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MartyT

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Dear Marty

Thank you so much for sharing this!  I resonate!  I feel so lonely at times because I like to talk about the benefits of my losses but it is usually greeted with " the subject being changed " I believe that to be one of my strengths to always see the positive in anything that I have experienced in life, sometimes not right away, but I always find it.  I needed this tonight! 

Thanks again!

Blessings, Carol Ann

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I so agree!  I'm hesitant to mention it sometimes because other grievers can't see any good coming from loss...indeed it's not possible to see in the beginning and we all have a different time table so one person might see it at five years, another might never see it.

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I only found two comments, one of which was yours.

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Thanks, that's a good article, I've found that experience as well.  I'm keeping that article!

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I have someone who is going through this right now with their loved one's impending death, I sent the article for her so she can know what they'll be facing, the kinds of things to talk about with family.  Thank you, it's an exhaustive list.

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This from Christina Rasmussen:

The Long Game After Loss

May 26, 2017 

I am writing to you from eleven years post-loss.

Eleven years of growing, writing, becoming and witnessing what showed up on my path here.

At first, the witnessing was just for me so I could re-enter but around year four or five it became ‘witnessing for you’ so I could help you re-enter.

These letters I write to you every week are from the future and they are sent back to you so you could find your way.

This specific letter is about helping you have patience and persistence as you go forth.

This journey is long my darling and I wish it wasn’t.

Not only for your healing but for the new life you want for yourself.

I hear your life calling you from so far away.

And sometimes it is hard to hear it.

But the voice will get louder and you will be able to hear it every single day.

You must know this.

You mustn’t give up.

Read on here >>>

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10 hours ago, MartyT said:

This from Christina Rasmussen:

The Long Game After Loss

May 26, 2017 

I am writing to you from eleven years post-loss.

Eleven years of growing, writing, becoming and witnessing what showed up on my path here.

At first, the witnessing was just for me so I could re-enter but around year four or five it became ‘witnessing for you’ so I could help you re-enter.

These letters I write to you every week are from the future and they are sent back to you so you could find your way.

This specific letter is about helping you have patience and persistence as you go forth.

This journey is long my darling and I wish it wasn’t.

Not only for your healing but for the new life you want for yourself.

I hear your life calling you from so far away.

And sometimes it is hard to hear it.

But the voice will get louder and you will be able to hear it every single day.

You must know this.

You mustn’t give up.

Read on here >>>

I hope every person who grieves will see this and remember.  It is spot on.  I want to save a copy for myself and every new grieving person.  Thanks, MartyT for sharing this!  :)

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  • 2 weeks later...

Written a while ago, but well worth reading again ;)

Holding Our Own In The Court of Public Opinion by Catherine Tidd

On my commute to work this morning (by which I mean my walk down to my basement office), I started wondering about something that seems to be a common theme with all of us widows: The ability to overcome what other people think of us.

When our spouses die, the surrounding public seems to think it’s their right…no…their duty to tell us how things should be done. They watch as we bumble our way into a somewhat normal existence after our lives have been completely turned upside down. The people we know patiently wait until we “get our acts together” and get back to business as usual.

Little do they know…we have decided to close that business in order to go forth like a hippie in the 60s on a journey of self-discovery.

We get a lot of advice from the people we know about what we should do, how we should live, and the decisions we should be making. Now, realistically speaking…these people usually don’t have a leg to stand on. Most of our friends and family have never raised children completely alone. They’ve never dated in later in life. And most have never faced the hole that we now find in our lives.

In the face of all of these helpful tips, I’m reminded of some of the best advice I’ve ever gotten from my therapist: Eliminate the word “should” from your vocabulary. There is no reason why you “should” stop grieving at a certain point, even though some people expect you to. There is no reason why you “should” spend your life alone, even if it’s hard for others to watch you date. And there’s no reason why you “should” expect your life to go back to normal when deep down you know it won’t.

Our sense of normal has completely changed. The way we make decisions has completely changed. Most of us now make choices with the little voice of our spouse ringing in our ears. And it’s hard enough to think, “Well, what would he (or she) have wanted me to do if he was here?” 
We certainly don’t need the added complication of wondering what everyone else thinks.  Read on here >>>

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MIABHead.png
Christina Rasmussen

Your heart breaks. Again.

Even though you didn’t know it could.

It didn’t break in a new place but on top of the old break.

A break on top of a crack.

Which can no longer be contained.

Your heart breaks into billions of pieces.

Scattered everywhere.

The pieces are small, tiny.

Never to be back together again.

When a heartbreak happens inside a heart that has not had time to heal from the previous break it hurts like hell.

It hurts like birth does.

It twists and moves like a tornado.

The floor can’t even feel good.

But you lay there.

Waiting for the twists to stop.

For this new break to go away.

But it hurts too much for it to be denied.

You dance with it.

On the floor. 
With some wine.

Vodka. And some junk food even.

But let’s find a new way to mend, shall we?

I am going to show you something.

When the pieces are scattered so far away from each other your heart is no longer just a heart.

It is a heart of a God.

Have you ever spent time thinking about the heart of a God?

It knows the worst pain.

It knows pain from many lifetimes.

It roars in the darkness from the memory of all the heartbreaks.

And when it roars its sound brings back all the scattered pieces.

Hovering in mid-air about to start the mending process.

When all the pieces remember how to come back together, they do so in unison.

They find their way back to their place.

And the heart is back together again.

This heart is not your typical heart.

This heart can take a lot of dismantling and mending.

Infinite amounts. It’s unbreakable.

This is the heart you have inside of you now.

It may feel like it is made of steel but it isn’t.

It’s made of love.

It’s made of all the love you felt and lost.

It is made of pure roar.

And the time will come when your heart will love again.

But this time you will remember that nothing can break you.

Dismantle you. Destroy you.

And wine, vodka, and junk food can’t put you together.

Because you have the heart of a God roaring inside your chest looking for love.

Many times.

For infinity.

For all the loves it's lost and all the loves still to loseWith a roaring heart,

 

Christina

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Dear ones, please read this ~ all of it ~ and consider it to be my gift to you today:

The Gifts We Give, The Gifts We Are by Courtney E. Martin

My friend Katie found her person. After many years of raising her three girls with a proverbial village of family and friends, but no partner, she met an amazing man with three sons of his own, a man who loved nurturing people. They got engaged to be married this summer. They renovated her house to reflect their new blended family and life together. And then, just moments after doing a yoga class side by side, he had a sudden heart attack and died. Katie had to reschedule the tent they had rented for the wedding to be used for her person’s funeral.

The loss is unimaginable. It’s ineffable. And yet Katie found the strength to write this on Facebook just days later:

My friend Holly told me this: We get to keep the gifts he gave us. 

There is not a single doubt that we mostly just wanted to keep him. We want to keep everything about him. The neighbors want him to clean the garage (again) and throw the football with the boys, passing on an emboldening word about the importance of a losing season. The old/new friend wants to keep the only person who has truly known her from childhood to adulthood, words rendered unnecessary. We want him to be the consummate host, glasses never empty, plates full, ice in full effect, ginger beer on tap. We want to hear him sing and play the guitar, out of the shower after yoga while the sweat dries, or before dinner to transition the day. We want him to guide us, love us, cook with us, counsel us, encourage us, do for us. I want him to send me a one word text ‘tug’ to let me know he’s with me all day while we’re apart. I want his face on the pillow, silent still sleeper, and reach out my toes to encircle his. 

But we don’t get this, these daily pleasures. These minute pleasures of his existence, these moments of sublime and sweet nowness. Read on here >>>

 

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Wow, that is a powerful story.  Using the tent for a funeral instead of the wedding.  I can relate about the gift of not having to choose.  We would all choose to have them back, given a choice, we're human, after all.  But they ARE the gift that keeps on giving, even as I've found grief to be, after all these years.

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  • 2 weeks later...

A really good read from our friend and colleague Larry Barber:

You Can Be Your Own Grief Coach

I know what you’re thinking. I can be my own grief coach? Really? Now just hold on and let me tell you why not only can you be your own grief coach but it is necessary for you to be your own grief coach.  

First, believe it or not you are the expert on your specific grief. Why? Because you are the one experiencing your unique, one of a kind in all the universe grief. No two griefs are exactly alike because each grief is shaped primarily by the relationship the mourner had with his or her significant person who died. 

No one has the same exact relationship. No one feels exactly about your loved one as you did and still do. No one else misses or mourns for the person who died in the same exact way.  Therefore, my dear mourning friend YOU are the expert on your own grief.  But that doesn’t mean you are the only one who can understand your grief and you.  Let me tell you more. 

Because you are the expert on your grief, others who are willing to help you through your grief are dependent upon you to share the details of your feelings and experiences with them.  They are counting on you to educate them about all you experience in your loss so they can get you the help, support and comfort necessary to heal. Your helper may know the commonalities that exist in most grief but they need to know the details of your grief to help you. 

Second you need to be and can be your own grief coach because you have to be the one who believes in you and your potential to find a healthy way through grief. Others around you can work to help you and believe all day that you have the ability to get through your specific  grief. But if you don’t think you can get through grief, most likely you won’t. 

So…if you’re the expert on your own grief and you believe it is possible for you to get through your  grief, you have the ability to be your own grief coach starting the work of grief. Read on here >>>

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Thank you, Marty.  What I'd had planned for today's Grief Support Group I was going to have to shelve because we're having a couple of newbies and I felt it was too soon...this is a good opener for discussion with people at all timetables.  Good article!  

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55 Grief Coping Strategies by Mark Hendricks

This list is not to be used to grade the way you’re doing grief. It can help you identify coping strategies you are already using and suggest others to consider. You don’t have to use all or any of them. If something seems like it might help, you could give it a try. That’s all. Just something to think about.  Read on here >>>

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Thank you, Marty, I've saved this "list"; it might be helpful for people to peruse and see how much grief work they HAVE done, also to glean ideas for things they may not have tried or considered.

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Wednesday, July 12, 2017

Cantus: the Silence of Grief

 
Wind%2Bchimes.jpg
 
 
 
 
 
 
In Arvo Part’s Cantus, a composition for orchestra and Orthodox bells, silence is written into the work. There are times when no musicians are playing, yet in this silence, we hear reverberations of the notes recently played. We hear them even though no one is playing.
 
So it is in grief after the death of a loved one. There is a great deal of silence in our lives now. Silence at home when we are cooking. Silence in the places they used to sit. Silence where we are used to hearing their voices talking about the inconsequentials of the day. We hear echoes of their laughter in the silence.
 
In Cantus, and in grief, we are waiting in the silence for something to happen. And we are not waiting because something is happening. We are listening. In the space between what we’ve known and what is not yet here, we are listening for the unknown, and the tension is exquisite, like salt and lime on the lips before the tequila.
 
The bells in Cantus also bring in the meaning of bells for the Orthodox people — remembrance and honoring of the past, and calling them to set aside what they are doing and be attentive to what the Spirit is doing in this moment. Pay attention, they say. Listen. Bells also call the faithful in Episcopal and Catholic churches to open themselves to whatever this moment is.
 
Many of us put wind chimes outside. When they move in the breeze, their chromatic scales play, and some of us hear the voices of our dead saying hello.
 
When two people gather over coffee to talk about grief, there comes a time of silence between them. After the carefully prepared words have been spoken, and they are unsure of what to say next, they listen to the silence, to what is moving deeper in their hearts, to what has not been said. This listening is holy.
 
We are not used to silence. Some of us find it uncomfortable not to say anything when other people are around, especially if we have gathered for the purpose of talking. So we talk constantly to cover our nervousness that we don’t have anything important to say. Some of us are naturally slower to speak than others and choose our words carefully. Silence is part of our cadence. As we listen in the silence, we hear words rise from our hearts and we speak their compassion.
 
When we are with the grieving, our purpose in talking is not to say the right words that will take the pain away, because words cannot do this. Our purpose is to be present to each other, to listen and discern what we both dimly hear.
 
 
Silence is speaking without using words.
 
Posted by Mark Liebenow 
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