I'm not quite sure how I've made it this far
It seems like I've been in a fast moving car
It's a one-way crowded highway
and there's no turning around
Just pit stops on the shoulder for sorrows and grief,
for nourishment, fuel, and a few stops for relief
Then back into the car and back on the road
Bumper to bumper, driving on, forward, endlessly
I use to see people on the side of the road, standing there
The tears streaming, their heads bowed in prayer
I'd wondered what they were doing, why they'd stopped
But I didn't ask too many questions,
I'd just remember their faces and the feeling of fear
That they may have just lost something sacred and dear
Then I had to pull over a few times on my own
God, it's hard to pull over...
Sometimes you get to gage it a little and pull off carefully
Othertimes it's just like a front tire is blown
And you are just jerked off the road
But it's even harder to get back in the car and drive
And leave my loved ones behind
And the farther I keep driving, the more the space grows ...
between me and them ....
And there's no turning back
No turning around
No starting over
No U-turns
I can object to the rules of this road,
It often feels like nobody's listening or nobody cares
But I know really that it's just because
that's the way this road was laid out
And no one can change it...
It's difficult to see any landmarks of hope ahead
When your vision is blurred with tears...
And I keep denting fenders because
I'm not watching where I'm driving
I'm busy looking in my rearview mirror
Michael Aaron Botten 02/18/74-01/09/07
My beloved first-born son
Michael's Music
Sunday, May 25, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
I Feel That No One Cares
A list member writes:
I hope to share my story here. I see many others have shared their stories. I feel that many of my family and friends have deserted me. It's hard to believe there is anyone who cares.
Grief alone is so much for our hearts and mind and body to handle. Complicated grief, that is, when there is more than one loss to deal with or issues that must also be dealt with simultaneously (like anger, unresolved fights, anxiety, health or financial issues, depression, etc) can make the grief even that much harder to carry by ourselves.
It does help to tell your story over and over again. It helps with the processing of the grief. It helps us understand our grief. It also helps us know that we are not alone.
Grief and sorrow and depression are not a natural state for humans. They want to laugh and play and relax and enjoy. They want to smile and have hope and hear encouraging things. Most people would prefer color to a black and gray world. Most people would prefer some sunshine to endless cloudy rainy days.
The worst grief there is, is the grief that WE are experiencing. No one else will feel and experience OUR loss the same way we do. Our worlds become black and gray and cloudy and rainy. Our worlds become talk of the events of our loss, the days before, memories of our loved ones, the guilt we are experiencing, the things we are going to miss, the sadness in our hearts. Our stories are not something any human being, unless also experiencing loss and grief or being paid to counsel those in mourning, are going to naturally be attracted to. A few close friends and family members will do their best to listen and console us at first, but their tolerance level of the grief is limited to their involvement with the loss itself or their relationship with us. They will recover more quickly and return to the colorful, more joyful, sunny world of normal living.
Yes, it feels like we are deserted by many of our family and friends. In truth, we also desert many of them during this time by isolating ourselves and "bridging off" from them. We don't go places with them. We don't ask about their recent promotion or congratulate them on the discovery of their pregnancy. We don't really hear them pour out their feelings about their difficulties with their families, their marriages, or their jobs. We don't really hear them express their worries and concerns. Frequently as not, we don't make phone calls to them or answer their calls.
Also, grief changes our "being" - it changes our outlook on life (good or bad), our energy level, our interests (at least for a while). We may also find, as time goes by, that we may not have as much in common with old friends and family members as we did before.
When I was married, a large percent of the population of my "friends" were married couples with families. A great deal of the activities I was involved with and enjoyed were centered around things married people with families would do. Now it is really different to get together with married women friends and chat about planning anniversary surprises or second honeymoons.Even chit chat about family meal planning is rather irrelevant to me. I work very long hours so have little time for cooking right now and only cook for one - me. The activities we enjoyed together were often planned around twosomes (card games for instance). I've also feel that some couples felt extremely disloyal to either me or my ex-spouse by continuing on with either of us. And then there is the two other underlying problems with being suddenly single - I am a possible threat to the couple's stability (I am a single woman, lonely, and possibly "on the prowl") and also a general threat of divorce (if it can happen to their marriage, it could happen to ours .). I don't think they consciously think those things; I am aware those fears exist in people. If it's in their face, they see it and may have to realize it is a possibility. They are reminded that NO marriage is forever - it will END in divorce or death. No one likes to think of that.
Much the same, but even stronger, is the instinct to avoid thinking on possible losses. Before we lost someone, we might hear of a loss and grieve a bit for that person and/or feel sorry for the survivors. But we would immerse ourselves in our regular daily living; we would not dwell on it. We might read an article in the paper and think, what a tragedy, but we could put that paper down and get busy with something else.
Grief and sorrow are not natural choices of daily living.When people are confronted by those in grief, mortality issues are "put in their faces". IF it could happen to her or him, perhaps it could happen to me. When they hear someone has lost a parent, they realize the age of their own parents and are suddenly presented with thoughts about losing their own parents. People have to think about their own mortality and that is very traumatic for many people. If they hear about a child-loss, it is extremely frightening to them. I remember watching The Titanic when it came out and coming to the scene just after the ship had gone down and all of the bodies were floating about- old men, young men, old women, young women, children, and infants. The scene cast an extremely terrifying emotional response in me that lasted for days. We had even briefly "met" some of those characters in the movie and now they were gone. No one saved them. And the movie was based on a true story. I knew I would never watch The Titanic again. It was too much for me emotionally. (Of course, now, in my current state I certainly won't watch any movies of that emotional content!)
I think we are avoided, to some degree, because our emotional despair is not a state that people can naturally exist in. We avoid burns and car accidents and knife cuts and falls as best we can. We also avoid grief. We may find, as time goes by, because of our new insights and new interests, that we have the need to develop new friends who share some of those insights and interests.
When I was a stay-at-home mother with small children, I was attracted to and attractive to the friendships of other young stay-at-home moms with small children. That changed over the years. Of course, a few friendships have evolved with me and survived all the changes in me. This latest challenge, that of dealing with intense grief, has certainly challenged even those friendships - it's something they cannot understand because they haven't experienced it.
I am most sorry for your loss and pain.I hope you will find this a good place to tell your story, even over and over again from different angles, when you feel ready to share. Don't try telling the whole story all at once if that is too uncomfortable. We'll still be here when you are ready to share more. Don't ever feel you need to share things that you don't want to share! Please feel free to share anything YOU want to.
Offering you a new friendship on your journey,
With love and hugs and prayers,
Sandi
I hope to share my story here. I see many others have shared their stories. I feel that many of my family and friends have deserted me. It's hard to believe there is anyone who cares.
Grief alone is so much for our hearts and mind and body to handle. Complicated grief, that is, when there is more than one loss to deal with or issues that must also be dealt with simultaneously (like anger, unresolved fights, anxiety, health or financial issues, depression, etc) can make the grief even that much harder to carry by ourselves.
It does help to tell your story over and over again. It helps with the processing of the grief. It helps us understand our grief. It also helps us know that we are not alone.
Grief and sorrow and depression are not a natural state for humans. They want to laugh and play and relax and enjoy. They want to smile and have hope and hear encouraging things. Most people would prefer color to a black and gray world. Most people would prefer some sunshine to endless cloudy rainy days.
The worst grief there is, is the grief that WE are experiencing. No one else will feel and experience OUR loss the same way we do. Our worlds become black and gray and cloudy and rainy. Our worlds become talk of the events of our loss, the days before, memories of our loved ones, the guilt we are experiencing, the things we are going to miss, the sadness in our hearts. Our stories are not something any human being, unless also experiencing loss and grief or being paid to counsel those in mourning, are going to naturally be attracted to. A few close friends and family members will do their best to listen and console us at first, but their tolerance level of the grief is limited to their involvement with the loss itself or their relationship with us. They will recover more quickly and return to the colorful, more joyful, sunny world of normal living.
Yes, it feels like we are deserted by many of our family and friends. In truth, we also desert many of them during this time by isolating ourselves and "bridging off" from them. We don't go places with them. We don't ask about their recent promotion or congratulate them on the discovery of their pregnancy. We don't really hear them pour out their feelings about their difficulties with their families, their marriages, or their jobs. We don't really hear them express their worries and concerns. Frequently as not, we don't make phone calls to them or answer their calls.
Also, grief changes our "being" - it changes our outlook on life (good or bad), our energy level, our interests (at least for a while). We may also find, as time goes by, that we may not have as much in common with old friends and family members as we did before.
When I was married, a large percent of the population of my "friends" were married couples with families. A great deal of the activities I was involved with and enjoyed were centered around things married people with families would do. Now it is really different to get together with married women friends and chat about planning anniversary surprises or second honeymoons.Even chit chat about family meal planning is rather irrelevant to me. I work very long hours so have little time for cooking right now and only cook for one - me. The activities we enjoyed together were often planned around twosomes (card games for instance). I've also feel that some couples felt extremely disloyal to either me or my ex-spouse by continuing on with either of us. And then there is the two other underlying problems with being suddenly single - I am a possible threat to the couple's stability (I am a single woman, lonely, and possibly "on the prowl") and also a general threat of divorce (if it can happen to their marriage, it could happen to ours .). I don't think they consciously think those things; I am aware those fears exist in people. If it's in their face, they see it and may have to realize it is a possibility. They are reminded that NO marriage is forever - it will END in divorce or death. No one likes to think of that.
Much the same, but even stronger, is the instinct to avoid thinking on possible losses. Before we lost someone, we might hear of a loss and grieve a bit for that person and/or feel sorry for the survivors. But we would immerse ourselves in our regular daily living; we would not dwell on it. We might read an article in the paper and think, what a tragedy, but we could put that paper down and get busy with something else.
Grief and sorrow are not natural choices of daily living.When people are confronted by those in grief, mortality issues are "put in their faces". IF it could happen to her or him, perhaps it could happen to me. When they hear someone has lost a parent, they realize the age of their own parents and are suddenly presented with thoughts about losing their own parents. People have to think about their own mortality and that is very traumatic for many people. If they hear about a child-loss, it is extremely frightening to them. I remember watching The Titanic when it came out and coming to the scene just after the ship had gone down and all of the bodies were floating about- old men, young men, old women, young women, children, and infants. The scene cast an extremely terrifying emotional response in me that lasted for days. We had even briefly "met" some of those characters in the movie and now they were gone. No one saved them. And the movie was based on a true story. I knew I would never watch The Titanic again. It was too much for me emotionally. (Of course, now, in my current state I certainly won't watch any movies of that emotional content!)
I think we are avoided, to some degree, because our emotional despair is not a state that people can naturally exist in. We avoid burns and car accidents and knife cuts and falls as best we can. We also avoid grief. We may find, as time goes by, because of our new insights and new interests, that we have the need to develop new friends who share some of those insights and interests.
When I was a stay-at-home mother with small children, I was attracted to and attractive to the friendships of other young stay-at-home moms with small children. That changed over the years. Of course, a few friendships have evolved with me and survived all the changes in me. This latest challenge, that of dealing with intense grief, has certainly challenged even those friendships - it's something they cannot understand because they haven't experienced it.
I am most sorry for your loss and pain.I hope you will find this a good place to tell your story, even over and over again from different angles, when you feel ready to share. Don't try telling the whole story all at once if that is too uncomfortable. We'll still be here when you are ready to share more. Don't ever feel you need to share things that you don't want to share! Please feel free to share anything YOU want to.
Offering you a new friendship on your journey,
With love and hugs and prayers,
Sandi
Searching for Comfort and Cures ...
A list member writes:
I rarely post but do read. I am trying to find something - maybe comfort in someone else's messages. But I do not find it. Instead I find many others just like me. I do not understand how time keeps passing. I am afraid I might forget my loved one's face or other details. I sleep too much - it is my only escape, but then I have awful dreams.
Your post came in on my birthday so I did not have the chance to read it – I was avoiding the computer and family and friends by working extremely long hours at work that day (14 hours), then coming home and doing some chores,until I fell, exhausted in to bed. I can sleep for 5-6 hours at the best,any other time I spend in bed would be just laying there with my eyes open or closed … and that’s something I can’t handle. Too much time to dwell on things and become too grief-stricken. Even with medication for my depression, it is a difficult fight. I’ve found that spending too much time in bed makes me more vulnerable.
I remember when my father died and I signed up for a grief group at ahospital. Certainly with as many people who die and all of the loved ones who are left to survive in this world with hearts so shattered, and all the medical knowledge that has developed over the years…certainly, I felt, there would be some answers or direction at such a group. Someone must be able to help me “fix” the situation – bring my father back, turn back time and find a cure, or help me stop hurting so badly. It was a journey, this death and grief and loss stuff, that I did not choose to take and did not want to take. Certainly someone must have developed an alternative for people like me!
I don’t think I consciously thought all of this at the time, but as I signed up for the class, I think I truly was hoping for a lot more than I got. What I found was six other people in the midst of their grief, too, all NOT wanting to be there, but desperately needing to be there, just like me. And two counselors, minus any magic wands for curing anyone, who kindly were available to listen and to explain some of the generalities of the grief cycle and some of the more common affects of grief. It was held in a room decorated simply and beautifully for people in grief – there were no optional doors to go into rooms for those of us who didn’t WANT to be in grief.
I did find comfort in knowing I was not alone and not going crazy. I did find some understanding of the grief cycle which helped me understand a little more about what I was feeling when my feelings were rocking back and forth and indescribable. And I made a couple of new, temporary friends with whom I could relate.
My father was still dead. And I still missed him.
I also found myself joining some divorce support groups when shortly thereafter my 20 year marriage went belly up and my husband left with another woman to start a new life without me. I think I was still hoping for someone to take over the steering wheel of my life and help me do the right things, say the right things, to bring my husband back, put our family back together, and take away the loss, the anger, the worry and anxiety, the huge sadness that had clouded over and enveloped my life so suddenly.
Instead, again, I found many, many others like myself, trying to make sense of something that wasn’t really sensible; trying to find a cure for a pain for which their wasn’t any medication or magic words to heal. But I did find people with whom I could relate. And again, I found friends who understood me and whom I could understand.
Again, when I lost my beloved son last January and my boyfriend eight months later, I sought a magic cure. Perhaps with all the people going through this grief thing, someone knows something – maybe some secret path you can travel or religion you should practice or book you can read or something you can order where things will be better again – where I can have my loved ones back or find some special relief from all this pain.
There are no magic words or special remedies.
We are dropped, often without warning into a deep, dark pit called Grief. It is confusing and dark and cold and scary. The only way out of the pit is to travel a journey. First we have to find the door in the dark. We find there are others in the pit, as scared and confused as we are. But we also hear whispers of the door that leads out and onto the path. As one person finds the door, he or she whispers back and says, This way. One by one, we all stumble around, following the whispers to the door, remembering to whisper to those behind us, too, so they can find their way.
Outside the door, we discover there are many paths actually for us to chose from. None lead backward to the life we have known. All lead forward into the unknown. Each path has its own branches, detours, hills and valleys to navigate. We hear the whispers of others ahead. Some have chosen a quieter,slow path. Some have chosen a winding path. Some a path that requires climbing hills right from the start and others chose a path that begins with a downwards slope. We have to chose our own, but we do find some comfort, as human beings, knowing that there are others on the same journey as us, and someeeven following the same paths as us, if even for a while.
We reach out and accept the hands of strangers who are ahead of us and let them help us up a rocky incline. We reach back and offer our hand to those behind us.
I am so sorry for the loss of your beloved. I just want you to know I am on this journey with you and it appears we both started about the same timein our lives.
Here is my hand.
Love and hugs,
Sandi
I rarely post but do read. I am trying to find something - maybe comfort in someone else's messages. But I do not find it. Instead I find many others just like me. I do not understand how time keeps passing. I am afraid I might forget my loved one's face or other details. I sleep too much - it is my only escape, but then I have awful dreams.
Your post came in on my birthday so I did not have the chance to read it – I was avoiding the computer and family and friends by working extremely long hours at work that day (14 hours), then coming home and doing some chores,until I fell, exhausted in to bed. I can sleep for 5-6 hours at the best,any other time I spend in bed would be just laying there with my eyes open or closed … and that’s something I can’t handle. Too much time to dwell on things and become too grief-stricken. Even with medication for my depression, it is a difficult fight. I’ve found that spending too much time in bed makes me more vulnerable.
I remember when my father died and I signed up for a grief group at ahospital. Certainly with as many people who die and all of the loved ones who are left to survive in this world with hearts so shattered, and all the medical knowledge that has developed over the years…certainly, I felt, there would be some answers or direction at such a group. Someone must be able to help me “fix” the situation – bring my father back, turn back time and find a cure, or help me stop hurting so badly. It was a journey, this death and grief and loss stuff, that I did not choose to take and did not want to take. Certainly someone must have developed an alternative for people like me!
I don’t think I consciously thought all of this at the time, but as I signed up for the class, I think I truly was hoping for a lot more than I got. What I found was six other people in the midst of their grief, too, all NOT wanting to be there, but desperately needing to be there, just like me. And two counselors, minus any magic wands for curing anyone, who kindly were available to listen and to explain some of the generalities of the grief cycle and some of the more common affects of grief. It was held in a room decorated simply and beautifully for people in grief – there were no optional doors to go into rooms for those of us who didn’t WANT to be in grief.
I did find comfort in knowing I was not alone and not going crazy. I did find some understanding of the grief cycle which helped me understand a little more about what I was feeling when my feelings were rocking back and forth and indescribable. And I made a couple of new, temporary friends with whom I could relate.
My father was still dead. And I still missed him.
I also found myself joining some divorce support groups when shortly thereafter my 20 year marriage went belly up and my husband left with another woman to start a new life without me. I think I was still hoping for someone to take over the steering wheel of my life and help me do the right things, say the right things, to bring my husband back, put our family back together, and take away the loss, the anger, the worry and anxiety, the huge sadness that had clouded over and enveloped my life so suddenly.
Instead, again, I found many, many others like myself, trying to make sense of something that wasn’t really sensible; trying to find a cure for a pain for which their wasn’t any medication or magic words to heal. But I did find people with whom I could relate. And again, I found friends who understood me and whom I could understand.
Again, when I lost my beloved son last January and my boyfriend eight months later, I sought a magic cure. Perhaps with all the people going through this grief thing, someone knows something – maybe some secret path you can travel or religion you should practice or book you can read or something you can order where things will be better again – where I can have my loved ones back or find some special relief from all this pain.
There are no magic words or special remedies.
We are dropped, often without warning into a deep, dark pit called Grief. It is confusing and dark and cold and scary. The only way out of the pit is to travel a journey. First we have to find the door in the dark. We find there are others in the pit, as scared and confused as we are. But we also hear whispers of the door that leads out and onto the path. As one person finds the door, he or she whispers back and says, This way. One by one, we all stumble around, following the whispers to the door, remembering to whisper to those behind us, too, so they can find their way.
Outside the door, we discover there are many paths actually for us to chose from. None lead backward to the life we have known. All lead forward into the unknown. Each path has its own branches, detours, hills and valleys to navigate. We hear the whispers of others ahead. Some have chosen a quieter,slow path. Some have chosen a winding path. Some a path that requires climbing hills right from the start and others chose a path that begins with a downwards slope. We have to chose our own, but we do find some comfort, as human beings, knowing that there are others on the same journey as us, and someeeven following the same paths as us, if even for a while.
We reach out and accept the hands of strangers who are ahead of us and let them help us up a rocky incline. We reach back and offer our hand to those behind us.
I am so sorry for the loss of your beloved. I just want you to know I am on this journey with you and it appears we both started about the same timein our lives.
Here is my hand.
Love and hugs,
Sandi
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