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"My thoughts are very tangled, it's quite a mess up there...

I'm feeling trapped and strangled, this is too much to bear!

Although my thoughts are tied in knots,

There's a start and I know where..."

The date is Saturday, January 24th, 1998. I woke up suddenly to the sound of my sister's blood curdling scream. I sat up startled and as soon as I did I could smell the overwhelming fumes in my room. That's when I knew he was dead. I rushed out of my room, ran into the garage and saw my sister standing there. I went down the three steps leading to the car, and I remember thinking that this was just a dream. I was lethargic - much too calm as I walked over to my dad's car. My sister followed, and without exchanging a word to each other, she started to breathe for him as I started the chest compressions. We tried in vain to bring him back. I knew in my heart he was gone, but I just kept wishing he would come back.

Wishing he wasn't dead.

Fast forward now, to November 9th, 2011. It was a Wednesday, and it was around 4:30 in the morning when the phone rang. "It happened", my brother said. After I hung up the phone, I got up and managed to walk around to the front of the bed before I dropped to my knees and broke down. It's not like I didn't know this was coming, but hearing the news that mom is dead just brought the wave of reality crashing down, and I felt like I was drowning under its weight. For months my brother and I cared for her, watched her deteriorate. Watched her suffer... wishing for her pain to end.

Wishing for her to die.

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((((Gentle hugs)))) Novi...

I'm so sorry you lost your Dad in the manner that you did. And I'm sorry you lost your Mom and had to witness her long suffering. I relate even though not the same cases. My Mom was murdered in front of me... By my stepfather in 1989. I was 15. She was 41.

I wish so much that she wasn't dead...

8 yrs later, my precious Nana was diagnosed with Lung cancer a second time... Though this time much more advanced. I cared for her took her to radiation, to chemo, watched as she lost her hair, and her small body turn so much smaller and fragile... Watched as the treatments just killed her. Watched as it went to her brain and bone... Hospitalized... And my Nana, the second most important person ever in my life aside from her daughter... My Mama... Losing her cognition... Not recognizing me most days... Then the next she would love me so much... Back and forth... Heart wrenchingly. So tired of knowing the pain she suffered, her heart kept on, but I already lost my precious Nana... I prayed The Lord would take her. And when I held her hand and lay next to her... She took her last breathe... I sobbed, relieved and broken at the same time. I was 25 when she passed at age 71.

I wished her suffering to end...

I feel your pain. And I wish I could erase it. But all I can do is let you know nothing was your fault. And all of your feelings are valid. I wish peace to enter your heart.

One day at a time my friend

Oh, I had a suggestion. Have you written your Dad and your Mom letters at all? It's something that can be therapeutic on some level.

Take care...

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Wow, that is a lot to go through. You have a beautiful way of writing, have you thought of writing out your story? It might be therapeutic for you as well to give expression to all that is inside of you. I hope you and your sister continue to be there for each other.

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(gentle hugs back) Hi ShanN,

Hope you're feeling better! Am sending as much positive energy for your husband as I can <3

Thanks for reading my post and sharing how you relate. It's nice to know I'm not alone, even if it is unfortunate for both of us having to deal with this sort of pain. A sudden death is such a weird thing to have to absorb, not to mention eventually accept as part of life. Not that it's easier when it's anticipated with sickness, but at least you can brace yourself for that blow. I could go on forever, but I know you understand. Thanks for your suggestion of writing a letter, and quite frankly I've thought about that a lot lately. The last letter I wrote was to my mom and she was still in palliative care at the time. I wrote everything down, things I wished, things I regretted, things I was sorry for, things I was thankful for... and things I promised to her. One of those promises was to live my life to the fullest. I don't want to break my promise. I haven't had the courage to read that letter again, but I know I will have to soon in order to get myself back in order. Along with that letter I gave to her a poem that I had written for her shortly after we were told she was going to die, but I never gave it to her until she was hospitalized, for some reason. I think I refused to believe she was going on a 'long vacation', as she herself put it. My brother had that very poem tattooed to his chest before her funeral. Both that letter and the poem were buried with her ashes after I read it at the ceremony. The letter is rather personal, but this is the poem if anyone would like to read it.


Thanks for reading my post and complimenting my writing. It means a lot more than you know.

It's funny you should ask... I've already started writing a story, although it doesn't include the loss of my dad...

My mom knew I loved to write, and without my knowledge she started to write down changes that were happening with her, also doctor's appointment and stuff like that. She did it for as long as she could. She had this notebook, and you can distinctly see when her penmanship became too shaky. It was at this point she told me about it, and suggested that maybe I should continue with the notes - a day to day journal of her experience with her journey into death. So I told her I would and I did. I have around fifty pages of raw notes... Now I just need to find the courage to construct it into a 'phenomenology'. It sounds weird, I know. But I think that many could learn from the sheer honesty of it...

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Oh Novi, you write so eloquently and I can feel your feelings release whenever I read your words.

Writing your story is a very good thing to think about.... I mean even publishing it.

In my therapy, my therapist has been helping put together many journal entries of just pure raw memories both of my abuse/rape and the murder of my Mom and all it entailed. When I do write... It's mixed up and all over the place, to me anyway, with memories, but she hears it and says it makes more sense than I think. She runs a trauma group that I attend. And everyone there sees her privately as well, so we are compiling our stories and eventually will be published in one book.

Writing is very hard sometimes, but it is therapeutic.

Keep up your good work Novi. I commend you and respect you on this journey. (((Hugs)))

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I'd hesitated to even mention your writing ability because I didn't want to detract from the content of what you were writing, but it is so phenominal I felt I needed to mention it. Keep it up, and like Shannon says, it's therapeutic in the process!

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