappears and the dark sinks its claw in the eye One flawed breath while singing or soaring or dreaming of trees that grow in the sky one heartbeat, then nothing. Death is a seal. no blinking or hand-clasp or breathing a moment of error or anger or terror that cannot be altered or dyed or made smaller by drying or cleaning or speaking or time and time is so short, when everything's lost the light can't be reached and there's no hope of dawn eggs yet unlaid and flights yet unflown and hours to love and to sing the last songs Greta Hansen, 2007 panelak: stacked flats, apartment building