Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
Miss Hope~~
Diane and Travis are friends of mine...they are a year younger than me, graduated in the class below me. Justin is 3 years younger. I am truly humbled by their family's faith. Please remember them in prayer as Hope earned her wings this past month.
Miss Hope...singing...In Christ Alone
Miss Hope...singing...In Christ Alone
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Smallest and Wingless
luv it, luv it, luv it................please listen.
Smallest and Wingless
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&VideoID=8454806
Smallest and Wingless
http://vids.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=vids.individual&VideoID=8454806
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
To the Mama Without the Baby
(another fine read..............)
To the mama without the baby
You despair and you rage, and you are not alone.
All of us in this corner have suffered the same loss of different stripes, different circumstances, all of us wandering this earth with holes blown through our souls.
We can look you in the eye and accept your rage and receive it, relate to it, even just be in the same room with it.
You are both a victim and a masochist. You never want to leave the house again. You imagine a pulse like in apocalyptic movies that sweeps over populations of picturebook mommies and daddies, rendering them limp like rag dolls, not hurt but hit by an explosive wave of acknowledgement that forces them despite their whole, healthy children to pause for a moment, to be touched by this blackness.
It'll feel that way for a while.
Then one day the hole will have a layer of cheesecloth stretched over it, diffusing the howling wind. Then two layers, then three. Holes will be ripped through it when you least expect. Other days you'll not even feel a draft, like it’s been blocked up for good with mortar and brick, and you’ll resent that protection for how it buffers you from the rawness, from all you know of your son or daughter.
Your heart will figure out how to hold on and let go at the same time.
Write if you can, or make art, or be alone, whatever you need. Don’t apologize for a single thing.
And feel us out here, sisters standing beside you.
~~~written by 'sweet/salty'
To the mama without the baby
You despair and you rage, and you are not alone.
All of us in this corner have suffered the same loss of different stripes, different circumstances, all of us wandering this earth with holes blown through our souls.
We can look you in the eye and accept your rage and receive it, relate to it, even just be in the same room with it.
You are both a victim and a masochist. You never want to leave the house again. You imagine a pulse like in apocalyptic movies that sweeps over populations of picturebook mommies and daddies, rendering them limp like rag dolls, not hurt but hit by an explosive wave of acknowledgement that forces them despite their whole, healthy children to pause for a moment, to be touched by this blackness.
It'll feel that way for a while.
Then one day the hole will have a layer of cheesecloth stretched over it, diffusing the howling wind. Then two layers, then three. Holes will be ripped through it when you least expect. Other days you'll not even feel a draft, like it’s been blocked up for good with mortar and brick, and you’ll resent that protection for how it buffers you from the rawness, from all you know of your son or daughter.
Your heart will figure out how to hold on and let go at the same time.
Write if you can, or make art, or be alone, whatever you need. Don’t apologize for a single thing.
And feel us out here, sisters standing beside you.
~~~written by 'sweet/salty'
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Pit!
This came from another bereaved parent. This, too, can apply toward family.
I fell into the pit 7 years ago this month. I thought I was at the top, about ready to climb out, went back to work outside my home even, only to fall in again 21 months ago.
~~~~The day my child died, I fell into the pit of grief. My friends watched me struggle through daily life; waiting for the person I once was to arise from the pit, not realizing "she" is gone forever.
The pit is full of darkness, heartache and despair; it paralyzes your thoughts, movements and ability to ration. The pit leaves you forever changed, unable to surface the person you once were.
Some of my pre-grief friends gather around the top of the pit, waiting for the old me to appear before their eyes, not understanding whats taking me so long to emerge. After all, in their eyes, I've been in the pit for quite sometime. Yet in my eyes, it seems as if I fell in only yesterday.
Not all of my pre-grief friends are gathered around the top of the pit. Some are helping me with the climb out of the darkness. They climb side by side with me from time to time, but mostly they climb ahead of me, waiting patiently at each plateau. Even with these friends I sometimes wonder if they are also waiting for the pre-grief me to magically appear before their eyes.
Then there are the casual acquaintances, you know the ones who say, "Hi, how are you?" when they really don't care or really want to know. These are the people who sigh in relief, that it is my child who died and not theirs. You know ... the "better them, than me" attitude.
My post-grief friends are the ones who climb with me, side by side, inch by inch, out of the pit of grief. They have no way of comparing the pit climber to the pre-grief person I once was. You see, they started at the bottom of the pit with me. They are able to reassure me when I need reassurance, rest when I need resting, and encourage me to move forward when I don't have the strength. They have no expectations, no memories and no recollection of how I "should" be. They want me to get better, to smile more often and find joy in life, but they also accepted the person I've become. The "person" who is emerging from the pit.
Author Unknown
I fell into the pit 7 years ago this month. I thought I was at the top, about ready to climb out, went back to work outside my home even, only to fall in again 21 months ago.
~~~~The day my child died, I fell into the pit of grief. My friends watched me struggle through daily life; waiting for the person I once was to arise from the pit, not realizing "she" is gone forever.
The pit is full of darkness, heartache and despair; it paralyzes your thoughts, movements and ability to ration. The pit leaves you forever changed, unable to surface the person you once were.
Some of my pre-grief friends gather around the top of the pit, waiting for the old me to appear before their eyes, not understanding whats taking me so long to emerge. After all, in their eyes, I've been in the pit for quite sometime. Yet in my eyes, it seems as if I fell in only yesterday.
Not all of my pre-grief friends are gathered around the top of the pit. Some are helping me with the climb out of the darkness. They climb side by side with me from time to time, but mostly they climb ahead of me, waiting patiently at each plateau. Even with these friends I sometimes wonder if they are also waiting for the pre-grief me to magically appear before their eyes.
Then there are the casual acquaintances, you know the ones who say, "Hi, how are you?" when they really don't care or really want to know. These are the people who sigh in relief, that it is my child who died and not theirs. You know ... the "better them, than me" attitude.
My post-grief friends are the ones who climb with me, side by side, inch by inch, out of the pit of grief. They have no way of comparing the pit climber to the pre-grief person I once was. You see, they started at the bottom of the pit with me. They are able to reassure me when I need reassurance, rest when I need resting, and encourage me to move forward when I don't have the strength. They have no expectations, no memories and no recollection of how I "should" be. They want me to get better, to smile more often and find joy in life, but they also accepted the person I've become. The "person" who is emerging from the pit.
Author Unknown
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