Chai

Tonight is a tough night. On Sunday, I am going to be back at school, starting classes on Wednesday. I think of interacting with my friends at school. I think, like last fall after November, when fathers come up in the conversation, I will shy away. Just now lying in bed trying to sleep, thinking about having to be around them and the occasional their-fathers talk made me start to cry. I don't know how I'm going to handle it! I don't really WANT to handle it! I kind of want to just burst into tears in front of them all, instead of walking away and "going to get a drink." I wonder how they'd handle that... It is just no fair. I hate it, sometimes. I think one reason I am dreading being back at school, is because I shove into myself, or shove my grief deeper into myself, more, when I am there. I am less open about it, because I am aware of my peers' difficulty in relating. I have that bad habit of being accomodating....which is damaging, in this case. It's still hard to talk about, in certain situations. And that friend of my dad's that I bumped into a while back? I can't spell his email address, so I can't send him a letter (and I don't have his phone number)...I wrote one out, and it was soo good just to get it out, it revealed things in my subconscious thoughts, but now I can't even send it and get a reply. :/ My dad was like a best friend to me. I really miss that best-friend-ness. Today, I went swimming out in the country by the national park where my dad and I loved to hike...it was a nice swim, good time spent with my mom and stepdad, but standing alone on a trail for a moment to enjoy the beauty of the trees made me happy and sad, because while it was beautiful to see, I had no one to enjoy it with me (my folks were walking towards the car, ahead of me). And again, I made them pull over later, so I could watch the sunset over the mountains for a few moments...standing there at the side of the road, gazing at the orange-blue-pink of the sky, felt so lonely... He should have been there standing beside me, you know? I love the beauty of nature, I think it is healing to me, but at the same time it hurts, because he was always there beside me, enjoying the beauty of nature with me. Going back to school feels like going back in time...it's like, these whole 9 months (that's how long a baby is in the womb! My dad has been gone for that long??)...have been me trying to make things different from last year, so that I won't be forced to remember that just last year, he was here. But now I'm going back to school, and I'll have to go by that spot where I was on the phone and was told that my father had passed away...and I'll have to walk through the library on lonely shelf duty, and try not to think depressed thoughts... And eventually, it will be past November 17th, 2009, and I won't be able to think "He was here last year." There will be a time, when I am forced to think, "He wasn't here last year, just like he isn't this year." I don't know which thought makes me sadder. You guys are lifesavers. Thank you for "listening." Sorry for all the parentheses. love and (((hugs))), Chai

Thank you, Boo and Mary Linda. It is certainly good to have friends on those bad days. this one friend of mine, I think had my dad ever met her, he would have liked her very much. She is very childlike and mystical. She isn't much of a hiker, but when I talk about my dad, she really listens. She really cares. She says she wishes she could have met him. I think they would have gotten along well, and part of me is sad they didn't meet. But it is good of her to be so willing to listen to me talk about him; I think, I don't take advantage of her listening ear enough, really. I like this idea, of having a strong foundation built for us by our loved ones. That way, we don't feel so much as if we are stumbling towards out futures; rather, because of our loves ones, we are less likely to stumble, because they were there to start us off on our paths. The foundation is so important. Without my dad's love and his healing nature, I don't think I would be doing as well as I am. I think of his serenity, and how kindly he treated others, and it enables me to be kind with myself, now when I really need it.

Dear friends, Thank you so much for your wonderful, heartfelt, heart-warming messages wishing me a happy birthday. The day itself, actually, was quite good. I had a couple old friends bring me out-to-town. We went to go see the new Harry Potter movie, which was both good and bad. I wanted to see it with them, because one of them is a particularly sensitive, kind friend, who has a very wonderful way of talking and listening to me in grief. The reason seeing this movie was tough, was because my dad, grandmother and I, all used to go see the Harry Potter movies. My dad was a very loving, big-hearted person, who could be very much like a child sometimes, and enjoyed the series with childish glee, while at the same time being able to greatly discuss the deeper meanings it spoke to him. My grandmother loved to be able to sit with her oldest son and grand-daughter for a bit of fun. My dad and I would talk about these films, and others, for hours, on driving trips to hikes all over the place. In one sense, I really missed my dad after we saw it, because I was bursting to talk with him about it (and did talk about it a bit with my friends). In another sense though, as I watched the movie, I felt like my father was sitting next to me, because I could imagine how he would laugh with me at certain parts, and feel emotional at others. I went bowling. It was fun, I thought I would be horrible at it, but I wasn't. Boo - I haven't hiked. I've thought of it...I went swimming at a spot that reminded me of my dad...but I haven't hiked yet, at any place we went to together. Part of me would like to, because my heart has grown up with that love of nature, and I yearn to be outside amongst tall trees. But another part of me is just scared...and sad, at the idea of going hiking without him. It would be so lonely. And when I think of going, even with a good friend, it feels sortof...wrong, like, I would compare it to hiking with him, and it would be different, and that differentness would hurt my heart. So...no hikes yet, really. The day after my birthday was a hard day, for some reason. Maybe it was just sinking in, that my dad hadn't been there to at least wish me happy birthday over the phone. Maybe it's the fact that this is going to be my first year of life without my dad here with me. I do feel that I am growing up, responsibilities like cars and bills are homes are on my mind for the future, and just having had someone so close to me pass away, sometimes makes me feel so much older than my peers. I am in this big, pivotal part and age of my life...and my dad isn't here. That is hard. I find myself happy a little now, sometimes, when I think of things that remind me of him. Even little things...like alien movies. =D My dad was into aliens and alien movies! So when I watched an alien movie the other day, I was laughing in my head, because I knew it was a movie my dad would have liked. Contact with things such as this, sometimes feels sortof like my dad saying 'hello.' I like those little reminders, sometimes, of my dad. Sometimes I feel like I'm forgetting things...so when I get reminders, this sortof rush of relief, of, "You still remember some things about him, you still have this" comes to me. Anyway, pardon my rambling. Thank you all so much for your sweet messages. love and (((hugs))) to all, Chai

Dear Em, Guilt is very difficult. We ARE different people, we have been changed, and now we are trying to find out who we are. We are being forced to reshape and rethink our beliefs, and to look at things in new ways. It is hard to do this, with a lens of grief and guilt in front of our vision. I think Boo has very good points. Even if your friend had said just the right thing, the guilt would still be there. I am thinking back to my guilty things that pop up in my mind sometimes, and it is the same way. Even if the logical part of the mind says, "You didn't know he would pass on," there is still that grief part that goes crazy saying, "You should have done better!" I relate so much to what you are saying, about having then valued school so much and wanted to work to get A's, even at the time of your father's illness. I was the same way, continuing to work so hard in school, and now I look back and chastise then-me in my head and get so angry and sad that I didn't take time off school more and spend every day at my father's bedside. My mother reminded me once when I told her about my guilt, that it is in the nature of a parent to want to do things for their children, to want to make their children happy. Your father was so proud of you, Em. He was so fortunate to have a wonderful daughter like you, taking care of him, being a friend as well as a daughter. I think, hard though it is, we must remember the loving dealings we had with our fathers, and remembering this, know that they would not hold any of our so-called "failures" in our minds against us. I can also relate to your feelings on the Road trips, because I also have places that I want to/don't want to go again. I am afraid of what going to these places might do to me. And I feel it is extra hard for people like me and you, whose fathers were so loving and special that they treated us not only as daughters, but as heartwarming beloved friends. We have lost more than counselors, than the men who raised us and cared for us, we have lost our bosom companions with which we spoke from our hearts and told our innermost secrets, and shared the highs and lows and shallow and depthful parts of life. Now they are gone, and it hurts so much... I think what your friend meant to say, simply, was that in the tough time you are now having (not referring to then and punishing you, but referring to now), it might be best to take a bit of lay-off from a stressful hardworking time at school. Like you and Boo said though, and I agree, your friend said things that were a little over-line, because like you said, striving in school is a part of you, instilled in you by your parents. I hope that you can find a good "soundboard," someone who, in addition to your good friend, you can talk to and who can hopefully say the right things, or at least share and listen. I have just recently found again, a very good friend of my father's to talk to. Let me tell you, after months in which I felt I didn't have a lot of people who really knew my dad to talk to about him, it felt sooo good to find someone who really, really loved (loves!) my father. This is a man who loved my father so much, and in one conversation got choked up about my dad in one moment, and in another moment laughed out loud remembering a funny story about my dad. To find gem people like these, helps us to think in a more logical, healing way, I think. Look for diamonds-in-the-rough people. They are the perfect soundboards. Sending ((((((Hugs)))))) and thinking of you, Chai

Dear Mary Linda, I'm so happy for you! Shadow is just a little darling, adorable. I think you two will bring each other lots of happiness, and it is wonderful to hear the uplifting effect he has on your spirits. I will pray that no sign comes from the newspaper about him, so you can keep him. Just hearing about him brings a smile to my face. take care, Chai

Dear Jo, I am so sorry for your loss, and that at such a time another sad thing comes to send you even more grief. My heart reaches out to you in the terrible circumstances that you find yourself in. I hope that finding this forum here, in which you can feel free to vent and share your fears and tears, will give you some relief. Our arms are around you in a giant circle of love, wishing you the best. My prayers go to you and your family, including your dear daughter. Sending love and light, Chai

Kath, I love your poem. It's really honest and heartfelt and sweet.

Found at "The Grief Blog": here "Death is nothing at all! I have only slipped into the next room I am I and you are you. Whatever we are to each other, that we are still. Call me by my old familiar name, speak to me in the easy way you always used. Put no difference in your tone;wear no forced solemnity or sorrow. Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes we enjoyed together. Play, smile, think of me, pray for me. Let my name be forever the household word that it always was. Let it be spoken without effort, without the ghost of a shadow on it. Life means all that it ever meant. It is the same as it ever was; there is absolutely unbroken continuity. Why should i be out of mind because i am out of sight? I am waiting for you for an interval, somewhere very near, just around the corner. All is well."

Maybe it is because I am currently reading John Bradshaw's "Creating Love," but I have come upon this strange thought: perhaps some of my current feelings are rooted in the past. Let me explain: I still feel a lot of pain about not having visited my father more when he was ill. I wonder sometimes, if I had visited him more, would I hurt less now? The urge is to say, no, I would not hurt less now. It would hurt the same, right?But...my grandmother passed away last month, and I visited her about a week before she passed. I wasn't as close to my grandmother as my father, and of course had different sort of relationship. Nevertheless, I feel that, right now, I feel so much better having visited my grandmother and spent good time with her before she passed on. So in a sense, I feel, had I visited my father more before he passed on, I would feel better now. So I regret, for my sake, not having visited him more. I regret for him, too. I keep telling myself, my dad didn't expect more of me. He loved me for who I was, appreciated that, didn't ask for more. But this thought goes through my mind still, that I let him down. I wasn't there at the time when he needed someone most. He especially needed me; I knew how much I meant to him. His work and me were his main focuses in life. How could I not be there when he needed me so much (even though, being so giving and modest, he wouldn't say it aloud)? Out of selfishness, out a need to retain normalcy, I stayed around school when he was ill (but I could have visited on the weekends sometimes) and didn't visit him more. If I had even visited him one more time, and say he'd said then, "Keep up with the schoolwork," then I would know I did right. I would feel okay that I was at school so much, and not visiting. But I didn't visit again, and I didn't hear him say 'keep up with your school.' So my mind is driving me crazy with this feeling that I let him down. Maybe I'm just in a mire of speculation and "maybes"...and this is all just, nonsense. I can connect the immense pain I am feeling right now on the thought I let him down with feeling in the past like I let him down. I never went to live with him at any time over the years, even though he asked me to more than once. I didn't tell him enough how proud I was of him. He already must have had some feeling of inadequacy, because he couldn't get his business going, because of my mom and him separating when I was little. Then here he was ill with cancer last year, and I let him down with the biggest, worst let-down of all, by not being by his side as his loving daughter. I feel in a way I "sided" with my mother again, because I listened to her voice of practicality saying to wait for "the right time to visit," instead of listening to the voice of openess and love that was in my heart that my dad taught me. So I let him down more. I don't know if what I said makes sense, and I know I rambled on, but I feel sortof crazy right now. How do I change my way of thinking? Will I always be haunted by this guilt/regret/pain from not visiting him more when he was ill? I want to not feel so crazy and heal, but I don't know what to do. It seems every time I come up with a temporary solution-thought, it is soon swallowed up by more sad thoughts.

I definitely feel lost sometimes, em. Like I am walking in different world that is not even parallel to others' world, not entering theirs, and I merely interact with people but they don't understand me, and I can't step into their world. I'm in this strange jungle with no map, with the lions and tigers of guilt and sorrow jumping out at me at unforeseen moments. I feel very restless sometimes, itching to do something, and at other times I just want to lie in bed with my bear. Neither feels satisfying, really. In fact, I don't think I have ever felt so unsatisfied. Discontent. Lonely. Sad. Lost, definitely lost. I am sorry to hear you are going through so much insecurity in other areas of your life. I hope that sharing here can give you some comfort. Perhaps try a regular long-term therapist/psychologist/grief support group? A long-term thing seems to me that it would be more comfortable, intimate, and helpful. I myself am currently exploring local grief support groups in an effort to establish a long-term, face-to-face sharing with people. I hope you can find the same.

That is a beautiful poem! Thank you so much for sharing it. It is very uplifting.

Dear JR, I am so sorry for your loss. I am so sorry that your situation is so very difficult and alone. I think it is very good that you are here, because the magic of this forum is that you feel less alone when you are here. We are all here for you. Please feel like you are surrounded by many, many shoulders upon which to cry. We are reaching hands holding onto yours. Is there some way that you can call your partner? I know it is not the same as in-person, but it feels more personal than Internet, and that way you can hear a loving voice and also get a good listening ear. Your dad is in your heart. It is sweet to be able to have belongings that were his, to remember him by, but you also have your memories, and knowing that your dad loved you. I think that, like others have said, his having you on his To-Do list is very significant and special. He loved you, and still loves you, very much. That love is not gone, it is still there. You will always have his love with you. I can relate to your feeling of wishing you had finished the PhD sooner so he could see you do it. I feel like that about particular projects of mine I would have liked to share with my dad. What I try to think of, when working on my writing, is how much love and encouragement my dad gave me. In the end, it is about the feeling he had in me - his confidence in me. Had he been here to see me finish, he would say, "I knew you would do it." Your dad was proud of you, he knew that you would finish it, I am sure that he had one-hundred-percent confidence in you, and that is what really counts: his feelings about you and your PhD, his encouragement and love. I hope that you get to see that friend, and remember you are welcome here to come and vent or rage or anything, at any time. My thoughts and prayers are with you. take care, Chai

I can't sleep. My grandmother has just passed away. For years, her health was bad, and after my grandfather passed away, she moved out to CA to live with my father. On a healthier diet and taking good healthy supplements and such, she did get healthier living with my dad for 7 1/2 years. But she still had bad lungs. My father's passing, I feel, was so hard on my grandmother, even though she didn't talk about it. He was her eldest son. He took care of her. He was so loving towards her. In the past month or so, my grandmother's breathing got worse, and just last week I went to visit her because we thought she might go. My dad's brother, my uncle, came over from across the country, and we all spent time together. It was good. We enjoyed spending time together, all three of us, and I got to do some nice service and conversation with my grandmother. She passed away peacefully in her sleep just a few hours ago. It does not come as a big surprise. But I am sad. She was my dear grandmother. She told me so many wise things. She liked really good food. She was the only person on my dad's side of the family that I knew, before I met my uncle a few years ago. Now, both my grandmother and father are gone, and I have only my uncle. I have not yet met the others on that side of the family, down South, yet. It is so strange. I was once a person not at all acquainted with loss, although I had lost pets over the years, and even that was heartbreaking enough. Now in a span of months I have lost two family members. My grandmother had a good passing. She was asleep, and her ears could hear the transcendental sacred hymns, which one of her friends and caretakers who was at the apartment, was singing to her while she slept. So I believe she passed on to somewhere wonderful, having such a spiritual connection at the time of passing. That is important to me, and to her, and to my father and uncle. I just wanted to tell you all, as my friends and grief community. I might have more such friends soon, hopefully, because I have finally found a local (and very close by) grief support group in my tiny town.

Em... I feel the same way, a lot of the time, about my dad. It is very scary, that now our lives cannot be filled by passionate, fulfilling conversation with our dads, on many topics that only our dads could understand. I talked to my dad about all sorts of things - movies, books, emotions and people, spiritual realizations, my dreams and his, so many things. We really got into it. I didn't talk to other people about all of these things, and definitely not in the same way. There was a certain openess there that I haven't established with other people. Sure, I can talk to anyone about movies, but my dad didn't even talk about movies the same way other people do. He had a unique twist on everything. He dug deep, he found the little bit of magic and higher idea in everything. It seemed he could learn something about life, or find some joy or serenity, in every little thing, even something as "mundane" as a movie. No one has that. That "it," that dad thing. It just doesn't work. I've tried, like you, with friends and mom and stuff. They're just not the same. It makes me wonder, if I can ever be the same person that I was around my dad. I mean, there was a certain way that I was when I was out hiking with my dad, or driving around in the car, and I wasn't the same person around others. Part of this is 'cause, I was very possessive of my dad, and didn't talk to a lot of others about the "me and my dad" trips and talks. I just thought, "Well, they wouldn't get it." And now, they definitely won't get it, 'cause I never told them, and they can't see me and my dad together anymore. It feels very lonely. Half of my team is missing! No one can replace him! Can I ever be the me I was around my dad, or is that way of being gone, too? I think my dad saw the best me I could ever be. I don't want that version of me to be gone. But how can I be like that without him? I'm with you. (((Hugs))).

Good to hear y'all are on the same page. (I put that y'all, in all honesty, simply because my dad was from Alabama and retained his "y'all" throughout the years). I...I could ask for people to accomodate me and not use "the certain words," that is true. That would require me to muster up a bit of stand-up-for-yourself bravery that I feel has been sucked out of me a bit, but goshdarnit, it would sure help me out. I think I'll try it. To Boo, Valley, and Wendy...people still consider me my father's daughter, so why can't you be your husbands' wives still? It doesn't make sense. I know the vows say, "Till death do us part," but really, why must death be the parting? Their memory lives on in you, the love is still there. (Boo, a "him" day...I know what you mean).

Dear all, thank you so much for your wonderful hearts feeling with me and reaching out to me. It really means a lot and is a big help. Father's Day was okay for me. I think it could have been worse. Dear em, I am sorry you had such a tough one. My thoughts are with you. I got really sick in the morning on Father's Day, and almost felt like I was going to throw up. The morning was worst - dizziness, nausea, almost felt like fainting at one point. But then it left, and I was just haunted by a tummy ache all day. This made my day sadder, really, because I wasn't able to do all the things I'd wanted to do for Father's Day. No hike. But, even though I had low hopes of finding any wildflowers in our tiny town, I spotted a patch of daisies in a dirt field by someone's house. So I got out and picked some. and put them in a vase by my dad's picture. It looks beautiful! He would looove it. I also wrote my dad another letter. It didn't feel as satisfying as my first letter to him, but it was something. The loveliness of the poems, prayers, comics and well-wishes that you all gave me...thank you, thank you. I wish that all people would have such a beautiful and thoughtful mourning period (and prayer) as the Jewish do. It is very appropriate and considerate for those grieving, and very respectful to those who are gone. I like how much Nature is in that poem. Boo, dear Boo, what you said about carrying my dad in my heart and all that...((((HUGS)))). Part of me, at the same time as I was thinking about how to honor my father on THE Father's Day, I was also thinking...why have one special day? Why not do a bunch of special things for my father every day? Pick flowers for him and put them in a vase as a regular practice? Write letters whenever I feel like it? I think, I'll start doing all sorts of things for him (and eventually hikes), to feel like I am keeping the connection going, and to keep him in my heart. So that I can look at his picture and think of the last letter I wrote him, or a sweet memory, instead of thinking, "Now all I have is a picture of him..." Thank you all for your replies. (and um, feel free to reply more, er...yes).

For example, now I hate hearing the words: death dead died dying die Especially in relation to my father. Even when some school administrator or something, back during the semester, would say something like, "I'm so sorry for the death of your father," I would cringe inwardly at the word 'death.' And I just can't stand to say/think/write the word 'dead' in relation to him. I prefer words like "loss," "passed on," "gone," "his passing," "left his body," or just "left." But I can't tell people that I don't like hearing certain words. They would look at me weird. Even my mother, she would simply worry and say, "It's just a word," or something. She doesn't want to see me so sad, naturally, but I would rather hear something comforting, like, "That's okay to not like those words." And I mean, I know it's okay...I can't help it, and I don't think it's some form of denial. But the words do come up, and when they do I sortof...brain-freeze. Like when people would talk about topics at school that, unbeknownst to them, reminded me of my dad, I'd just sortof...brain-freeze, and get sad, and walk away "just to get a drink" or something. So, it's like that with these certain words. They just...bam. They're harsh. Final. I don't like them.

I told myself I would be okay for Father's Day. I made a list, long before, of special things to do. But now it's 20 minutes into Father's Day, and I've been lying in bed soaking my poor teddy bear, and I have a stomach ache. I am fortunate in that I have a father figure, my stepdad, who is an awesome guy. But, I don't want any father. I want my father. I miss him so much! It's just no fair that other people get to call up their fathers and wish them happy father's day. I can't call my dad, even though I can just imagine how our conversation would go. I just feel sad, right now. I wonder how this could have happened, and how it is that I'm 7 months into grief. My world has been turned upside down, and even though I've grasped things I enjoy doing again, and really found out who my friends are, it still doesn't feel the same. It still feels really wretched, sometimes. I just want to hear my dad's laugh again. I want to be on a beautiful nature hike, and see him clomping ahead of me with his blue sweater and his ratty tote bag. I want to see him sitting at the driver's seat, scribbling in his notebook and shoving the crummy old Geo from one drive to another to make it groan up the next hill. Really youth has nothing to do with grief; everyone gets sad no matter when they lose their parents. But I must say, it is so strange to be hearing my mother explaining that some of the chocolates she got are to send to her dad. I mean, how can my mother still have her father and I don't have mine? It's so strange. Hopefully, I can do some of the things on my list tomorrow (actually, today) to feel better. I want to get a bouquet of wildflowers and put them in a vase by my dad's picture, and I was thinking it would be fun to make his salad, the personal salad he taught me to make that he would eat for lunch every day. It would be awfully brave of me if I could manage a hike without him...for him, on Father's Day, to meditate on him. Maybe I can. Please tell me your experiences and feelings on Father's Day. Any tips?

Thank you for posting this.

Dear Shelley, I just had to reply to your post. First of all, you are NOT crazy! No way! All the people o nthis thread feeling loss for their childhod homes is evidence that you are not crazy and you are not alone. We have a lot of special memories in these houses, and I think especially after loss, those intimate things like our old living spaces become even more precious, and it is sad to think that these homes are gone, too. For 6 years I lived in a house that became very special to me, and it has been 8 (soon to be 9) years since I have gone into that house. I have been in the area but just couldn't stay to visit it again. Now, I am thinking more of that place since my dad passed away and hope to visit it again, although not necessarily go in the house. It will make me sad, probably, but I feel it is something in my grief process, and in my grief over the house which I never did anything about, that I must do. ...My dad built my a treehouse on that property, and I totally loved it. I wondered later, if the kids of that family liked the treehouse. I wonder if it's still there now, or gone to pieces? I hope it's still there... You are not alone in your sorrow over your childhood home. (((Hugs))). Take care, Chai

Dear friend, I am so sorry for the loss of your mother. The loneliness can sneak up on you sometimes. We are here for you, to hold your hands, to hug, to cry with you. Please understand that you are not alone. I wish the best for you and your family, and that you can come to some moment where it feels right and good to share with and comfort your sister. I think that a natural moment will come, when you can cross whatever boundaries are there, and take comfort in each other. Keep coming here and posting; it is a super supportive community. ((((HUGS))), take care, Chai

Thank you all for your replies. I really appreciate them. I have to admit that these ideas of "new normal" and "keep on living" are kind of scary. It is hard to balance these feelings of, wanting to be happy, and wanting to remember my dad, and in thinking of my dad, sometimes I miss him so much and it makes me terribly sad. At other times, I am sitting here, typing up a list of "little memories" - one sentence things I remember that he said, or did, or liked - and they make me laugh. So...it is strange. I am so glad I have you all on this strange road! mlg - (((hugs))), thank you. It is nice to know that I have someone watching over me, and that with a warm, kind heart of well-wishing. What you are saying, about never forgetting, about how the goodness in them - that made us love them so! - overshadows the bad - I agree. I agree. missing B - oh! Your post! You are the first person I have encountered who has voiced the same fear that I have secretly been harboring - that of forgetting. That pieces of my dad are floating away. As in - how could I forget those things which he said to me so many times in my life that, when he was about to say them to me again, I would laugh and start saying it along with him? Now those things, I don't remember them! It scares me so much! It feels awful! I want to remember them! So, I can relate to your fear of forgetting your sister, or misconstrue-ing her image in your mind. And the time machine! Don't we wish for it. I have a picture of my dad that I look at every day, and it helps me. Maybe a picture of your sister could help you? I am so sorry you lost your sister. That baby boy, I feel, can be a bundle of joy, even though his beautiful mother has passed on. And I am glad that my letter-writing thing might help someone else. It really has a power to it. I think we must think of what mlg has said - we will never forget them. Also, I feel sometimes I try to force memories...which does not help. Thank you all for your responses! I am still mulling over all of this...

A giant thank you to all of you...wow...everyone here is so sweet! I can't believe the kindness that comes from you. Please understand I am so grateful. This really helps, to read what you have to say, and to think of the gifts my father gave me. Cubby, thank you, and thank you for the information on the groups. That sounds wonderful. I really should start something... Gatorman, ((Hugs)), I am so sorry for the loss of your wife. Your post went straight to my heart and sent this wave of sad/joy mix that felt really powerful. Thank you. Valley, the story of your dear husband is very touching. He sounds like he was a very sweet man. I can see the parallels there, this unmatcheable giving that parents do for their children - it can never be repaid. We whose parents are so giving like this - your childrens' father, my father - we are so lucky to have them for as long as we do. Thank you for your words. They give me strength. I shall go to bed now, with this feeling in mind - savoring and feeling sheltered by this wave of kindness I get from everyone on this website. =)

Dear Cubby, I am late, but I am sending loving, comforting thoughts in your direction. I hope that your day was as good as it could be. Just as a suggestion, something I recently thought of - maybe it would help you too - write a letter to your mom? Tell her how you feel, share with her the things you are experiencing that you wish she were here for. I wrote a letter to my dad, and found that "telling" him about stuff like that, about my struggle, actually helped. I know that my dad wishes me well, and wishes my happiness, just as your mother wishes you happiness. Somehow in writing a letter, I found I was able to feel and sense more, this exchange of love that happens with our loved ones, even without my dad there to reply back. Just sharing is sweet. My six-month day is tomorrow (well, today, now)... I shall have to do something special for it. I am happy your husband is supportive. That is wonderful. I think mlg is right - we will always miss them. But there are ways to make the ache less painful, or to make the missing...into a sweet remembering of good times, or doing an homage to them now. take care, Chai

Thank you for your reply, Joyce. It is so heartwarming to discover people who are so willing to help others, as you are. Thank you for your wise words. I like this differentiation between guilt and regret - you are right. There was nothing done wrong, simply that time was cut short and so many more things could have been done and said. We are not in control. This forum is so helpful! Without it, I don't know where I would be. Chai