LadyCarrie

Dear Butch, Others have expressed so well what is in my heart, so I will just say Amen. ❤️ Hugs, Carrie

Dear Marty, I wonder whether I will ever stop the involuntary, spontaneous burst of tears of gratitude that I experience when I read such kind and sweet words I find here. I am warmed by the love and welcome. Thank you. I would put a series of hearts here, but I don't know that I can with my iPad. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️. Yep. I did it, unless they disappear. . Amberly can look out over the Valley, toward San Francisco and the Bay Area, as she drives down the mountain to Sonora where she works. Because our weather report calls for a "dense fog alert" for Modesto and for Sacramento until 11:00 a.m., Jerry asked Amberly for a visual report. She says that the fog looks dense, but not dense as it was yesterday. Jerry's appointment is at 11, so we are hopeful it will have lifted to a great degree before we get there. We are above the fog at our elevation (between 4500 and 4600 ft.), so the sun is shining brightly here on the hill. Of course, what we truly need is precipitation of any form we can get due to the severe drought we are in. Since the sun is shining, we will enjoy it, and be appreciative that we don't have to deal with the Valley fog for weeks at a time as do the people of the Valley. See you tonight. Hugs, Carrie

Dear Angee, There is nothing silly about your writing. You tell us a beautiful story of young and passionate love. First love is truly special. I am so sorry that your heart is hurting so badly. All of us here care, and are good listeners any time you want to talk. Your feelings are completely understandable. Blessings, Carrie

Anne, I know how to pray. You can teach me how to meditate better. You, too, Kay. I have much to learn about both. Hugs to both, Carrie

Oh, I do so love my CDs of the sounds of nature. My TN cousins think I've lost my mind for buying a CD of a thunderstorm (giggle). Carrie

Dear Anne, Bless your dear and precious heart. You have already blessed my life many times over by posting all the helpful things you post. I have in mind all the Webinar information, Quotes, Music, and so many other things. I’m always eager to look to see what you have written to folks, and what you have posted. I have been a fan of yours for a while. It is special people like you who make this a healing place. You are one of the people God put in my life. I thank Him, and I thank you. Thank you for hearing me, for loving me, and for hugging me. How wonderful this feels! How blessed I am! I will be away most of tomorrow. We must take Jerry to Modesto (an hour and a half one way; down the mountain, through the Land of Cows and Coyotes, and to the Valley floor) to get some sutures removed. The San Joaquin Valley fog can be very dangerous. Five people were killed in one wreck the day after we took Jerry to Modesto to have some lesions removed. This wreck happened on the road we travel. One person lived to tell the story of how it happened. I will be here tomorrow night to check on everyone. I’m especially concerned for Butch right now. I woke up thinking of him, and praying that God would give him strength and stamina and all he needed to get him through his painful and scary day. Hugs and squeezes, Carrie

My dear new friend, Kay, Thank you so much for your understanding, and for your kind words. By reading your posts, I sense a kind heart in you, and your desire to comfort and care for people. You are a great help and a blessing to so many. God blesses you for your good work, and the people you help love and appreciate you. That makes you one very loved and appreciated lady. You are right in saying that some things are very hard to forgive, and forgiveness is indeed a process. The process is not easy at all. For me, forgiveness began with my conscious and deliberate choice to forgive. Forgiveness doesn’t mean we must say the wrong was all right. I can never do that. I came to realize that by forgiving those who hurt me, I was freeing myself. I think perhaps a reason that God wants us to forgive is that He knows that we help ourselves in the process. Some movies and TV programs can cause flashbacks that bring unbidden thoughts that cause temporary setbacks. I used to turn programs off, or leave the room (flee might be a more appropriate word). Jerry was quick to change the channel in the early years of my healing. Then I began to force myself to face the challenge of watching, and most of the time now, I am all right. I tell myself to remember that God has given me a new surname. My name is now Carrie E. Christian, and Jerry shares his well-respected name with me also. I am not the same person I was back then. I feel sorry for the little girl I was, but not for the woman I have become. I still love my family. I have two sisters and a brother left. By God’s grace, and a lot of hard work, each of us has come a long way from the cotton patch kids we were. One of us went from the cotton fields onward to become a United States diplomat with the State Department, and her husband is a retired U.S. diplomat with the State Department also (he and I email each other sometimes several times a day; my sister rarely writes). Am I beginning to sound like Hyacinth (English sitcom)? I can honestly say that my cotton patch days taught me valuable lessons for life. I don’t regret them, but I surely would hate to have to repeat them. I'm glad I heard the panthers scream, but I don't really need to hear them in the wild again. I knew another young girl who this person raped (I cannot say my and rapist in the same sentence). She became pregnant, and gave birth to a precious blue-eyed baby boy. This girl was in my high school class a year later. I used to cuddle this round little baby of hers; it wasn’t his fault that his father was mean. This man (referring to gender only) was never punished to my knowledge. I checked online twice during the last decade to learn whether he was ever caught, for I know he did not stop his criminal behavior. I also checked for his obituary. I have found neither a criminal record, nor an obituary; however, I did find the headstone of the man who was the rapist’s lookout. He is buried in a cemetery nearby the plot of a relative of mine. I was shocked to find this headstone, because I had not thought to look for his. I was especially shocked to see the name of a high school friend of mine on the headstone with his. I felt pity for her, for she was a beautiful, sweet girl. No one calls Grief friend, unless there is a Mrs. Grief; in which case, I believe she hopes to soon become a widow, so she can decorate her new bedroom in pink. I would say that I know her personally, and we discussed this very thing last week, but you might think that I’m a bit more warped than I really am. Blessings and hugs, dear Kay, Carrie

Hi, It is my intention to find a particular photo of Ashely to put here. Your baby is lovely. Please feel my arms wrapped around you in a big, warm hug. Carrie

Dear Butch, You have been in our thoughts, and in our prayers, all day. We care. Carrie

Dear Marty, Thank you for your kindness, and for offering Jerry and me comfort and a safe haven. Thank you so very much for telling me that you won’t let us walk this path alone, for these words provided instant relief. Thank you for the collective arms around us. How wonderful, warm, and protective these arms feel! It is not my place to give support by giving advice, but by understanding and by genuine caring. I feel that it would be selfish of me to accept help for healing without attempting to help others, if I can. If I ever say something that might be offensive to anyone, it will be through ignorance, and never due to malice in my heart. My purpose for writing my background was to let others know that I understand grief. No one could know that I understand his or her hurts unless I told my background, which I could not have done without Jerry’s and Amberly’s encouragement. Amberly told me that I need not write it as an English paper, but to just “splat it out there,” so “splat” I did. I wrote things that I could not voice for fifteen years, and it does not come easily for me now. It’s easier to write than to tell in person. There is no point in telling now, except if telling can help someone know there is hope for healing. I am healed, as much as one can be healed, from the trauma of my yesteryears. I acknowledge nightmarish flashbacks. When flashbacks occur, I remind myself that I am a strong survivor, and that I need to live in my present, so that I can plan and prepare for my future. Mark Twain said, "A man who carries a cat by the tail learns something he can learn in no other way." At age fourteen, I became that cat. I determined that no one will touch my body without my permission. I still carry a scar on my left hand caused by the battle that ended the molestation. When the molestation began, I told my sister who told my mother. My parents took me to a doctor who told them that he believed nothing had happened to me, and that children my age often made up stories. I was not believed, and I was shamed by my parents and siblings for telling a “nasty” lie on my sister’s father-in-law. My life changed among my family members at that time, and I was treated differently. It amazes me that no one stopped to consider how a seven-year-old little girl who lived so far into the backwoods of the Mississippi Delta, forty miles from the edge of the earth where it was necessary for sunshine to be pumped in, to know how to say such had happened unless it had happened. My not being believed caused more damage than the act itself. I learned as an adult that this man’s family members were never told, because of the harm and distress it might cause them unnecessarily. At age fifteen, I told someone whom I loved what had happened to me, and was thereafter treated like a “second class citizen” by this person. I decided to never tell anyone else for fear of loss of respect. Jerry said something innocently that caused me to lose control of my emotions one night when I was thirty. I “came unglued” all over my poor darling's head verbally. He reached out and encircled my waist with his long, strong arms, while pulling me down firmly into his lap. He cradled me there until I could calm down, and become quiet. He asked, "Don't you know you were a victim, and none of this was your fault?" No, I did not know. Jerry helped me begin to heal. He is my human anchor (everything within me screams that I cannot lose him). My sister, the mother of a tortured and murdered daughter, came for a visit from MS to our home in California in the mid-1980s. As the two of us sat on our back deck, she talked to me about the murder. She said that she wanted the murderer(s) to be put into prison for life (so they could hurt no one else), but wanted no one killed, because if killed, he/they would have no opportunity to repent, and to be saved for eternity (at the time, I marveled that she wanted them to be). She said these words with tears in her eyes. She spoke from her hurting heart. I saw Jesus in my sister that day, for this was Christianity in action. I knew then that I had to forgive all of all wrongs, for nothing had happened to me as bad as had happened to her. God is all for reconciliation, regardless of the wrong done. He wants us reconciled to Himself, and to each other. My sister, without her awareness, helped me heal in a powerful way by her example. My faith in God's unconditional love and mercy gives me strength to move forward. He gave me a sense of humor to help preserve my sanity. I believe God gives each of us just the right people at just the right time, if we ask this of Him. I thank Him for blessing our lives with you, Marty, and with all of the compassionate, loving people on this forum. Blessings, Carrie

Dear Butch, I have been thinking of you and praying for you through the day. May God hold you in a very special way, and may He give you all the strength and stamina you need. Hugs, Carrie

Dear Kay and Anne, I have wondered the difference in prayer and meditation. I think perhaps they are twin sisters, and both are right and good. I am a massage therapist, and I learned a bit about meditation during my classes. I've come to use both prayer and meditation. Meditation helps bring my mind to only the present, and helps to keep my mind from wandering as I pray. My prayers are simply talking to God; meditation helps me listen while He speaks to my heart. How can we hear if we're the one who is always talking? That makes for a one-sided conversation, and is rude to God (I confess that I'm guilty). We need to sometimes just be quiet and still, and as you said, just "be." Sometimes no words are needed. God hears our heart, and prayer can be breathed. You are right, Kay, in saying that there is no right or wrong way. Sometimes the right way for me is to pray as I work in my rose garden, and sometimes, my bathtub is my best place to pray, for I can cry and pour out to God all my pain that I don't want Jerry to see or hear. Nancy Reagan said that she used her bathtub as a place to rid herself of anger toward anyone who had hurt her Ronnie (I'm unable to quote her, but that's what I got from her statement). I learned that it's a good place for me also. It's a great place for assured privacy, for hardly anyone will follow you into your bathroom. Blessings, Carrie

Anne, You are wise, sweet, and so generous. Your postings are very helpful to me. Thank you so much. Carrie

Dear Linda and Shalady, I cannot advise either of you, but I can send you hugs, and tell you that I care very much that you are hurting so badly. I pray every day for the people on this site, particularly ones who I know are having special needs (eg. Kay's recent surgery, and especially that she was alone most of the time; Butch who is suffering such raw grief, and others). I offer you my online friendship, and would invite you to come over for a sit down visit, if that were possible. Your stories squeeze my heart, and I can only imagine how you must hurt and miss your precious loves. My husband survived, but he was on a ventilator for a while, and couldn't talk. We learned later that he was having terrifying hallucinations on morphine. He kept strugling to tell me what he was seeing. He tried to write, but he wasn't able to do that either. They changed medications after he was off the ventilator. The new one made him hallucinate also, but since he had to have strong medications for pain, they decided that it was all right for him to see the nurse as having blue hair. Her having blue hair really intrigued him. Intrigue was so much better than terror. Blessings and hugs, Carrie

Dear Anne, Thank you for posting the webinar information. I listened to it today while I prepared lunch. I think I was angry at every couple I saw after I lost my first husband, because they still had each other. It's just the way it is, I think. It was for me anyway, and it likely would be again ( much worse). I especially hated to go to the grocery store. I dreaded seeing couples, and suddenly seeing someone who looked like him, or wore his cologne. Even after all these years, I remember. His sister told me that she was angry at him for taking his life, but I never felt anger toward him. He couldn't help it. She knew this. She loved him so very much. It was her pain speaking, but it was hard for me to hear. I did something quite out of character for me while Jerry was in the hospital. I actually scared myself. I thought I might have lost my mind. I stayed at the hospital every night until 11:30, and returned as soon as they'd allow me inside every morning. Early one morning, as I was getting ready for another day, I threw a brand new hairbrush, as hard as I could, at the headboard of the bed. It flew out of my hand, sailed near our dear friend Dr. Rickard's head, slammed into the headboard, and lay in two pieces. He said calmly, "Carrie, some people handle stress differently." Indeed they do. I had no forethought of sailing that brush. It was like someone else must have done it. I stood there stunned at what I had done. I could hardly move. When I began to get my wits back, I thought I might have just bought a bed, but it didn't even have a scratch (must be kid proofed). Later that morning, when the social worker came for her daily visit with me, I told her what I done, and that I could hardly believe I had done such a thing. She gave me a smile, wrapped both of her arms around me, and rocked me. She told me that she wanted me to remember three words that begin with the letter "N." They are: Normal, Natural, and Necessary. She said that even my sailing the brush was Normal, Natural, and Necessary under my circumstances. Her words were difficult for me to believe, but she assured me that I was not losing my mind. I will try to never do such again. My irrational anger was rooted in fear, dread, and helplessness. I understand somewhat better now. I'm angry at what is happening to us, but I'm not angry with any person. I am recuperating from the intensity of my remembering and writing yesterday. Tomorrow will be better. Blessings, Carrie

❤️

Dear Littlebee, My heart goes out to you, and I am sad for your loss. Your hurt goes as deeply as your love, and so the hurt is deep. The trauma makes your hurting even worse. I'm still experiencing outbursts of grief for our Ashely (Doxie), and she died last October 10th. You are experiencing raw grief right now, but there will likely come a time when you will not cry as hard, and not every day. You likely can expect the sudden outbursts of grief. When this happens, I know of nothing else to do, except to "cry it out." You will not cry like this forever. You will always have a room for your baby in your heart, and in that room, your baby will live. Anne has lost her little Benji, so she understands your pain well. I would be delighted could I write Spanish as well as you write English. Feel good about your writing, and come back and let us know how you are feeling whenever you want to. Blessings and hugs, Carrie

Dear Butch, Just a quick note to let you know that I am thinking of you. I'm asking God to watch over you tonight in a very special way, and to help you heal. Carrie

Dear Anne, Thank you ever-so-much for your kind words, and your hugs feel SO wonderful. I knew that was going to be difficult to write, yet Jerry and Amberly, our daughter, encouraged me to go ahead and write it. Surprisingly, to me, I did not cry; instead, I broke out in a cold, clammy sweat. Forget perspiration. I know I'm not being the lady I usually try to be. Please forgive me, but I'm simply too tired to be a lady right now. I'm unbelievably exhausted. A hot bath to get my abdomen out of a knot, and a good rest, will put me right again, I'm sure. Jerry and I used to travel a lot in our business. We were familiar with your area at one time. We used to enjoy Phoenix (good food and shopping), and other places in Arizona. Jerry is a pilot, and we've used the Phoenix-Goodyear airport. There are awesome places to photograph and paint in your state. Jerry's sister lived at Flagstaff for decades before retiring (from teaching) in Colorado. I just let Jerry read what you wrote, and he got tears of gratitude in his eyes. Thank you again for responding, and for your care. Blessings and lots of hugs back to you from both of us. Carrie and Jerry

I am new to this site, but I am not new to Grief. I recognized this cruel specter as soon as he appeared to me again when the doctor told me that my darling husband had an inoperable 9-cm aneurysm, was in total liver failure due to the aneurysm, and that he could offer me no hope that Jerry would live. Although I did not see Grief, I felt him there. We were already acquainted, for he had been my unwelcome companion at other times. He came this time to follow in my footsteps, and to wait with me. Of course, I know this is only personification of my psychological and emotional agony. By the grace of God, and an extraordinary procedure performed by exceptional physicians, Jerry lives. He lost six liters of blood, and two of the six in thirty seconds. Six liters is almost all the blood a man has in his body. Because only two hundred people in the world have an aneurysm just off of the hepatic artery, and because Jerry “grows” aneurysms (genetic), we have no prognosis. Jerry left the hospital with his doctors expecting him to die any day, and they still tell us that they are surprised that he still lives. He has two aneurysms in his spleen, and possibly one in his brain. Jerry has chosen to not have a confirmed diagnosis, because he cannot withstand the surgery. Jerry’s hepatic artery is occluded, and he lives only on his hepatic vein. He is in constant pain due to arthritic hips, but his doctors say that he cannot have that surgery either. There are other complications, but I’m trying to be brief. I became a member of this forum in order to learn how to cope with anticipating the worst pain I will ever have, rather than to seek comfort due to a recent loss. I came to offer support, as well as to be supported. I have not suffered as deeply, or for as long, as some of you have suffered, yet I “get” grief. I will tell you of some things I've suffered; not for the purpose of seeking pity, but to say there is hope for survival and healing. This telling will not come easily for me. Some of these things I could not voice from the time I was fifteen until I was thirty, and then only to Jerry. After my father died of colon cancer/MI, my mother came to live with us. I was her caregiver for 20 years. She required total care the last five years; one of which she called me “Mama.” I’ve had multiple heart-breaking miscarriages. Three of my sisters have died. One of these sisters, at age two or three, missed the stairs, fell into a storm cellar, and landed on her head. She could not walk for two years, and according to her physicians, the fall caused her to have schizophrenia. At seventeen, she had polio, which crippled her for life. I learned Christmas week that another sister has spinal cancer. This sister’s daughter died recently of AIDs. One nephew died a few years ago with adrenal cancer; his brother called me 2 weeks ago to tell me his doctor believes he has adrenal cancer. One nephew died of a heart attack, and his brother died of complications of pneumonia. A sister of these nephews has breast cancer. One niece died due to Tylenol. She followed the directions on the bottle, but did not know to consider that she weighed fewer than 100 pounds. This niece’s sister, age seventeen, and just out of high school, was murdered. She and her husband (just got his degree at university) were sodomized, murdered, and left in the MS sun/rain for three days before being found by her brother. Another nephew took his own life; we don’t know the reason. I’ve lost my two best friends; one died, and one moved away. On October 10, our precious Ashely Rose Doxie died. I’ve left the death so many of you will understand until last. I, too, have lost a spouse. My first husband, my high school sweetheart, took his life due to unrelenting, unalleviated pain; pain that he had no hope to get to a level with which he could live. I will never get “over” his violent, shocking death, but I got through it. We were married almost six years. I still grieve, and with my beloved Jerry’s full support. I have been blessed with the love of two of the world’s finest men. Jerry and I will have been married forty-seven years on 26 April 2015. I was molested at age seven by a non-family member, and I was raped at age thirteen by a thirty-year-old man after I left a movie theater. I “get” trauma, and I “get” grief. Blessings, Carrie

Rob, I am sorry for your loss, and that you are hurting so deeply. Carrie

Dear Butch, My daughter, Amberly, and I just listened to and watched this together. She says, "This is very touching." I totally agree. We pray you will recuperate quickly from the flu. Anne is right about the Ensure. Perhaps your son can bring some to you. Amberly says, "I'm glad he has his little doggie." Yep. So am I. I haven't known you as long as some of the others here have known you, but I've shared what I've learnd regarding you and Mary with Jerry and Amberly, for they care, and will pray also. We all care that you are hurting. Hugs, Carrie

Dear Anne, Thank you for sharing your heart as you gave a beautiful tribute to your little Benji. Dogs do indeed love unconditionally, and with all that is within them. Hugs, Carrie

Hi, Anne, I've just discovered photos of your Benji. What a precious baby! I'm sorry you are feeling overwhelming sadness. I know it hurts fiercely at times. Our neighbor has a little dog similar to Benji in looks. Her name is Cubbie. I wish Cubbie had the love you have for Benji. Cubbie got her name because she looked like a wee bear cub when she was a cute, cuddly pup. She's now four or five years old, and they leave her outside in inclement weather, and her hair is all matted and unbrushed. Do you suppose I can grab her, bundle her up, and send her to you to love? I don't really mean that, of course. I just know you would love each other though. My looking at Benji makes me want to cuddle him. I like the poem you posted on 31 August 2014, but it surely tugs at my heart. I hate hearing my Ashely's footsteps, because she's not really here, except in my heart. The footsteps I hear seem so real---and then I remember, and my heart sinks. I will go now to the site that you posted. Blessings, Carrie

Dear new friend (of mine), You and your Mary spoke Heart to Heart, the deepest and most beautiful of all languages; one in which no spoken words are needed in order to be understood. Thank you for sharing with us your feelings, words, and precious photographs. Blessings and hugs, Carrie