Chai

I don't even know what's 'normal' for me anymore...I remember finding it very weird that I didn't cry a TON until the memorial...judging my grief, really. And, even now, I don't talk to people about him enough. It's something I'm determined to start doing. Before, I would have talked a lot about my emotions, and now...I keep all the hidden, deep, sad, important stuff to myself (except on here and journaling, for the most part). Now I am more serious about death, and just...serious things in life, because I am no more disillusioned by that "it won't happen to me" feeling. When I heard the news, a friend of mine saw me sitting by the library on the phone with my grandma, crying. I can't remember if I called my mom or she called me, but I found out she and my stepdad were coming up to get me from school...so I had an hour, so I sat and cried with my bear, and I actually went to lunch. I was the girl crying at the salad bar that day. One thing I've become determined to do is get over a couple petty fears, like my fear of bees and of climbing ladders. My father believed in me, and I want to overcome these fears and hold up to his belief. Before, I would've just continued being afraid. I'm also trying to learn things I keep saying I will - like relearn my German, and piano. Before, I felt I had all the time in the world to do all of that. Now, I know that time is precious, and you can't take anything for granted, so do whatever it is you want to do NOW.

Hi, em. This is an interesting question you have put out on the table. Hmmm...it's easier to think of things people said that weren't really the right thing. I remember people telling me, "be strong," and wondering, what does that even mean? How can I be strong, when I am experiencing one of the toughest things to go through? How can I be strong so early in this? As far as the good things people did for me...I remember being couch ridden and ill a couple days after my father passed away, and I was looking through old photo albums, to share at his memorial. My mother found me crying over this one old photo taken at my birthday or Christmas, of my dad sitting with a big smile on his face watching me at three years old opening a present. She didn't say anything, she just sat down next to me, put her arm around me and cried along with me. Another thing that really helped me when my father passed away, at the memorial itself, was my best friend. I didn't even know she was going to be there. I had included her name in a list of people that I sent the news to, but she was two hours away from where the memorial was held, so I didn't expect her there, didn't ask. But she showed up at the start, and just ran to me and said simply, "Chai" and held out her arms in a hug. It still makes me teary to remember that. And when I stood up to speak (after my grandmother and uncle), she had her hand on my leg the whole time, keeping me steady and giving me strength. It was so hard even just to get sentences out through all my tears, and having her sitting there right by me the whole night through is something I remain ever so grateful for. Also, more recently after my grandmother passed away, the woman who was caretaker for my father and grandmother gave me a collection of old family photos that my grandmother's sister had sent over. Included were pictures of my grandmother and father as children, and I am so happy to have those photos.

Thank you for sharing this quote with us, Mary Linda. I think it is a good thing to remember, just to smile. Isn't there some scientific proof that smiling ignites some reaction inside us to increase our happiness, even just by physically moving our mouths? Not sure where I might have read that. Sometimes, I smile through the tears just from looking at pictures. We miss them so much, but aren't we so glad to have these pictures and memories? Where would we be without them. Thanks for sharing, take care, Chai

Further thoughts on this... One thing I have noticed is that, my main reason for not joining as many grief websites as possible (besides the fact that I love everyone here), is that it is so hard to tell my story, over and over. I have been moving in my journey since I joined this website, and by joining another website, I would have to tell my story and introduce myself again. It is painful. I remember telling my story to a couple grief groups I tried out over the summer, and it was so hard to physically tell my story. It was much harder to speak aloud about my father's passing, than it is to type it. Perhaps it is this pain that draws me to doing it - the fact that, I need this pain, I need to talk about my dad, in order to keep moving through my journey. I don't want to repress or hold back any aspect of progress. I know my father would want me to heal, and that drives me to try and progress forward...even if it is very painful.

Thank you, Rochel. Lovely poem. Definitely moving.

Marty and Korina, Thank you for your responses. I really should just keep on with the journaling, even if it's only a few pages or a page every week or something. It really does help; I have found that being able to look back on old entries of mine really helps, helps me to see how I am indeed on a journey. Korina, thank you for input on how journaling is helping you. I think that recording good and sad is a good idea, to have a more complete experience when looking back on it. I am sure your daughter will appreciate having that in her future. I did follow up on AMF, and had a few interested people on-campus contact me at one time, but they have since faded off, without our having ever gotten a group together. One person replied this semester, and I might just send her an email asking if she wouldn't mind some one-on-one talks or something. That quote you included in your post, Marty...very touching. It's true. I don't want to forget my dad, don't want him to fade away, but it seems the only one who has this strong desire is me. Even in my talks to my Uncle Michael, who really wants to get to know me, we talk about school and stuff, but secretly I'm thinking, "I want to talk about my dad. Why aren't we talking about him?" At the same time, I don't want to make him sadder and I understand that his striking up small talk is an attempt to get to know me, and not have our only connection be our grief...

Hello all, I have a sort of question/concern that has been on my mind. Over my almost one year of grief, I have read a few grief books, read some articles, been on this website, etc. One thing that I commonly read is, "Tell your grief story/the story of how your loved one passed away," as many times as you need to. Sometimes they just say, "tell your story" and I wonder, do they mean just share your grief, or say how your loved one passed on? I think about this piece of advice, "tell your story," since it keeps getting said over and over, it must have some merit, right? My real issue though, is that I haven't "told my story." I've told it here. I've told my counselor last semester at school (whom I sadly didn't sign up soon enough for, this schoolyear. too much homework). My childhood friends, sortof...know. Not really, though. They just known my dad had cancer. (Except my best friend, who was at the memorial and heard my father's caretaker friend tell the story of the day he passed on). Same for my school friends. Having told so few people my story, something which supposedly helps, what should I do? Should I start sitting down with people I feel are "the right people" and telling them the story? Should I sit down with my friends, who have the right to know, and tell them my story? Or is all of this just more of me judging my grief and putting "should/would/could"s on myself? I know grief is not formulaic. Maybe it's just not time to tell my story yet. But I feel so lonely off this website, and never talk to people about my grief. Ocassionally I'll hint to depressing stuff, or depression, and once I did ask a friend to please not speak about moles around me because it makes me think of my dad's skin cancer. Now that it's been almost a year, no one really asks after me (except one woman I rarely see). I wish they would. If I felt more comfortable about talking to people about my grief, maybe I could tell my story. Or maybe telling my story is the first step to being able to talk about it. I don't know. I just don't want to feel so lonely and keep so much in my head. I don't have as much time to journal as I did, so I feel my opportunity now is to speak with people. So much of my time lately is not being spent on grief, and I feel sortof like I'm going backwards...or, at least, not progressing forward in my journey. Help? Thank you for 'listening' to my rambling. take care, Chai

What a wonderful piece of text you have shared with us, Mary Linda. Thank you! It is definitely thought-provoking...I think that I have been coasting and need to get back to the nitty-gritty work...;/ Thank you for sharing.

Dear Kelly, I think you have done a wonderful thing by joining this website and talking to people here. Just in this small thread alone, I can see you are growing and dealing with your anger and your grief. I think, like others have been saying, that grief must be taken as it comes, in all shapes and forms, and if anger is a part of your grief, then so be it. I think it is good that you have Josh's mother to talk to, because one of the worst things is feeling like you have no one to talk to, who understands. I can relate to your post, because at my dad's memorial people said a lot of glorious things about him. I was thinking to myself at one point, "But he wasn't always the person these people are describing. My dad DID get angry, he swore, he didn't deal with people right all the time." I was relieved when someone told a story about my dad getting angry and swearing and slamming a chair against a wall, not just because it was an interesting story I'd never heard, but because it gave a more all-around perspective of my dad. People aren't perfect, and they don't gain a little angel's halo around their head when they pass away, because they still made mistakes in their lives and didn't always do the right thing. The point is that, regardless of their things, we love these people anyway. But being angry at them is not wrong; I think they would want us to deal with our grief and let the anger be there. Sometimes I feel angry with my dad, thinking why couldn't he have talked to me more about his health? Why couldn't he have confided his sadness in me when he was ill? Why couldn't he have fought harder? (Let me tell you, that last one brings up guilt issues; which is a whole 'nother story, really). My father thought he was invincible, albeit in a very humble sort of way, so sometimes I feel angry at him for being so damn confident, because it made it harder for him (and for me) when he was ill. Couldn't he have gone to the doctor just once to see what was going on instead of always trying to figure it out himself? *sigh* anyway...yes...very poignant topic, Kelly. I think it is vital that we all ask ourselves about our anger towards our loved ones, and try to deal with those within our hearts. It is hard, because our hearts already hurt, but I think it will be helpful and worth it in the long run. take care, Chai

I am very struck by what AnnieO said - sometimes it brings you a smile, sometimes it brings you to your knees. That is exactly what it is like. Michelle, I have had times like this too. Sometimes I can look at my father's picture and talk to him about my day. At other times I miss him so much that I grab the picture off the wall because I want to hug him. Grief hurts a lot. It's the most painful thing I have ever been through, and I think it's the most painful thing a lot of us will ever go through. But we do have this wonderful website to talk to others about it, and about our loved ones. I think it is wonderful that you are visiting your father and talking about your mom! Isn't it wonderful to talk about her? I know what you mean about people changing the subject hastily; they don't realize what we would like to share and hear about our loved ones. There are days where you will cry your eyes out and the pain physically hurts, and other days, you'll feel alright. It's normal. You just have to ride the wave. take care, Chai

Dear DeeGee, I am so sorry for the loss of your husband, and that your grieving is being made even more difficult by one person's silly mistake. I do not think you are crazy to find your husband's grave marker a very important matter. Like others have been saying, this is one of the last gifts you can give to your husband. It helps you in your grieving process, too. It is very important. I think 'going crazy' or 'getting mental' about it is a sign of how your love and appreciation for John. I was meticulous about details when I arranged for a framed picture of my dad for his memorial. My mother was very helpful and allowed me total freedom on picking the frame, the picture, the size, etc., and I am so grateful she did. That picture was put up with beautiful candles surrounding it at the memorial, and all of the people there said it was the perfect picture, totally captured him - with the sunset behind him and his toothy smile. They loved it. I gave it to my grandmother, and since my grandmother passed on it now hangs in my room with me. I get to say hello to my dad every morning. That picture has made all the difference, and I know it wouldn't be as special to me, as powerful and strengthening, if I hadn't been able to make everything absolutely just as I wanted it. Trust me, you are not crazy. All that detail-hobgobbling is worth it! I hope that the Veterans Services people will get it right for you this time. take care, Chai

To Paula and all the others who are experiencing such troubles with their loved one's families, I am so sorry for all that you are having to go through. Paula, I am sorry to hear of your dear Tom's passing. But it is good to hear that you have your father and your own family at least on your side, nurturing you, asking how you are doing. It is amazing how just being asked how we are doing can make a difference, isn't it? I think that is why we go on this website; to know that people care, to vent out the feelings that others wouldn't understand. Even if you say 'each goes through it differently,' you would think that people who all loved someone would want to band together, instead of growing apart, right? Alas, people's minds don't work rationally in grief. So even though it would help all of you so much, to come together, some insist on the cold shoulder. I'm so sorry you have to go through this. That sister is probably overjoyed to have those three boxes, Paula, but instead she just sends that quick note. It just isn't fair! Today I was at a grocery store and I wiped away an eyelash and someone asked me, "Are you okay?" It felt so good to be asked how I was doing, and made me realize how much I wish people would ask me more, because our grieving hearts are hurting; we aren't okay. To have people who care about us in our grief makes a huge difference. Please accept my hugs, Paula. (((Hugs))). Take care, Chai

Thank you all for your replies and hugs. (((Hugs))) back. Jeanne, I will try and check out that dancing with the stars show. Chagrin, I am glad that you spoke your thought "out loud," because it helped you to say it. We are here to help each other. I am still mulling over the whole thing, reading articles, watching snippets of Patrick Swayze movies...plan to sit down and watch "Youngblood" sometime soon; don't think I could watch "Ghost" at the moment, it would make me feel even sadder...excellent movie though, touched a lot of people's hearts.

Dear Mary Linda, It is very hard, at the biggest ordeal we are ever going to go through probably - that of grief - to have people telling us what to do or not do, and to feel alone. But please know that you are not alone. We are all here for you. It is very hard to need comfort, and instead get this terrible, unwelcoming, unkindly attitude, and from relatives of your husband, no less. I am sorry that you have these extra troubles coming down on you. You are the last person who deserves them. The thing to keep in mind is that grief is personal. You are not required to think of these relatives and all their hogwash attitude (although they are so obnoxious, I can see why it's hard to avoid it). Just take care of you. That, really, is what Tom would want, isn't it? Marraige is different from family. I think your relationship with Tom was certainly different than theirs with him, and like someone said earlier, he shared himself with you in ways that he did not share with them, so really, if anyone can say what he would think, it's YOU, not them!! Please accept many ((((((((Hugs))))))) from me, and take of yourself, Chai

Dear Chagrin, I'm sorry to hear about the loss of your father. I lost my father last year in November, and it is a very heartbreaking thing. It is even more hard when you feel like you are alone. My heart goes out to you. It is certainly an upset to find out about your mother and this man only 3 months after your father passed away. Each person grieves differently, however, so that must be taken into consideration. Nevertheless, I feel as you do, that there is a reason to be upset with your mother. At the same time I will say that there is the habit of putting "shoulda/woulda/coulda" judgments on ours and others' grief, and really grief is a personal, individual thing. Each person drives their own car/floats their own boat/grieves their own way. I agree with this comment DeeGee said earlier: My mother and father were separated, and I know that sometimes my dad missed my mom 'cause of the way he'd ask about her. I think he missed it more than she did, and she'd say disparaging things about him sometimes (not anymore!). It is up to you to just remember your dad in your own way, and hold that ladybug close to you. Don't let other people's opinions get to you, because you know in your heart that you love your dad, and you and your dad had your own special relationship that no one else can rain on. That was your and his heart connection of love. They can't rain on that! (((Hugs))) to you and take care, Chai

Well, I find myself here tonight because of the death of the late, great actor Patrick Swayze after his battle with pancreatic cancer. I was just printing out a homework assignment and there it was "Patrick Swayze, 57, dies." (www.yahoo.com) For some reason, this makes me feel very, very sad. It makes me think of how terrible cancer is, that it rips apart families and lives. It makes me think of how much my father loved the movie "Ghost," which Patrick Swayze was in. It makes me think of how fragile life is, too. And how, here this man fought cancer for 20 months, and my father only fought it for 2 months. How is that possible? It just makes no sense. It's just too sad. My dad wanted to beat it, too. He was so hopeful. I feel so sad for my dad, that he didn't. And I think about how devastated he must have been, to find out he had cancer. I never talked to him about it...but I know he was sad. I could hear it in his voice on the phone sometimes. I'm sad for my dad having been sad, and also for him having been hopeful, but then...he was gone. Of all the people in the world, I thought if anyone could beat cancer, it would be my dad. He was so healthy, and he focused so much of his life on staying healthy. Maybe I'm subconsciously angry at my dad (and thus guilty with myself) for him not beating it. In the article I read, there's a quote of Swayze's saying how his dream was that one day, in regards to cancer, the word 'cure' would be not followed by the words, 'is impossible.' I hope so, too! RIP, Patrick Swayze. Seriously, though. Just...reading about that set me off and makes me so sad. I was just lying in my bed trying to sleep and I start crying my eyes out for Patrick Swayze and my dad. My religion may tell me that karma makes it all make sense, but I still can't help but think "It's not fair! It's not fair!" It makes me think how cruel and unfair and sad the world is. I wish I could be some place happy, but I can't think of any happy place right now. I haven't been writing, I haven't been looking forward to classes. As for graduation, my wish is just to get it over with! I'm not excited about it at all. I am tired of it. And there's no comfort (except your lovely selves), because I just know that none of my school friends here would understand, or even necessarily give me a hug, if I came to their door. They wouldn't understand how sad I am about Patrick Swayze. The nearest friends I have who might actually listen and hug me are 40 minutes away in San Francisco, and I'm stuck here at school with a heavy class-load ahead of me tomorrow... There's just no breaks, huh? At least I have my giant teddy bear. He sticks with me through thick and thin.

Marsha - You know, I also neglect being understand towards my past self. I also forget the panic I had, and then I judge myself and be hard on myself, just like you. Wow, writing down everything! That sounds amazing! I shall have to write down things more.

Thank you all so much for your replies. Boo and em, it is comforting to know that we are all in this together, isn't it? And I think you both are right; I would be feeling the same either way, because Iguess it's just part of the whole thing... Mary-Linda, what you said only reinforces that this a part of the process. You did so much for your Tom, soo much! And yet, the guilt is still there. We didn't do anything, just like Kath is saying. Kath, I'm so sorry to hear of Bob's daughter having such a hard time. I hope that she finds some ray of light even in all of this. It is hard to be strong, because just when we think we've gone a step forward, we go three steps back. and the guilt pops up now and again. Deborah - Thank you for your very touching and sweet response. Your words are very moving. I must try and think of your words as I go through my tough school days. I like very much your idea of my writing out a letter to my dad telling him all of my thoughts, even the sad ones. And the idea of keeping the letter to re-read or re-write if needed, is excellent. We are broken people, and we are trying to learn to be new and patch ourselves back up, so it is necessary to repeat like that, to do a sort of therapy for ourselves.

Dear Deborah, I am so sorry to hear of the loss of your dear partner Deborah. Grief is a very tough thing, it really runs us through the mill. It makes one start to wonder about the phrase "God doesn't give us more than we can handle," but look at you, your posts are so inspiring. You remain strong and optimistic even through all of this. Let me say, that the sleeping is STILL hard for me, and I'm at 9 months. Things just really get to us sometimes, and unfortunately there is so much time and silence to think when one is lying in bed attempting to fall asleep. I take homeopathic sleeping pills when I really can't sleep, but lately even those haven't helped me. As someone struggling with sleep myself, all I can recommend is to try to find something peaceful to quiet and soothe your mind before you lie down. Perhaps some soothing, not-sad music, or reading a few pages of a book of poems/short stories, or the Bible. I find that scripture before bed can be very reassuring for my worrying, grieving head and makes me less likely to think about all the sad stuff while lying in bed. I wish you the best, and not just in your attempts to get some shut-eye! Going to bed early is an excellent idea. I am trying to make that one a habit, myself. by the by, thank you for adding me as a friend on here. =) take care, Chai

Thank you for the replies, thank you so much. Boo, you are awesome. thank you for the love. There is so much love and kindness on this website. I am having a tough night tonight (again!), thinking about how my dad would help me with problems I had with my mother. They were separated, but sometimes I would tell him about things about her which frustrated me. Since he was a healer who knew how to help people emotionally and physically, and was so serene, he came up with wonderful, gentle things for me to say to her to help us resolve any argument. Now, I don't have my dad around to resolve problems between my mother and I. If I have any big thing with her, my father won't be there for me to talk to. (For example, her obligatory support for my writing career, which pales in comparison to my father's enthusiasm. my father believed in pursuing your dreams and never giving up, and that a job pursuing that dream could be happiness. My mother, bless her, thinks of a job as only a money-maker, and fears that I will become so obsessed that I will abandon my religion, as my siblings somewhat-have). I hope, I hope, that if and when there is some big argument between my mother and I, I will hear my father speak to me somehow through my heart, and know the right words to say to her. Just by going on this website, and browsing around, I feel comforted and better already. Everyone here is so kind and loving. Just reading others' words to other people, what to speak of to me, warms my heart. I think I'll be able to go back to sleep now. Em - It is good to hear that my grocery story about my dad and I resonated with you. I just had to type that story, even though it felt like a rambling sort of thing, and it feels good to hear that the story resonated with you. I feel like that is another connection we have, of grocery shopping with our fathers. When you really love someone, it doesn't matter what you do with them. Even talking about little things, like classes or something, and even trees, like you said, can be significant. I will certainly share with you, and thank you so much for offering, and for sharing your grocery-dad-story. =D I like that the two of you cooked together; that is such a fun, sweet thing to do with someone you love, and picking out the ingredients becomes a whole special project. The little things really, really get to us sometimes - or, alternately, they help. I find that wearing an old jacket of my dad's (oversized on me and not flattering, but I don't care) helps me feel more safe, like he is walking through my school day with me. Well, I must go to bed now. (((Hugs))) to all. take care, Chai

Nikol, I think it is normal. Like others have said, they too have the urge to call their loved ones. I called my dad's cellphone a lot after he passed away, until they canceled the number, because I wanted to hear his voice on the message machine. It made me sad and simultaneously happy to hear his voice. I still call up the landline number of his apartment, and the woman who took care of him and my grandmother, has kindly kept his voice message on the machine for me (and for others, who want to hear his voice). Listening to it sometimes makes me stunned...how can he be gone? He sounds so alive! We want to dream of our loved ones, we want to hear their voices, we want to hug them again...oh, I really wish I could hug my dad again. It's the thing that's most impossible (since I have had dreams, and recordings of his voice), and I really, really want to! I guess our brains on grief just...everything hurts. Sorry for the downer post...I can relate to what you are saying, Nikol. (((Hugs))). take care, Chai

Dear Tash, I am so sorry for your loss. We are here for you. We have felt this wrenching pain in our hearts that just really nails us. I hope that the sentence of those who murdered your brother will be soon, so that you and your family can get a little peace of mind in all the grief. The guilt is a normal thing. Like you said, you know you couldn't really have stopped it, but you feel the guilt anyway. That is a demon that shows up now-and-again to haunt us in our grief. I think it is one of the most terrible aspects of grief. It hurts so much. I think it is very admirable, and brave of you, to be taking care of your mother like that, and being the eldest, I am sure your siblings now take shelter in you in their grief. But please, be sure to take some time for yourself, too. That is important. As for the counselor...! That makes me angry, to hear of the insensitivity of people. I am sorry you had to go through having such a counselor. They are not doing their job properly! I think you should go with Boo's suggestion and try to get a bereavement counselor; if not that, at least someone else, who will hopefully be more sensitive. (((((Hugs))))) to you, take care, Chai

Dear friends, Oh, Boo! I wish I had more clucky hens like you! I need more people like you, who worry about me and ask after me. I would welcome it, actually, if my friends gave me sympathy/pity looks; instead, they just seem to ignore it. I am back at school - and, I put up my beautiful picture of my dad with the ocean and the sunset behind him. Beneath it, I put a certificate of his when he went to a special school to get a microscope for his healing work. And a friend of mine joked, "Hey, you already have your diploma!" ...I didn't really like that. I mean, I have that certificate there in memory of one of his many accomplishments, and I feel very respectful towards it, even if it's in an old frame (which I like, because it was his frame). I put it right underneath his picture, so that people can relate his name to his picture and so it won't get mistaken as something else. So...urgh. Already. But, I do have a wonderful network of support right here, and about 40 minutes away, a group of childhood friends who knew my father, and are much more sensitive to my grief. I am so fortunate to have them. When I told one of them last year, about some of my school friends' awkward reactions (specifically when they just sat and stared when I did my "I need you guys extra this year" talk), she was very indignant on my behalf. Mary Linda, you are so kind to just write up a response to my post in the middle of your doggie duties. =) Thank you. I sat and felt myself enwrapped in that hug, and it felt better. And you are right - my dad is here with me, every step of the way. I just have to think of that more, when I'm back in the school routine, when my mind says, "Oh, this is normal" and my heart says, "no, it's not! I'm sad and this is different 'cause he's not here!" I'll have to think, that he is here, he is in my heart. Korina - it is so nice to hear from you. We are in this same boat, where what other people say, pinpricks us like a needle deep in. It hurts. It hurts. But, like others are saying here - don't accomodate their pre-conceived ideas. Talk about it, instead. And we have each other. Boo, your story about your co-worker and your picture of your husband - thank you for telling that story. That is exactly how it feels, what it is like, when there is some mention. I am still going through that stage. It is good to know, that it eventually becomes bright and warm to eet reminders, and the comments become not only tolerable, but ok, even in our grief. I like the idea of finding a sanctuary. I think, I already have one, really - behind the school library, in a copse of pine trees like those I grew up around. No one ever goes there, and it's right by the on-campus river, so I can hear the water, and just lean back against a tree and think of my dad...I plan to renew my counselor sessions on-campus, and to take nature photos, definitely. I might go to meditations on-campus, too. My dad was into meditation. Sometimes when I look up at the sky or see something especially beautiful in nature, I talk to my dad, like he is standing there with me. I think that helps. The other night was tough, too (yesterday, before coming back to campus today). I was thinking about my two brothers (we share the same mom, and one of my brothers, oddly enough, reminds me sometimes of my dad in his handy-ness with things) and how I had just said goodnight to them...I was thinking about love, and imagining myself back in my dad's first house in LA; I pictured him sitting at the table and taking notes on something, maybe squinting in the light, and what it feel like to hug him and tell him goodnight, like I used to...and what it felt like, all the love contained in that hug. And I thought about what it was like to go grocery shopping with him. (I would give everything to do it again! Even just a shopping trip, I'm not asking for a hike; just one grocery shopping trip!) We would go through the fruits and veggies area first, and he was so into the healthy things he could put into his salads, that he would pick up say, a cabbage or something, and exclaim, "Look at how beautiful that cabbage is!" and he would laugh, just laugh, at the sheer beauty and joy of it. Even from something so simple, it made him laugh, it made him happy. I miss that simplicity, that easy joy. So I was thinking about him like this...and thought of waking someone up to just, sit with me, but...again, that accomodating part of me said, "nah, they're sleeping." So I didn't. In retrospect, even though it makes me also so sad...I'm so glad to just be able to sit, and remember little, simple things about my dad. Thank you again, (oh, and I will send Em a message, great idea) love and light, Chai

Dear Kathy, I am so sorry about the loss of your son. My mother lost her first child to a tragic accident, and she told me that the only thing that stopped her from going crazy was her faith. I feel that your dedication to your faith is very admirable and stregthening, especially at a time like this, and I hope that your faith can give you strength like it did for my mother. Your loneliness is a feeling that I can relate to, for I also feel sometimes even in a house with family, that there is no one to talk to, and that people do not feel the same level of sadness I do. I am sorry to hear of the tough emotions that grief is piling onto you; we become different, in our grief, I think. We perceive things differently. You know that you are feeling some resentment towards Keith. I think knowing that feeling is there, is important. Ah, the laughs! I know what you mean. Those laughs are so precious to us, that sign of happiness from our loved one. And I can relate, too, to your being able to share spiritual discussion. It is the really special relationships, and special individual aspects of them, that really tear us apart in our loss. I am sorry I do not have more to say that can be helpful. All I can say is, I relate to these feelings you are going through - you are not alone! You have all of us here. Please reach out to us whenever you are needing more hands to hold you up (I already know that you have one from up above). My heart goes out to you. (((hugs))), Chai