Posts Tagged ‘loss’

Lupus Awareness Month – The Five Stages of Lupus

May 9, 2009

 

Sung by Avril Lavign

You’re not alone
Together we stand
I’ll be by your side
You know I’ll take your hand
When it gets cold
And it feels like the end
There’s no place to go
You know I won’t give in
no I won’t give in

Keep holdin’ on
‘Cause you know we’ll make it through
We’ll make it through
Just, stay strong
‘Cause you know I’m here for you
I’m here for you
There’s nothing you can say (nothin’ you can say)
Nothing you can do (nothin’ you can do)
there’s no other way when it comes to the truth
So, keep holding on
‘Cause you know we’ll make it through
We’ll make it through

So far away
I wish you were here
Before it’s too late
This could all disappear
Before the doors close
And it comes to an end
With you by my side
I will fight and defend (ah ah)
I’ll fight and defend (ah ah) yeah yeah

Keep holdin’ on
‘Cause you know we’ll make it through
We’ll make it through
Just, stay strong
‘Cause you know I’m here for you
I’m here for you
There’s nothing you can say
Nothing you can say
Nothing you can do
nothing you can do
There’s no other way when it comes to the truth
So, keep holding on
‘Cause you know we’ll make it through
[Keep Holding On lyrics on http://www.metrolyrics.com%5D

We’ll make it through

Hear me when I say
When I say I believe
Nothing’s gonna change
Nothing’s gonna destiny
Whatever’s meant to be
Will work out perfectly
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah….

La da da da, la da da da da
La da da da da da da da da

Keep holdin’ on
‘Cause you know we’ll make it through
We’ll make it through
Just stay strong
‘Cause you know I’m here for you
I’m here for you
There’s nothing you can say
nothing you can say
Nothing you can do
nothing you can do
There’s no other way when it comes to the truth
So, keep holding on
‘Cause you know we’ll make it through
We’ll make it through

Ahh, ahh
Ahh, ahh
Keep holdin’ on
Ahh, ahh
Ahh, ahh
Keep holdin’ on
There’s nothing you could say
Nothing you could say
nothin you could do
nothing you could do
There’s no other way when it comes to the truth
So, keep holding on
‘Cause you know we’ll make it through
We’ll make it through

If I Had My Life to Live Over

February 7, 2009

 

This is a well known column by Erma Bombeck, a very popular writer who was syndicated back in the days before the internet and died in 1996.. (Yes children, there once was a world without it when people couldn’t live without their paper newspapers!) 

Anyway, I thought I’d post it for anyone in younger generations, or other countries, who missed it. Its quite wonderful, I think. Hope you will too. Its called “If I Had My Life to Live Over”.  She writes:

I would have talked less and listened more.

I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained and the sofa faded.

I would have eaten the popcorn in the ‘good’ living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.

I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.

I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.

I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.

I would have sat on the lawn with my children and not worried about grass stains.

I would have cried and laughed less while watching television – and more while watching life.

I would have shared more of the responsibility carried by my husband.

I would have gone to bed when I was sick instead of pretending the earth would go into a holding pattern if I weren’t there for the day.

I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn’t show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.

Instead of wishing away nine months of pregnancy, I’d have cherished every moment and realized that the wonderment growing inside me was the only chance in life to assist God in a miracle.

When my kids kissed me impetuously, I would never have said, “Later. Now go get washed up for dinner.”

There would have been more “I love yous”..  more “I’m sorrys”…  but mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute…look at it and really see it…live it…and never give it back.

by Erma Bombeck 

About Erma from Wikipedia: “Erma Louise Bombeck (February 211927 – April 221996), born Erma Fiste, was an Americanhumorist who achieved great popularity for hernewspaper column that described suburban home life humorously from the mid-1960s until the late ’90s. Bombeck also published 15 books, most of which became best-sellers.

From 1965 to 1996, Erma Bombeck wrote over 4,000 newspaper columns chronicling the ordinary life of a midwestern suburban housewife with broad, and sometimes eloquent, humor. By the 1970s, her witty columns were read, twice weekly, by thirty million readers of 900 newspapers of theU.S. and Canada.”

To My Everlasting Shame

February 6, 2009

I did not stay at my father’s bedside, to be with  him until he passed. There he was, right upstairs in the bedroom, while I hid like a coward downstairs and out of sight. We knew it would be that night. The doctors had called the family in and said so. 

All his brothers and sisters, the aunts and uncles I grew up with,  had been pretty much staying at my parents’ house for those last weeks.  The pasta pots were always boiling. They brought Italian bread and provolone cheese and sweet salami with big green olives. Most importantly,  they brought the black humor which is our family trademark , especially during our darkest hours.  It sustained us and carried us.

And yet, there was an age regression that took place for me. At age 32, they were still the grown ups and I was like a child again. That’s just how the dynamics morphed. When it was soon to be time, my favorite aunt had a talk with me and asked me if I really wanted to watch my father die. She explained to me, 32 going on 8, that dying was not like in the movies. It was quite a frightening thing to see.  She encouraged me to have my quiet time alone with him, now in a coma, and say my good-bye. I did so. Then I walked out of the room and all his siblings and my mother went in and the door was firmly closed.

And so he died with his wife, brothers and sisters all around and me nowhere in sight. They later said it was an awful thing. Blood and God knows what everywhere. Even his brothers were shaken by it. It was not something I should have had to see, they told me. As if they had protected me from something.

But not long after, I realized it was my own father’s awful thing. I should have been there. I allowed myself to be shielded by my beloved and well meaning aunt with childlike trust.  I should have been there. I was not a child. I was not, in truth, protected or shielded. I was written out of the last line of the last page of his life.  No, we wrote me out. 

And I am so ashamed, sorry, and regretful… What if my father knew or sensed I wasn’t there, right through the invisible walls of his coma? My shame is this: that I, his oldest and most responsible child, should have  accompanied him on the final stage of his journey. I should have been there. 

No tidy ending to this post. I should have been there.  

(This post was inspired by a poem by Cordie entitled:  If I had it to do all again)

The Measure of Grief

February 5, 2009

 

 

THE MEASURE OF GRIEF

 

Twenty-five years ago today my father died.  

Even in my dreamless sleep I knew it.

 

I stumble out of bed  

where is my husband?

 

I want to hug him    

hug him so tightly

but he is gone

gone to work  

to work his ass off.

 

Gone.

 

I worry about his heart.

 

I want to hug my father  

(who worked his ass off).

I want to hug him  

hug him so tightly

 

but he is gone  

 

gone to rest    

to rest in peace.

 

I’d rather he were here, God forgive  me.

Yes.  I would rip him right out of paradise  if I could

to have him back here with the whole family

loving    living   YES , even suffering

but right alongside us where   think he belongs.

 

A quarter of a century.

One-fourth of a whole.

A quarter coin is so small really.  

 

A hole the size of a quarter 

is still in my heart  

big enough to kill me.

 

by Psychscribe ©2009

Loss: Feeling the Pain

January 28, 2009

I wrote in my  previous post, Final Words, about needing to feel the pain of loss in order to move on….well today I am feeling a loss I can’t identify…related to the present…. I know I feel it because I feel so sad, and I can feel the sadness in my chest….heavy….solid…I notice I’ve been feeling kind of angry at my body lately, how it has failed me by turning on itself and using our autoimmune system to attack it, and me. I look in the mirror and want to yell at it….WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME????? The research talks all about genetic markers, but I know that psychologically we can unconsciously do bad things to our bodies. I ask myself, what am I punishing myself for? Then I think maybe its not punishment, but fear causing all this in me. Fear of things I still haven’t worked through.  I also realize that at this time 25 years ago my father was dying. He died on February 5, 1984. I always get depressed at this time of year. Maybe this is all connected…I don’t know….

When I finish this post I will go to prepare for my bible study Friday night. I know that the Lord will comfort me as I read. So I have hope.

Protected: Final Words

January 24, 2009

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Psychscribe (Christmas) Quote # 48

December 23, 2008

ERMA BOMBECK:

“There’s nothing sadder in this world than to awake Christmas morning and not be a child.”

Feeling Sorry For Yourself vs Compassion

November 28, 2007

I have so many clients who come to me with  histories of abuse, tragedy or loss. They are usually in my office for something else: problems with the kids, finding or keeping a partner in life, depression,  etc.  The list goes on and on for what we shrinks call “the presenting problem”.  When a careful assessment uncovers the sorrow underneath, the silent sorrow that drives the current problem, they very often shrug it off.  Therapist empathy falls upon a stone wall.

“I don’t want to feel sorry for myself,” they say.  And let me tell you, they really mean it that they don’t want to feel sorry for themselves. And I don’t blame them.  The words have such a negative connotation. That connotation has been imposed on all of us by our fast moving culture that wants people to “get over it”.   And so such words as “feeling sorry for herself”  evoke the image of a person who wants to wallow in misery.  No one wants to be that person, in their own eyes or in the eyes of others.  So walls are built to hide the feelings. Sometimes even from yourself.

But wallowing is one thing. Working to get through it is something else again. You have to get through whatever is behind the wall if you want your present life to improve.   Here’s the thing: you  have to feel it to get through it.   It is ok to have compassion for yourself and what you went through.  Compassion is a feeling of sympathy along with the desire or yearning to alleviate the suffering of another.  It is ok to extend the same compassion to yourself that you would to a loved one who went through the same thing.  You need to have compassion for yourself in order to allow yourself to feel the feelings and walk through, and beyond,  the pain.

That’s not wallowing. That’s doing something about it.