Whats The Sense?

[LarrysGirl]

What is the sense in living, if the only thing you are looking forward to is dying?

[David'sGirlStill]

Oh I ask myself that question everyday. I guess we go on because that's what they would want us to do. I'm searching for the answer and I can't find it.. I guess we go on because we have to.

Love

Phyllis

[kayc]

Deborah,

I don't think we live to die, I think it's all the moments in between that count...it's just when you lose the one you love those moments seem to freeze in time...what we hope for is that they can thaw and we can have livable moments again until we're finally joined together.

[laurieb]

I would hope that it is because God has special things in store for us. Even through my extreme pain and loneliness, I know I am loved and even though I can't make sense of all this, I pray in time I will. I am here because God wants me here and I will pray everyday for the strength to get through this for Scott, for our boys and hopefully for me.

laurie

[moparlicious]

I am going to ditto some of the things already said, but even after almost 2 years of my eternal love's passing, I have many hurdles and pain and sorrow so deep it is indescribable, I am a strong believer of the poem, The Dash, if anyone has this available, please post for me. It means to me, being born and dying are part of life, and what you do inbetween that with your life and how you made a difference is what really matter. And besides Deborah what would we do without you, we LOVE you.... Love, Kim

[JeanneC]

Larry'sGirl

I do hope in time you feel different about life. Life is living and dying. Enjoy the time you have here, because it goes so fast.

Love and God Bless,

Jeanne

[marsha]

Deb - I don't have the answer to this. I do know when I think about dying, I don't want to do it yet, as much as I thought about it for months after Joe died. Not that I have any choice in the matter, but you know what I mean. I guess we, as individuals, keep going on. I agree with Kim - we love you here, you've made a difference. Love and Hugs, Marsha

[MartyT]

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

[Mrcelloboy]

I certainly understand the thought and feeling. Having been an optimist most of my life I fall back on the belief that things will improve; even if it takes a really long time.

[gatorman]

Not being a counselor but my thought on our friend's succint inquiry. Do you remember when the first time that you said "I Do" to the wedding vows or in your mind at the date, engagement, etc. Life was full then and now we have had it snatched away. Or is it? This roller coaster is not the one any of us want to be on.

With the great help of these people on here I can't beleive that I have "suited up and showed up" for work.

Giving up faith, love, hope, momentarily is what the ride is about. Screw those that tell me a time frame. Take one good day at a time. Keep talking. This day, after 3/12/09, is the first that I have done positive things @ house. One step at a time. Hang in there.

Yours.

Gatorman

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

[missingcharlie]

I LOVED that poem, Marty!!! Really makes you think and it's absolutely true. Sure hope, so far, that my dash has been going OK....

Hugs to all!

Patti

[singledad2]

Larry'sGirl,

I think Jeanne said it very well when she advised you to 'enjoy the time you have here, because it goes so fast.' Compared to the eternity that awaits us in the everafter, life here passes so quickly. I can't tell you where the last 25 years have gone for me! I don't want to give you some Tony Robbins pep talk, but we've each got to search out those things in life that can give us a new sense of belonging, a new sense of worth, and a new sense of happiness. Larry was your life, and he and you had many great years of fond memories. Those cannot be erased, nor can they be replaced by something else. I believe we must search high and low for things that can bring us peace and happiness now. If we fail to do so, the rest of our lives here on Earth will be spent only thinking about what was, or what will be. I'm a firm believer in thinking about 'what is, and what could be.' If we focus on the 'now' and then really work on trying to change those things that make 'now' unpleasant, I believe we can eventually find that new sense of happiness.

I apologize if I've oversimplified this process. I know it isn't easy, but please do all you can to lift your chin up, see the world around you not for what it once was, but for what it can be, and begin to make subtle changes in your life that will eventually tip the corners of your mouth in the northbound direction. When you have a good feeling, remember that, and work to try to expand that feeling to a larger timeframe. Take it from an hour to a few hours, then to an entire day. The mind is a very, very powerful tool. Unfortunately, for those of us who have lost the most important person in our lives, that darn mind's power can be used against us to focus more on what we've lost, as opposed to what we still have or what is out there for us. Don't let the bad things that happen to you dominate your mind. Get out and about and discover the wonder that this world has waiting for you..if even on a small scale. Do it while you can, as again, we are here but for a short time.

Smile today as often as you can. Get out in your community and smile at everyone. Maybe they'll think your weird, maybe they'll catch it and smile back. Do your part and you will be surprised at how others can help you heal.

Now that I've upset everyone who thinks I've 'Tony Robbins'd them, I'll apologize. I've got to go deliver smiles.

Make your day a great one.

SD2

[LarrysGirl]

Thanks everyone for your support. I'm trying to hang in there. It feels like the grief has wiped out the joy in anything but I will try and try again to find my way. SD2, thanks for Tony Robbins speech (ha), I really appreciate you taking the time to write and I'm going to try and apply some the suggestions.

All of everbodys kind words have helped my heart today!! Love you guys, Deborah

[KathyG]

Deborah,

If you can find even a minute or two of joy, that's a victory and even small, brief flashes of happiness can make this life more bearable. We are all on the planet for a reason, and if we're living on after our loved ones leave us, it's because our missions aren't fulfilled yet -- we're meant to experience and accomplish more things so we can grow.

[MartyT]

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

[valley]

Marty T.

Thank you for posting The Gift of Loss. It is a loving tribute to her daughter and to what it means to love.

Thanks, Valley

[kayc]

What an amazing article! Thank you for sharing that with us, Marty. I have also found that what was shared is so true!

Kay

[suzanne]

I agree it is an amazing article. Imagine what if, you can't feel this way, imagine what if all of your friends have left,, imagine what if your neighbors go inside their house when you come outside, imagine your co-workers cringe with the mention of his name. Imagine all of of those you have reached out to will not extend a hand nor answer their phone. Imagine that you feel invisible to the world and then imagine the one person who could make it better can no longer. YesI feel this despair every day. I don't imagine it, I live in it. I've tried it all and I feel just as alone as the day he took his last breath. Sorry to be a downer but it is the reality of my life. Which is why I don't post and should not have this one but I did because there is a minority of us can't find the end of the rainbow.

Susan

[mrspapajohn]

Suzanne - - I'm not sure that you're in the minority.

Kathy

[gatorman]

Suzanne,

It is 7/3/09 11am. Your feelings strike a resonance that I, and I am sure others on this site have gone through. I wish I knew your story. It is so easy for people that have not been here to not understand. I can't begin to tell you how easy it is to get into self destructive behaviour, thoughts, etc.... at these times. Do me one favor and talk to us. I grew up loving carnival rides but this roller coaster is something I never wanted to be on. Please let us know.

[marsha]

Suzanne - I just went back and read all of your past posts. My heart aches for you, and for Deb - and for all of us, for that matter. I see that a lot of us tend to wind down on posting, as we get onto a year, 2 years, and more. For myself, I don't even know what to write anymore - but I should! I should, because my feelings, doubts and fears are still here. You know you have people here who understand, are non judging, and can give support. Please do continue to post - as will I - Hugs, Marsha

[kayc]

Suzanne,

I'm sorry you are going through so much heartbreak alone, but that is why this site is here...it is not for the bubbly and optimistic, it is for all of us who have experienced grief and loss and it is better to express it than to hold it in. Even that article said to express it. The third year got better for me, but any little setback in my life can take me right back. This last year was especially hard as I knew my George never would have stood for anyone treating me the way I got treated...it only made me miss him all the more. I try not to think unduly about all that I lost the day he drew his last breath, it is too much, but I try to focus on what there is rather than what there isn't...I realize not everyone can do that, but it has helped me. You are NOT in the minority...look around you, there are so many on this site that are hurting. Maybe some people give up posting after a couple years figuring what's the point? (I'm different, I'm one of those who'll blabber and people probably just WISH I'd shut up.) But for me it has helped to get off my chest what I feel and think and go through.

I can't imagine turning my back on someone who'd been there for me the way it's been done to you. We're all here for you, Suzanne.

(((hugs)))

Kay

[mrspapajohn]

Kay - - Please don't ever "shut up." Your posts have helped me get through some of my darkest days. Thank you.

Kathy

[marsha]

I agree with Kathy, Kay - please don't ever "shut up" - you have given me sanity in those days I thought I would totally lose it. Hugs, Marsha

[Boo Mayhew]

Sorry you are suffering so much right now ... one of my closest friends said to me recently ... she felt like she was "waiting to die" and at the same time I was saying, "it's so hard to live" ... I don't know the answer ... perhaps eventually we work though the pain, so that we "learn to live without them" without actually ever "getting over it"?

Wishing you peace and hope

xx