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Voices from the beyond?


Clematis

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Margaret, you are probably angry at him for leaving you.  Emotions don't have to make sense, you know he didn't want to, death comes to who it will, but sometimes our brain and our emotions don't coincide.  I wouldn't worry about it, it's normal and it probably won't last long.

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That's what my initial thought was too.

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I think so too...I had all these experiences out on a trail where a rabbit came charging toward me and stopped rather close to me. I'm sure it was my (absolutely rabbit-obsessed) mother, but I had her totally blocked out after her death. Rabbits, like cardinals, are notoriously shy and skittish It happened quite a few times before I got the idea that it was related to my mother. I finally started talking to them like, "Mother, what are you trying to tell me?" I finally got the idea that she was telling me that she wanted me to take care of my dad, and then it stopped. Until after his death, when I received a few more of these visits, and the message seemed more like "I love you-I always loved you..." Maybe that's what she was telling me all along.

A decade ago, when I was getting all the rabbit visits, everyone knew I was taking really really good care of my dad. Probably even her. Talk about something that's easy to block out- I was sure not ready to hear that 11 years ago. She treated me so despicably...as a child, teenager, and adult. It's hard to imagine what would inspire her to say this to me now. My older sister gave me a lot of credit (years ago) for the fact that my dad became a lot nicer during his last years.  Maybe she's right and he did learn from me how to treat someone lovingly. Maybe he's given her some tips, now that they are both beyond the grave and in communication with each other. But dang-if that's true, why did I have to wait until my dad was gone too- to get some message that my mother might have loved me? It's just more than I can take...

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Dear Marg,

This may not be an appropriate place for this post or subject.  I guess I equate the word "faith" with HOPE.  Without going into too much family history, my parents never really took care of our spiritual lives.  So in regards to what goes on in a church, I am truly faithless because I have no foundation in that regards.  I believe in a guiding force, but it is not something that I feel I can lean on.  I believe I will see Mark again, because I WANT to see Mark again.  I think it is one of the reasons why I never got angry with God.  I saw a post in one of these forum topics that was Joyce Meyer (spelling) and she was speaking with a minister about the loss of his wife to cancer and how he dealt with all those feelings of anger and questions.  One of the things he said that stuck with me, and being the analytical person I am, he said that his wife's death was between her and God and was none of his business.  I know Mark didn't "leave" me; he died.  He had a heart attack.  It is something that happened in his body.  Am I to think that God made him have a heart attack?  The body is a machine, at least that is what we are taught in school. Without all the religious teachings and stories and preachings, I can only look at death as what it is.  The body stopped working.  That doesn't mean I do not believe in souls.  Souls are WHO WE ARE.  We are encased in a body that moves us around, and gets us to the places, and people and experiences we have in our life. Our soul guides us, and learns, and experiences hurt and love and peace and hate.  I can't find peace by going into a church, any church, because i know not of their teachings and rules. I have been on my knees numerous times since Mark died speaking to God...but I am not a person of formal prayer.  Somewhere along my spiritual education, I was told that God hears and sees all...and anywhere you are you can talk to Him.  I have always looked at it like this...there is so much going on in the world right now that is more important than my grieving my husband.  God needs to focus on THOSE things.  But I sense that I am not alone.  I kind of have talked in a circle.  I guess my hope for you, Marg, is that whatever is blocking you, that you can find a way to release it. 

I don't want to start a HUGE debate on spirituality and religion and faith...everyone has their own thoughts, beliefs and practices.  The only person I can "blame" Mark's death on is Mark.  He didn't take care of himself and made choices that were not healthy.  But am I angry with him?  I used to get irritated by him and the things he continued to do to himself (smoking and drinking), and sure it would be easy for me to HATE him now because he did those things and now he is gone.  But I grieve my loss, and I miss him more than words can describe.  Being angry about it won't change the outcome.  He did what he did, for whatever  reason that was, and he paid the price.  Maybe somewhere inside he knew he wasn't going to live a long life and wanted to do the things he did.  There is no one who is going to answer all those questions; the questions that send us in circles, and tons of what ifs, or shoulda, woulda, coulda.  I know Mark wasn't perfect...neither am I.  I loved him with every ounce of me, even though I did not understand why he did the things he did.  He lived his life.  Now I mourn his loss, while still loving him with every ounce of me.

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Dear Clematis,

I can understand the things you are saying.  It is funny how we think our experiences are the same as everyone else when we are growing up, until we meet someone whose life was so totally different. My husband grew up in a large family full of love...almost the Leave It to Beaver type family.  When I shared with him how I grew up, he would hurt for me and want to take it away.  My mom was an emotional abuser and my dad never said anything about it.  I ended up having to care for my mom after she had a stroke, and I came to terms and forgave.  She raised me the only way she knew how; the way her mother raised her...and it wasn't a very god foundation.  I still have scars from those early years.  But Mark helped me see the things she said were NOT gospel.  I did NOT grieve for her on the level that I grieve for Mark.  From Mark I only received LOVE.  Of course my mom loved me in the only way she knew how, but it was not the nurturing I needed. I continued to live with my dad for a few years after Mom died, to watch over him.  But there was a need in me to find MY life.  My parents were willing to allow me to sacrifice it for them, but I wasn't.  And both my dad and my younger brother (who ended up having to finally care for dad) treated me like I had deserted them, feeding that worthless feeling I had most of my life as I grew up.  This is the very reason I decided very early on that I would NEVER have children.  I want to state that I in NO WAY feels sorry for myself.  My experiences are what made me who I am; are what have shaped my soul.  People who know me and have never met my family see a different person than they did.  I got out from under and away from that person.  And I am now free to continue to learn and love...and perhaps make a difference.  You will too, Clematis.

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Maryann, you know my religious upbringing.  I, will not debate religion, I do not feel qualified.  The little booklet that my mom's hospice social worker gave me was involved the most with the bereaved's anger with God.  I won't go into that either, I am not qualified .(I really am qualified).  I will admit to being lost, sad/sorrowful, angry, afraid, feeling of urgency, alone in a house full of people, a lot of feeling sorry for me, resentful, and blessed all at the same time.  Billy did not suffer long, I had him for 54 short years, and sometimes I get angry that he is gone when it should have been me.  I do not know why I am left when he could have accomplished so much more.  I feel totally worthless with only a short time left......left to do what?  I am cranky, lovable anyhow, and no talent.  I do not look forward to decorating an apartment.  My talent would be better served in a tent.  Oh, did I say I am cranky and feel sorry for me.....so, here I am Billy, I'm staying.  I hope he is happy.  Our first 10 years were hell on wheels, maybe my last ones will be too.  Yeah, I feel sorry for me.

Don't want to freak anyone out, but that stupid male cardinal keeps preaching to me.  This house is big and he flies from the den's outside tree to the front room's bush just chirping.  My hair is no longer red.  Don't think this shell can be cracked yet.

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Maryann,

I grew up in church and attended all my life.  My parents didn't, nor did they take me, I tagged along with older sisters and then went with a neighbor lady.  As an adult, I was always a leader in the church.  I've taught classes on prayer, and you are so right.  There are many different forms of prayer, formal included, but we all have different pathways to our soul...some find connection to God through nature, others through liturgy, and there's everything inbetween.  Prayer can be a mere thought on the run, or a formation prayer (prayer with a posture).  There are as many ways to pray as there are people, all of them acceptable so long as we're comfortable with it.  I think faith and hope are pretty connected because when we have faith, it gives us hope.  It is, after all, quite simply, believing in something we can't see.  George and I connected and our foundation of love was built on faith in each other, a faith that proved true.

I also had parents that failed me...a mom that was literally nuts and very abusive, a dad that let her, engrossed in his drinking rather than protecting his kids.  Had I not had these parents, I would be a quite different person, I am sure, but many life lessons later, it has molded me, in part, into who I am..  I have learned to be grateful for the things I've gone through in my life, grief included, because all of it has richly taught me things.  I did not ask for or want grief but it came to me unbidden, and I've been forced to learn from it and deal with it all the same.

I think anger is a stage of grief, although not everyone goes through it.  Anger is not a good place to stay in, but I don't worry unduly about a stage of grief that comes and goes.  So much about the different stages is a matter of discovery and adjustment.  We get through it.

Margaret,

I am sorry, but I have to laugh...I take it you're not a nature or bird person. :D  Maybe Billy's sense of humor?  It may or may not have anything to do with Billy, just saying, knowing you as well as he did, maybe he's having fun with you?

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No, I love birds, Billy and I fed them all the time.  I don't know what to make of these city birds, they are so loud they wake me up each morning.  Just as well be roosters they are so loud.  I wish I had my magic thinking again and really believed it was Billy. 

I go see the apartment tomorrow instead of Friday.  I just wanted a plain two bedroom apartment, but this one has a fireplace.  We never used the one in our house.  I head out tomorrow and hopefully will be moved by June 1st.  My granddaughter has been with me for about two months.  She will stay here with her mom.  I am sure going to miss her.  She is my Netflix buddy.  I have spent more time on Supernatural, Grey's Anatomy and One Tree Hill with going to the movies mixed in.  Now the job has to be finished.  She lived with us most of her life and will be 17 in July.  She was Billy's heart and I felt sorta close to him with her with me.  It will just be for one month though.  She and her mom will probably live at the swimming pool.  So, I get to talk to Billy for 175 miles tomorrow, by myself.  That does not happen very often.  Sometimes I feel I am blessed. 

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You're in my thoughts today, dear Margaret, as you're on the road.

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I'm home.  Saw the apartment, was worried about the bills, but think I can swing two places, just won't have utilities turned on down there until June.  I liked the apartment.  A widow lives across the way from me.  It took me forever with the rules and regulations and signing all the agreements.  I don't care.  It is worth it not to have to replace appliances, fix the roof or plumbing, or anything else.  A real little fireplace that does not rely on electricity to force the heat out like our last two did.  Seems stupid if you don't have electricity that you cannot really feel the warmth of a fire.

Tough time coming to this house but my son was here to meet me.  I am so lucky I really don't have to do anything by myself.  Again, I am blessed with some things.

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I am listening to a book on CD in the car called The Beginner's Goodbye; it's a man who suddenly lost his wife when an enormous tree fell on the house. He was in one part of the house and was fine, while she was crushed, along with the part of the house where she was. The book is the story of his struggle to get to where he could survive his grief, deal with the past, and learn to live in the present. He leaves his house and is unable to go back there, living with his sister nearby, where he is welcome and comfortable. But the idea of going back to where he lived-and was happy-is paralyzing. He hires a contractor to work on the house, but he cannot even look at the house; he just pays to the bills and asks about the progress. He has the contractor go get his clothes. Eventually his wife begins appearing to him in little visits, and through his contacts with her, he is able to visit the house.

Sounds like me, sort of. If I had the luxury of paying someone to deal with all the stuff, I wouldn't be over there at all-just hiding out at my dad's house. If I keep listening to the book, by the end of the week I will have finished the book and he will be living there in his house, but it will be different and he will be ok living there. But I will still be far away from the time I will be able to live in my house again. I go over there every day to water my beloved flowers, but leave as soon as I can...

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Margaret,

I'm glad you like it and will be relieved to not have to deal with home repairs, believe me, I can relate to that part of it!

 

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I wear one of my mom's favourite ring, it feels nice.
So a few days ago while I was doing my work(evening time) I suddenly noticed that the ring was missing. 
I was madly thinking about the last time I saw it and all I could remember was that it was on my finger before I went to sleep. 
I hadn't noticed it since then.
I was searching everywhere for it, all the places I went before… but it was impossible for the ring to just slip out of my hand as it fit me perfectly( a little tighter though).
Besides I don't remember taking it off that night or the following day.

I looked inside my purse and it was there in a tiny pocket. 
I was relieved.
What bothered me was "how and when did it went into my purse?"

I asked my father and brother if they found it somewhere and placed it in my purse but they said they didn't even saw/touch it.

I'm very sure that I didn't took it of that night.

I feel like it was my mom.

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  • 4 weeks later...

I saw a rabbit this morning and had the thought that it was my mother. When she died 11 years ago, I had quite a number of experiences with rabbits that were rather odd. Rabbits running up to me on a trail and then stopping about 6-8 feet away and staring at me, unflinching. Since she was throughout her life obsessed with rabbits, I thought she was talking to me through these rabbits, and eventually started asking them what she wanted. I got the idea that she was telling me to take care of him, and eventually she seemed satisfied and I stopped having these experiences. Then a month or two before he died, I had another odd rabbit encounter and stopped to chat. I got the idea that she wanted to take him with her, and said to the rabbit, "No, no, please don't take him-I still need him!" But then I got the idea that what she was really telling me was that she loved me-that she had always loved me. Huh!

So, I saw this rabbit this morning and even thought it was doing nothing odd for a rabbit, I started talking to it, telling it, "Please don't take him away from me-I still need him here with me!" And what I heard in response was my father's voice, telling me, "That's not her-it's just a bunny". Then he told me, "Stop worrying, I'm not leaving you. I know you need me. I'm not going anywhere-I"ll be with you 'til your end like you were for me." So I asked him where Mother was, and why he wasn't with her. At so many times he seemed to eager to go wherever she was beyond the grave. And he told me that of course he had seen her, but that she was spending a lot of time with her dearly beloved (paternal) grandmother and also her father, whom she adored and missed terribly for most of her adult life. I really don't understand how any of that works-I guess none of us do, but I have worried that she would pull him away from me and I would be more alone than I am. It was a relief...

 

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Okay, now you're starting to hear things.  When are you getting the MRI results?  Just kidding! :)  It must have been reassuring that your father told you he'd be with you, I feel that too, that my George is with me, even though he can't talk to me or hold me like he used to.  I just have to take it on faith, just like our relationship started out on.

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It is very nice to hear him talking to me. It is not the same thing as having him with me, but it is reassuring. I hope I get the MRI results Monday. But for now, I am going to paint the Delphiniums! ...finally...

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I am still not painting the delphiniums and the petals are starting to fall off. I have it inside since it is 100 degrees here. I'm just not sure I can stand up that long, and I am very used to standing. I'm not sure I can sit and paint...

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Do you have a tall stool?  Sometimes it's a good compromise between standing and sitting.  It was 94 at 10:20 am here and Oregonians are NOT used to it!  We do not have air conditioners or water coolers, we're used to milder weather and trust me when I say we wilt in this heat! It's 102 right now and not even the hottest part of the day yet!

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I stood painting up and it went ok. I'm not sure I like the painting but it's probably because it's not complete in some way and not from the standing. The Delphinium is a cluster of three flowers with subtle color variations...not my specialty. It needs something to pop it out. Perhaps some coffee will help me think of something. Meanwhile, there are some fabulous Hibiscus flowers that are just now opening. I think I'll work on them. I have not been  medically cleared (my MRI results) to go to work on my big sorting/packing/moving project yet and I have no helpers today, so I guess I'm free to paint all day! I am feeling better and that is good...

It's 102 and you have no air conditioners/coolers? That is terrible! How are you coping with that? Spending the day in a bathtub of cold water? I used to know some people who had old claw foot tubs, old tin tubs for watering livestock-what do you call those?), or just cheap plastic kiddie pools that they would lounge in when it was hot...

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Basically I'm pretty much dying in this heat.  Cooler weather is on it's way later this week, thank God.  Today I worked in the church office because it's air conditioned and I had reports to do.  Tomorrow I'll be there too.  After that, maybe I'll sleep until the cool weather arrives.  Poor Arlie, I feel sorriest for him and Kitty, they have so much long fur!

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On May 3, 2016 at 2:40 PM, kayc said:

I grew up in church and attended all my life...There are many different forms of prayer, formal included, but we all have different pathways to our soul...some find connection to God through nature, others through liturgy, and there's everything inbetween.  Prayer can be a mere thought on the run, or a formation prayer (prayer with a posture).  There are as many ways to pray as there are people, all of them acceptable so long as we're comfortable with it.  I think faith and hope are pretty connected because when we have faith, it gives us hope.

Say, Kay-I was just reading this post you wrote a week ago or so. I grew up very active in the church and then became very alienated from all the hypocrisy I saw and read about who talked about g-d all the time. I became very interested in the works of Paul Tillich, and even though he was a theologian as well as a philosopher, I focused more on his philosophy and less on his theology. I eventually converted to Judaism and found that more appealing. I became very involved in the synagogue, singing in the choir and even serving on the board. I wanted to do a Bat Mitzvah, but became too involved in grad school, moved, had a new job, etc. I loved that some of the prayers were spoken in Hebrew, which I had only a sketchy notion of, and could not understand word for word. I loved this because I could just let myself fall into the spiritual essence of the prayers rather than thinking about exactly what every word meant. Then I moved to Sedona and discovered that I just cannot stand the rabbi-she is so narcissistic! For example, she will not allow a choir because she figures that since she can sing (off-key) and chant and play the guitar (but not well), that there is no need for other music unless the entire congregation is singing. In the newsletters, almost every single picture features her doing something amazing, and the events other than services always involve a hefty cost. She has managed to do a lot of fund raising, and they certainly need the money, like any group. But it has been heartbreaking to me that I cannot afford to attend the Seder, the Channukah celebration, the High Holy day services, and so on.

And then I got this job on the reservation, where I work on Fridays and don't get back here until the services are practically over. I have thought about checking out the group in Flagstaff; they meet twice a month and have a nice reputation. Also, they are an our closer to the reservation, so I could get there on time. But when my dad was alive, I could not attend services in Flagstaff on Friday and get home really late-I always came home as soon as possible. But now that might be a possibility.

Anyway, it was an accident, but when I left the synagogue in Tucson, I ended up with a copy of the prayer book, a slim volume - self-printed style but on glossy paper. It was very valuable to me because it had the transliterations of the prayers (Hebrew words spelled out in English so that a person who does not read the Hebrew can read the text in our alphabet but pronounced like Hebrew). Unfortunately, I lost it and have not seen it for more than ten years, which was very sad because transliterations are done differently, and the ones I have found online make no sense to me. I need that particular one. This has bothered me because it would mean a lot to me to be able to say Kaddish for my dad, but I have forgotten it, and could not find the transliteration I am familiar with. It's not the top of my priorities, but it would mean a lot to me to re-memorize it.

Then, of all the miracles, I found my purloined prayer book! It was such a find and made me very happy because I am able to read the Kaddish. They call it the mourner's Kaddish  but it is really a prayer for peace. I used to have it memorized, and I used to chant it to myself as I walked around the prison after 9/11 because that's where I was at the time and it was the most appropriate thing I could think of to do.

So, now I can re-learn it so that I can light candles and say it at the Yahrzeit (anniversary) of the passing of each of my parents, as well as an initial one for my father since I have not been able to do this for him thus far... Nice, huh?
 

 

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My mom was very strong in her faith and had a bit of a sixth sense. She said she knew when the phone rang to tell my dad that his parents died that that was what it was going to be. Two different calls, ten months apart. There wasn't any warning they were about to die. It was a heart attack for both of them, and they were in their early 70s.

Her father also died when she was 20. He used to visit her in her dreams just before something bad happened. He appeared before her mom died and before her brother died suddenly at the age of 48. The time before her brother she said he seemed REALLY sad. Like something absolutely awful was going to happen. This was in 2010. My mom's younger brother died soon after. The following year, her older sister's husband was diagnosed with stage four cancer. In 2012, Mom got the stage four breast cancer diagnosis. The following year, my aunt's husband died from his cancer. In 2014, Mom's cancer came screaming back after treatments went so well in 2013 that she was essentially cancer-free. Then she died in 2015. Grandpa had reason to be weighty then.

My mom and my dad both said they frequently smelled their dads, too. Their main scents were cigarette smoke, and it was always in our home... where nobody smoked and there was no reason for it to smell that way.

A few weeks before my mom died, she told me she was having a recurring dream where a little boy was leading her through a maze. She said after a while, she realized it was her little brother. She said, "Maybe when I get to the end, that's when I die." Maybe my uncle was helping to lead her to the other side.

I wish I had the kind of messages Mom always used to get. I'd love to hear from her, but I'm not sure that I have. The only thing that seems like it could be is that I keep randomly hearing the song "Kokomo" by the Beach Boys. I was obsessed with that song when I was a little girl, and our home videos have so many clips of Mom telling one of us to sing it. She thought it was funny. A few times, it's shown up completely out of the blue. One time, I was thinking, "I wish I knew if you could see or hear me, Mom," and suddenly my sister started singing it in the other room. I'm not sure if it means anything, but I like to think it does.

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