MartyT

Dear Ones, I am pleased to share with all of you the following article, which appeared on the cover of the Arizona Living section of yesterday's Phoenix newspaper, The Arizona Republic: Memorial services can help pet owners find closureby Scott Craven - Jul. 2, 2009 12:00 AM The Arizona Republic This is what Tonya Bunce remembers from the funeral, the details still clear though months have passed: a peaceful Roxy - front legs wrapped around a Teddy bear with ears frayed from chewing - surrounded by loved ones, friends and much of the staff from the veterinarian's office. After the chaplain's comforting words, others shared their favorite memories of Roxy as they said goodbye to the little Yorkie cut down in her prime. For Bunce, who had no idea just weeks earlier that such a service was possible, it was a fitting tribute to a dog who had so touched her life in the 3 1/2 years Roxy had lived before being hit by a car. On that Sunday afternoon in a quiet, candlelit room at Fairwinds Pet Memorial Services, Bunce felt closure for the first time. "It was a blessing," Bunce said. "It was everything I needed." A growing number of people are finding solace in services, ceremonies and memorials dedicated to recently deceased pets. Veterinarians once were asked to simply dispose of bodies, but owners now are spending hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars to send furry loved ones off with respect and dignity. Although viewings and memorials are relatively few at this point, those in the "pet aftercare" business say more and more owners are opting for funeral services mirroring those conducted for loved ones. Because who's to say pets aren't loved ones? A growing practice According to a 2008 survey by American Pet Products Association, which tracks the pet industry, 39 percent of dog owners planned to make some sort of burial arrangements for their pets upon death, up from 26 percent in 2004. In addition, 23 percent planned to buy memorial stones, and 15 percent would buy urns for their pets' ashes. Four percent said they would buy grief books to record memories of the pets. None of this surprises Mara Goebel, who leads a pet-grief group at Hospice of the Valley. For years, owners suffered the death of their pets in silence, because if they dared share the depth of their sadness with a friend, odds are the reply would have been, "So? Get another dog (or cat, or bird, etc.)." Now people are realizing it's OK to grieve the death of a pet and to seek a caring shoulder on which to cry. "Animals can take a deep place in our hearts," said Goebel, the hospice's bereavement office manager. "They offer us unconditional love." The bond between pet and human companion is particularly strong among parents whose children have moved out or in adults who never had children, Goebel said. Their pets become their children, and their deaths can be traumatic. And the grieving is as deep, as real, as if they had lost a beloved human family member. The dozen or so who attend Goebel's monthly grief sessions seek those who feel as they do about a lost pet, so they feel safe expressing the kind of sadness others associate only with the loss of a person. Closure in the clouds On a cloudless morning earlier this year, Lee Jones stood on the tarmac of Scottsdale Airport, blowing kisses to a four-seat Cessna rushing down the runway. She waved as it lifted into the air, taking Jones' spirits skyward. Twenty minutes later, her cellphone chimed with an incoming text. That was the agreed-upon signal from pilot Jackie Tatelbaum, now high above Four Peaks. She was about to release the ashes of Katrina, Jones' 19-year-old cat, who three months earlier had been diagnosed with cancer. The arrival of the text also meant it was time to read aloud Jones' handwritten tribute to Katrina. As discussed in a pre-flight meeting, Tatelbaum would speak the words in the air as the memorial was read on the ground. Katherine Heuerman, a friend of Jones' who owns Pet and Animal Lovers Service, a pet mortuary, unfolded Jones' emotional testimony and solemnly read it aloud. Jones looked toward Four Peaks, where her cat's ashes were being scattered among the winds. "This is a wonderful way to say goodbye," a tearful Jones said. "Katrina always loved the cold, loved to lie in the sun on winter days. Now she'll have her wish forever." For Tatelbaum, it was less about the flight and more about the emotional journey of Katrina's owner. That's why the certified flight instructor started Angel Wings Funeral Flights. Since incorporating a year ago, Tatelbaum has scattered pet ashes dozens of times, typically releasing them at about 3,000 to 4,000 feet, where prevailing winds can scatter them as far as 6 miles across (and yes, it is FAA-approved as long as dispersal occurs over unpopulated areas). She was inspired by the loss of her own pet, Bessie, a dog that accompanied Tatelbaum everywhere. She could think of no better way to honor a close family member than sprinkling ashes from above, creating memorials across vast landscapes. And as more people hear about Tatelbaum's service, she expects busier times ahead. She thinks her service is just starting to take off, and she is starting to hear from people with older pets who are planning on animal funerals. Each week, Tatelbaum says, she receives a number of calls from owners asking about the memorial flights, as well as flowers, catering and even limo services. "We're beginning to touch on something," she said. "It's not a trend, it's far more than that." Memorializing the bond For proof of the lasting impact of pet memorials, look no further than Heuerman, who founded PALS in 1986. Over the years, she has seen thousands of pets, from ferrets and birds to horses, each as beloved as the next. When her Irish setter, Duffy, died, Heuerman was inspired to find a more humane way to deal with the death of a pet. She founded PALS so owners could make the same sort of funeral arrangements as they could for any loved one. Heuerman remembers how common it was for owners to leave deceased pets at the vet's, trying not to think about what would happen with the remains. At PALS, clients can spend quiet time with their pet in a private viewing room and watch the cremation process from start to finish (though few choose the latter option). Grief counseling also can be arranged. "People want to show love and affection to their pets even in death," Heuerman said. "Memorializing helps draw closure and helps the life cycle start all over." Those bringing their pets to Fairwinds Pet Memorial Services in Phoenix can arrange everything from simple cremations to a $4,000 funeral complete with chaplain, flowers and limousine to and from the service (although no one has ordered that package, manager Mary Rauchwarter said). Rauchwarter, a former nurse, will groom and prepare the body for viewing, placing it on a favorite blanket, perhaps, and posing it with a favorite toy. Thanks to a large cooler that can preserve bodies up to 10 days, no embalming is necessary before services and cremations. Business has been steady through the recession, Rauchwarter said, as Fairwinds on average conducts 25 cremations monthly and perhaps three viewings (quiet time with the pet) and one funeral (with minister, family and friends). For a funeral or viewing, Rauchwarter often places flowers and candles around the room, suggesting that family members bring photos to place on magnetic boards. She also will arrange a meeting with the chaplain so owners can share something about their pets that can be part of the eulogy. It can be as simple or as elaborate as the client would like, Rauchwarter said. "It's about how much you love your pet," she said. "I've had people borrow money from Mom or do this with credit cards. For some without family or friends, pets replace family. And you want to treat them well in death." With 18-month-old twins and a loving husband, Tonya Bunce had plenty of love in her life when Roxy was killed. But that didn't make the loss any easier, particularly because the accident happened right in front of her. Bunce's vet suggested Fairwinds, and soon she sat down with the chaplain to share details about her Yorkie. Bunce assisted in Roxy's prefuneral grooming, combing the Yorkie's hair into a ponytail and affixing it with a pink ribbon. And after the service, Bunce stayed behind to say her final goodbyes, wheeling Roxy into the cooler when she was finished. "It was the closure I needed," she said. "Roxy was a big part of my life. I still miss her." Bunce now keeps Roxy close, in a box that includes her ashes, collar and favorite toys. The box is on her nightstand, the last thing she sees each night before turning out the lights.

Oh Kay, bless your sweet and caring heart . NO one deserves good things in life more than you do, and we're all SO pulling for you!

My dear CharlieGirl, I, too, am terribly sorry for your loss, and I can't imagine how horrible this was for you and your family. Many years ago my beloved Cockapoo Muffin was hit by a driver who failed to stop, and we didn't find him lying in a ditch until two days later. He was still alive, but there simply was no saving him, and I still had to make the agonizing decision to have him euthanized. Your tragic story reminds me of all of that, and more . . . I want to be sure you're aware of all the resources I have listed on the Children and Pet Loss page of my Grief Healing Web site, http://www.griefhealing.com/children-and-pet-loss-links.htm as I think they may be of help to you and your children.

My dear Trent, I'm so sorry to learn of the horrible circumstances surrounding the death of your beloved Tina, and I certainly can understand the depth of the pain you are feeling now. Of course there is nothing any of us can say to take away that pain, but I want to assure you that you're not alone. We've all done things about which we feel terribly guilty, and for which we'd give anything to change the outcome. I know you'll be hearing from some of our other members in response to your post, but in the meantime I want to point you to some earlier posts and resources that I hope you will find helpful and informative: I Accidentally Killed My Cat, http://hovforum.ipbhost.com/index.php?s=&a...dpost&p=578 A Really Bad Evening, http://hovforum.ipbhost.com/index.php?showtopic=3758 Loss and the Burden of Guilt, http://www.griefhealing.com/article-loss-a...en-of-guilt.htm Radio Segment on Pet Loss Grief and Guilt, http://www.selfhealingexpressions.com/deal..._pet_loss.shtml

Dear Ones ~ I've just finished reading the following piece (sent to me this morning via e-mail) and I think it speaks profoundly to the subject of this thread ~ so I want to share its content with all of you. I hope it will touch you as deeply as it touches me: THE GIFT OF LOSS by Abigail A. Fuller Most of you know that I lost my eight-year-old daughter Scout to cancer on July 7, 2007. The past nine months have been by far the most painful of my entire life. I don’t know that there is anything worse than losing a child. At first, I did not want to live–and this is typical for parents who lose a child. In fact, many plan their suicides. For months I woke up every day wishing that the world would disappear. I tell you this not to elicit your sympathy, but so you will know that it was from the depths of this kind of pain that came the unexpected gifts I will talk about today. I had thought that if Scout died, I would not be able to go on. And yet here I am. And not only am I here, but I have learned more in these past nine months than I ever thought possible. I feel as if I have undergone the most astonishingly rapid spiritual growth spurt of my life–sort of spiritual boot camp, if you will. It’s tough going, but it makes for quick change. What have I learned? 1. I have learned that our culture deals very badly with death. We ignore it, deny it, and avoid it as much as possible. This is manifested in so many ways: our culture’s idealization of youth and looking young and feeling young (instead of valuing the wisdom that comes with age); the measures to which we go to keep people alive at the very end of their lives; the way we consign dying and death to hospitals and funeral parlors, instead of allowing these very natural and inevitable things to happen at home. Why does this matter, our culture’s denial of death? Because when death comes–and it always does–we are shocked, frightened, and unprepared. We do not know how to sit with someone as they die, comforting them and supporting them as they make the sacred journey to the other side. A dead body seems creepy to us because we have never touched one before. We push aside grief and try to “move on” because our sadness is uncomfortable to those around us, and to ourselves. We do not know what to say when someone loses a person close to them, or how to help them, and so we too often say nothing and stay away. And our fear of death is really an aspect of a larger concern: our fear of loss. Think about this: All relationships end. All relationships end. I read those words recently and was struck by the paradox that while this is so obviously true, we almost never pay attention to it. It is too frightening, perhaps, to live daily with this realization. In a strange way, embracing the inevitability of loss has given me comfort: what happened to Scout and to me is not out of the order of things, it is part of the order of things. As my husband said, “Eventually, if she grew up she’d have to say goodbye to us when we died. She just happened to go first.” Think of Mary Oliver’s poem “In Blackwater Woods”: To live in this world you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go. I have been reading a lot of Buddhist philosophy these past months, and a central precept of Buddhism is that the source of human suffering is an unwillingness to accept loss. But as Mary Oliver reminds us, loss is a part of life, because change is a part of life. So if I face my mortality head on, the next question becomes, What am I going to do with this life that I do have? Here is Mary Oliver again, from “The Summer Day”: Doesn't everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life? The moment we fully acknowledge the inevitability of death is the moment we fully feel the preciousness of life, because it doesn’t last. So life and death are parts of a whole–one cannot exist without the other. This brings me to the next lesson I’ve learned: 2. Happiness is overrated. I don’t think the point of life is to be happy. I think the point of being here on earth is to grow as human beings–to gain a deeper understanding of and appreciation for all that is. And guess what: we don’t grow when we are comfortable. It is when we are challenged, when we suffer, when we are uncomfortable, that we grow the most. Now, you might argue that as we grow as human beings, we in fact become happier–yes, happy in the truest sense of the word–not fun, ha-ha, laughing at jokes happy, but a kind of hard-earned happy that comes from experiencing both pain and joy, both life and death, from realizing that these are parts of a whole. In fact, the happiest person I ever met was a Holocaust survivor. My senior year in college I took a course on Literature of the Holocaust, and toward the end of the semester the professor invited this woman to speak to the class. She had lived through unimaginable horror, and in spite of that—no, because of that--she had the most serene, genuine, warm presence I have ever witnessed in a person. 3. I have learned to let go of what I cannot control (and to cherish what I have). This lesson was a gift that first came when Scout was diagnosed with cancer in January 2007. During those first days, as I sat crying in her hospital room, I thought, “I cannot control the outcome of this. But what I can do is love her with every ounce of my being for as long as she is here.” And I did that. I was also determined not to allow the terror of losing her to distract me from enormous gift of having her there right then. But the possibility that I could lose her gave me the gift of a deep, attentive love with her. (I remember her asking me last spring, “Mom, why are you kissing me so much?”) Letting go of what we cannot control means also letting go of the fantasy that somehow if we are good, if we are kind, if we believe in God, if we make the right choices, then nothing bad will happen to us. When Scout died, I wondered, “Why her? Why not some kid who was a bully, who didn’t have a happy life, who was dumb, whose parents didn’t care about them?” I realized after a time that the answer to, “Why me?” is “Why not me?” Nothing makes me or my family immune from death or illness or injury. (And of course the life of a kid who is a bully or not so smart or whose parents don’t care about him is just as precious as my daughter’s life.) But I suffered a loss of innocence: I came to realize that I am not immune from tragedy. No, we cannot control what happens to us--but we can make the best of what we have been given. What really matters in life is not what happens to you, it’s what you do with it. 4. I have learned that when your heart breaks, it breaks open. I think of it this way: each of us builds a hard shell around our hearts to try to protect ourselves from pain. It is human to do so. But this same shell also keeps in feelings of deep joy and deep love and of peace, of oneness with the universe. So, since my heart was broken from losing Scout, I have experienced not only the greatest pain of my life, but also the greatest love and gratitude I have ever known. I find I am less interested in judging people, less willing to get in the middle of conflict, I spend less time speculating about people’s motives, and I am more aware and appreciative of the good qualities in people. I spend more time amazed at and grateful for what life has brought me–especially Scout. What a miracle that she was here, for eight perfect years, and that I got to be her mom. In my extended family, there has been an astonishing change since Scout left the physical world. I have four sisters, and my mother and father are still around. We have always been a close family, but we have also had conflict. But since July, each and every one of my sisters and both my parents have shown an enormous generosity of spirit, not only toward me, but toward each other. Scout’s death changed my parents’ relationship, my relationship with my husband, and all of our lives. 5. I have learned that love is the strongest force in the universe. A month after Scout died, my friend Marcie asked me, “You are going through such an extraordinary time. What are you learning?” I replied that I did not know; I was too deep in grief to see that yet. Later that night I was lying in bed and suddenly the answer to her question came to me–and it was so simple that I had almost missed. The big lesson in all this, in Scout’s illness and our struggle to get her cured and our deep sadness upon losing her–the overarching theme in all this is not loss, or cancer, or how unfair the world is, but LOVE. As I lay there, I found myself actually grinning. My love for Scout, and Neil’s love and Leo’s love and my sisters’ love for Scout, Scout’s love for us, the outpouring of love that my family received from friends and colleagues and neighbors: everything else pales in comparison to that love. Most importantly, I realized when I lost Scout that nothing, but NOTHING, could take away my love for her, and so I would always be connected with her. Cancer could take away her body, but it could not touch my love. Love can outlast time, distance, and even death. It is, indeed, the strongest force in the universe. As anyone who has suffered a terrible loss will tell you, I would return all of these gifts in a moment if it meant I could have Scout back. But I can’t have her back. A few months ago while I was swimming laps, I found myself thinking, “My life is over.” Then the universe spoke to me–or maybe it was God, depending on your beliefs–saying, gently but firmly, “No, it’s not over; it’s just different.” I cannot have Scout back, and so the important question is, What do I do now with what I have? Here, now, in this life that is so very different from the one I had before, and from the one I wanted–and this is where I find myself. Where do I go from here? I have these unexpected gifts to help me along the way, gifts from Scout. *Delivered at the Wednesday chapel service at Manchester College, April 2, 2008. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Abigail A. Fuller Associate Professor of Sociology and Social Work Director, Peace Studies Program Manchester College aafuller@manchester.edu

Spring, dear ~ Yes, this is normal, especially now, when you are around six months into your grief. This is the time when all the initial shock and denial have fallen away, and you are confronted with the brutal and painful reality that your mother is really and truly dead and not coming back ~ at least not in the ways you've always known her. You say that during the day you think of your mom "from time to time but not obsessively so," but you're still dreaming of her at night, when she always appears to be very sick. It seems to me that during the day your conscious mind is preoccupied with all that goes on during a normal day, but at night your unconscious mind is free to process whatever is "on your mind" ~ and that is a very necessary part of the mourning process. You need time to come to terms with the awful reality that your precious mother is no longer physically present in your life, and dreaming serves an important function in that process. Each time you "see" your mother so sick and dying in your dreams, you are confronted once again with the reality of her terminal illness and the undeniable fact that she has died. Your mind is struggling to accept that brutal reality, and in a very normal way, your dreams are helping you to do that ~ gradually and indirectly enough that you are able to take it in and tolerate it, in more manageable doses over time. Many of us don't even remember our dreams, but at a certain point in the sleep cycle we all still dream, and it is one of nature's ways of helping us confront and work through whatever is troubling us. Take comfort in knowing that as you move forward in your grief, the content of your dreams will change over time, and you can expect that one day you'll find yourself dreaming of your mother in a healthier, happier state.

Dear One, You said, "what I struggle with is I NEED to talk about her - and it seems like people don't want to." You may find this article helpful: I Don't Care How Long It's Been; Can We Talk about My Loved One? I'm also attaching to this post another piece that I think will speak to you as well: WhenOldFriendsArentThereForYou.Noel.doc

Kim, dear ~ The poem The Dash was written by Linda Ellis and published in 1996. Since Linda has for sale a number of products displaying her now famous poem (see The Dash Poem's Author's Site), I know we'll run into copyright issues if we reprint it here (I speak from experience ) ~ but if you click on this link, you can read the words to her poem here: The Dash by Linda Ellis

Bless you, Jeanne ~ We are thinking of you and your beloved Alex on this special day of remembrance, and I know that you've helped all of us just as much as you've been helped by the wonderful people on this site . . .

Public Grief/Private Grief by Kenneth J. Doka Posted: 28 Jun 2009 06:33 AM PDT, on Hospice Foundation of America's Hospice and Caregiving Blog This week the world has focused on public loss. The death of Neda in the Iranian protests, the devastation in Washington, D.C. as two trains inexplicably collided and killed nine people, and the deaths of two long-time entertainment favorites, Ed McMahon and Farrah Fawcett. These notable deaths, covered extensively by the media, were soon overshadowed by a media circus following the sudden death of pop icon Michael Jackson. Throughout the world, there has been an outpouring of grief as people mourn these seemingly larger-than-life losses. As the world focuses on those very public deaths, it is easy to lose sight of the private tragedies that beset us all. Our own losses seem minimized by the constant “Have you heard?” and later, the millions of mourners expressing their collective public grief on the streets. With so much focus on these losses, there seems little interest in our everyday grief. Click here to read the remainder of this article. [About the Author: Kenneth J. Doka, PhD, MDiv is a professor of gerontology at the graduate school of The College of New Rochelle. He has written or edited 18 books, including HFA’s Living with Grief series, and has published 60 articles and book chapters. He is editor of Omega, a professional journal on death and dying, and Journeys, HFA’s monthly and special issue bereavement newsletter. Dr. Doka was elected president of the Association for Death Education and Counseling (ADEC) in 1993. He was elected to the Board of the International Work Group on Dying, Death and Bereavement in 1995, and served as its chairman from 1997 to 1999. In 2006, Dr. Doka was recognized as a mental health counselor under New York State’s first licensure of counselors. He is an ordained Lutheran minister.]

There's a reason they're called pennies from Heaven, right, Deborah?

Lucia, dear ~ Your lovely story warmed my heart today Thank you so much for sharing it with us! (Are you familiar with the children's book, Penny Love? I think you'd love it )

My dear friend, I'm so sorry for your loss, and I can only imagine how painful this must be for you and your family. I want to point you to some previous posts in hopes that their content may be helpful to you: I Miss My Dog Very Much, http://hovforum.ipbhost.com/index.php?s=&a...post&p=5360 My Cat’s Brother is Grieving, http://hovforum.ipbhost.com/index.php?s=&a...ost&p=13593 Comforting Surviving Pets, http://hovforum.ipbhost.com/index.php?s=&a...post&p=9158 How to Help Sibling Dogs Grieve, http://hovforum.ipbhost.com/index.php?s=&a...ost&p=16205

Dear Ones, The author of this beautiful poem is Mary Elizabeth Frye, and this is her original version: Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there, I do not sleep. I am in a thousand winds that blow, I am the softly falling snow. I am the gentle showers of rain, I am the fields of ripening grain. I am in the morning hush, I am in the graceful rush Of beautiful birds in circling flight, I am the starshine of the night. I am in the flowers that bloom, I am in a quiet room. I am in the birds that sing, I am in each lovely thing. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there. I do not die.

Chai, dear ~ I'm so sorry to learn this sad news about your grandmother. Please know that you are in our thoughts and prayers, and you have our deepest sympathy. It's good to know that you've found a face-to-face support group in your town . . .

Mary Linda, dear ~ I think the poem you heard may be based on the original by Henry Scott-Holland: Death is nothing at all I have only slipped away into the next room I am I and you are you Whatever we were 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 into your tone Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow Laugh as we always laughed At the little jokes we always enjoyed together Play, smile, think of me, pray for me Let my name be ever the household word that it always was Let it be spoken without effort Without the ghost of a shadow in it Life means all that it ever meant It is the same as it ever was There is absolute unbroken continuity What is death but a negligible accident? 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. Nothing is past; nothing is lost One brief moment and all will be as it was before How we shall laugh at the trouble of parting when we meet again! ~ Canon Henry Scott-Holland, 1847-1918, Canon of St Paul's Cathedral

Yes, it is good to hear from some of our original (dare I say founding?) members ~ and I hope that each of you takes great pride in what's become of this Web site since you first joined it several years ago. It belongs to each and every one of you. It would not be what it is today without your watchful presence, experienced input, fierce loyalty, loving compassion and ready willingness to accompany (and so often guide) those who've come after you on this difficult journey of grief. I cannot think of a more meaningful way to honor your departed loved ones. They must be so proud of you. You are very, very dear to all of us, and most especially to me

You are most welcome, William! And it's so nice to "see" you here again

Dear One, I'm so sorry to learn of the death of your father, your mother's hospitalization and the fear and loneliness you are experiencing now, but I want to assure you that what you are feeling is common and normal in grief. In his wonderful book A Grief Observed, C.S. Lewis notes that "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." In hopes that it will help, I want to share with you an excerpt from my own book, Finding Your Way through Grief: A Guide for the First Year: Confusion, Disorientation and Fear As the fog of shock and denial begins to lift, you will find yourself headed into the very heart of grief, and you'll become painfully aware of how very much you have lost. An entire gamut of feelings washes over you in overwhelming waves of sorrow. You are flooded with intense, raw feelings of anguish, sadness and fear as you realize that life will never, ever be the same. You may be flooded with questions, too: Why did this happen to me? How will I be able to go on? How will I be able to face the future without this person? When will I get myself together? You may be flooded with bittersweet memories: all the things you would have, could have, or should have said and done, and now will never be able to say or do. You may have difficulty concentrating and remembering, and feel incapable of making the simplest decision. You may experience nightmares, dreams, and phobias; you may fear that you're going crazy, and may even want to die. Suggestions for Coping with Confusion, Disorientation and Fear Know that it's normal to ask such questions, and you need not expect to have all the answers. Asking such questions can be the beginning of dealing with loss.When you feel anxious or afraid, recognize this as a natural part of the mourning process. Your confidence in yourself and your sense of safety in this world have been shaken by this death.Be gentle with yourself; don't push yourself too hard, and don't expect too much. Remember that you are physically and emotionally vulnerable now.Take some time off if you can.Surround yourself with helpers. If there are others who can take care of details and help you get through the rituals of death, let them do so. If you prefer to be alone, say so.Focus on your own survival, and take it one day at a time. As for your difficulty with sleeping, I encourage you to read this thread, and be sure to follow the links mentioned in my post there: It's One A.m. And I Can't Sleep Blues

Very dear Teny, your message warms my heart ~ and I especially love your saying that you've stopped making plans for the future and have decided instead to let the future come to you. There is such great wisdom in that statement! How wonderful, too, that you're loving being grand! We're all so happy for you, Teny

You are special, Kim, and we celebrate you on this special day, as we all send you a virtual birthday cake and a dozen roses, too. All together, now: Happy Birthday, dear Kim! Happy Birthday to You

Dear Ones, I don't know how many of you read the Sunday Comics in the newspapers, but I hope you saw the B.C. by Hart strip yesterday (Fathers' Day), which contains a tribute to fathers that is not to be missed: http://www.johnhartstudios.com/bc/2009/06/...une-21-2009.php

Dear Mom, In addition to the articles Boo has suggested, you may find this one helpful too: Euthanizing an Aggressive Dog, http://www.selfhealingexpressions.com/dog_..._behavior.shtml

My dear Boo (and Chai) ~ This is, indeed, one of the most beautiful prayers, and how fitting to include it here, on this special day for remembering our departed fathers. I first read this prayer in the book, A Broken Heart Still Beats: After Your Child Dies by Anne McCracken and Mary Semel. They write: This prayer, or some variation of it, is said on Yom Kippur, when Jews take special time to remember the dead: It is hard to sing of oneness when our world is not complete, when those who once brought wholeness to our life have gone, and naught but memory can fill the emptiness their passing leaves behind. But memory can tell us only what we were, in company with those we loved; it cannot help us find what each of us, alone, must now become. Yet no one is really alone; those who live no more echo still within our thoughts and words, and what they did is part of what we have become. We do best homage to our dead when we live our lives more fully, even in the shadow of our loss. — Jewish Prayer for High Holydays, in A Broken Heart Still Beats: After Your Child Dies In the rising of the sun and in its going down, We remember them; In the blowing of the wind and in the chill of winter, We remember them; In the opening of the buds and in the warmth of summer, We remember them; In the rustling of leaves and the beauty of autumn, We remember them; In the beginning of the year and when it ends, We remember them; When we are weary and in need of strength, We remember them; When we are lost and sick of heart, We remember them; When we have joys we yearn to share, We remember them; So long as we live, they too shall live, For they are now a part of us, as We remember them. — From Gates of Prayer, Reform Judaism Prayer Book

Oh Kay ~ I know that book! And sometimes we all have days like that! I'm so sorry yours had to fall on this day of all days! We're all thinking of you and pulling for you. One thing's for sure: The sun will come up tomorrow, and it's only a day away