Death. Grief. Sorrow. Those aren’t words that any of us like, especially when they involve those closest to us. I don’t pretend to understand sorrow, though I have experienced it many times. I experienced it when my grandparents died. I experienced it when my own father was in a car accident, and again when my…
By: Tricia,
on 6/3/2014
In introducing my Poetry Friday post on Sorrow, Diane Mayr wrote "Tricia at The Miss Rumphius Effect is back. She's been having a difficult month and so, she's posting a poem called "Sorrow." Since a shared sorrow is a sorrow halved, then by the end of the day, her readers should have her back on the joy track."
Many of you dropped by to offer offer words of wisdom, virtual hugs, and kind thoughts.
Diane wrote "Embrace the sadness for without it, you can't appreciate the happy times."
Tanita left me this lovely poem.
Still MorningMary Lee reminded me why I love Poetry Friday and the Kidlitosphere so much when she wrote "I am thankful to be part of a community where you could lay it before us (along with a poem) and allow us to gather round you, hold you up, help you move on."
by W.S. MerwinIt appears now that there is only one
age and it knows
nothing of age as the flying birds know
nothing of the air they are flying through
or of the day that bears them up
through themselves
and I am a child before there are words
arms are holding me up in a shadow
voices murmur in a shadow
as I watch one patch of sunlight moving
across the green carpet
in a building
gone long ago and all the voices
silent and each word they said in that time
silent now
while I go on seeing that patch of sunlight
By: Danette Haworth,
on 3/4/2014
So many of us are grieving the death of someone close to us.
Grief comes in waves, receding, then roaring back to engulf us and batter us till we feel the tide might take us out and we will never return. It's not wrong to grieve. When recounting the scene of Jesus approaching the burial site of his good friend Lazarus, John tells us simply, "Jesus wept" (11:35). Jesus wept. It's the shortest verse in the Bible and it needs no explanation. I'm thinking today of my family and the family of John Wilbanks. I'm thinking of Rodney Wilbanks and his sister and brothers. I'm thinking of my daughter, Brooke Haworth, for whom the loss has hit hard. My mom, whose grief is a weight pressing down on her.
I am thinking of my close friend, Sima Taylor, her wonderful brother, Mohammad Mojdehi, whom she was so close to. I'm thinking of her daughter and her husband, Peter.
I am thinking of my own brother who died too early, and whose death brings daily grief to me.
I am thinking of Shannon Hitchcock and all the friends of Cynthia Chapman Willis, who recently succumbed to lung cancer.
God knows your grief and he cares about you.
This is what the LORD, the God of your father David, says: I have heard your prayer and seen your tears; I will heal you (2 Kings 20:5).
You have kept record of my days of wandering. You have stored my tears in your bottle and counted each of them (David, writing in anguish. Psalm 56:8, Contemporary English Version).
And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes; there shall be no more death, nor sorrow, nor crying. There shall be no more pain (Revelation 21:4).
Some of our friends who didn't know the one we grieve don't know how to handle the new, sorrowful version of us. If you are one of our friends, here is what you should say: "I'm sorry." or "I'm so very sorry." or "I'm sorry and I am thinking and praying for you." You can even say, "I don't know what to say."
Send a card to your friend's home. Write some version of the words above. Send flowers to the funeral home, if you are moved to do so. If not, that's okay, but the very least you can do is send a card. Your friend is in a very hard place right now, and though a card seems an impossibly frail comfort, it actually lends a great deal of comfort.
If you live near your friend, bring a meal or two over. Make cookies or banana bread or muffins--breakfast and easy snack items are generally overlooked but would be welcomed by the family.
If you can alleviate your friend of certain chores, do so. Can you pick up the kids? Take them to practice? Mow the lawn? Babysit while your friend conducts death errands?
Kids are in pain, too. Offer comfort to them as well.
Hug your friend.
If you have sweet or funny anecdotes about the person they're grieving, share those stories. They mean so much. Hand write the story even if you've told them, and send it to them in the mail. They will keep it forever.
Let your friend talk about that person when they need to. If they suddenly need a topic change, allow it. Don't be hurt. Grief works in swells; your friend needs to talk but also to be free to escape the swell. Let them.
Acknowledging your friend's pain tells them that you care about them; their pain is valid; you care that they are in pain; the person they are grieving for was valuable. I encourage you to not be afraid of your friend who is hurting. If you don't know what to say or do, I hope you find the words above helpful. Your friend is in an extremely vulnerable place right now. Rise above your discomfort and help them; however, a few things can actually hurt your friend, so be wise, choose your words and actions carefully:
Do not avoid your friend. Their sorrow makes you uncomfortable; your avoidance makes them feel that you do not care about them; you don't think their grief is important; you don't recognize the value of the person they grieve.
Do not offer platitudes. "It was God's timing," "You can still talk to him; he's watching you from heaven!" "He's in a better place now." These are throwaway lines. They have no power and they do not help.
Do not interrogate your friend on the details of the death. If your friend doesn't mention the cause of death, you don't need that information. When or if your friend wants to share that with you they will.
Do not mention and then launch into your own grief story. Your friend is suffering NOW. Be selfless and pay attention to their grief. This is not the time for you to claim your crown of grief. This is your friend's time. Let them have it.
I hope anyone grieving has found some words of comfort in this post. And if you are a friend of someone grieving, I really do hope you've found this post helpful. Many people don't know what to do when their friend suffers a loss; the best thing you can do is to be there in simple, quiet ways.
By: Claudette Young,
on 2/28/2012
This entire month of blog challenge, dealing with family, led me to yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Obvious, I know. I knew that at some point I was going to have to speak seriously about my mother, and I knew how difficult that would be for me.
The stories I’ve written this month have taken me to places where emotions have near drop-kicked me on many days. This one will lay me out completely and I know it. I was going to write it yesterday. I just couldn’t force myself to do it. I wasn’t ready yet to drown in all of those feelings that had been swirling for a month, just under the surface where they would swallow me at the slightest provocation.
Let sleeping dogs lie is the old adage that covers this situation, and I’m about to begin poking that big brute that lives below the waves. That being the case, I’ll share a part of my mother that has less sorrow for me.
Mom loved kids and animals better than anything else in the world, family excluded, of course. She was a natural mother, who could sooth any child, tame just about any creature, and generally get along with the world regardless of circumstance.
From the time I was about thirteen or so, old bird cages, boxes, baskets, etc. shared Mom’s kitchen with us. Inside those cages, boxes, baskets, etc. were babies. Some were birds, some baby bunnies, or any number of other wild things. She definitely took after her mother in that regard.
There were orphans that stick strongly in my memory. I came home one day to find baby groundhogs nestled inside an old towel in a cardboard box on a chair beside the stove. They were two of the sweetest little creatures I’d ever seen; all brown and cuddly, rolled up into balls keeping warm against each other. Someone had found them abandoned and had brought them to Mom.
I don’t remember how long she had them before the groundhogs were released, and I don’t know that it matters now. I do know that there were few weeks during spring or summer when orphans didn’t come to our house.
Dad brought her the baby bunnies. He was mowing the yard and didn’t realize that one of the local cottontails had made her warren near the edge of the driveway. The rabbits were tiny things and terrified. Dad knew that the mother would never return to the nest warren after it had been disturbed.
On another occasion, a friend brought her a pair of silver fox babies to tend for a few weeks, until they were weaned. He bred silver foxes and needed a surrogate mother for them for a while. Mom did her thing and they soon went back to their rightful home.
One wet, cold spring day, Mom went mushroom hunting. Keeping her out of the woods during mushroom season was unheard of. Having her come home with a baby Great Horned Owl, though, was different. The wee thing had fallen/or been pushed from its next.
She heard it, found it, and scooped it up. It was in shock; its down feathers were soaked, and it couldn’t stop shiverin
By: Anita Mejía,
on 9/22/2009
By: Anita Mejía,
on 9/22/2009
By: Anita Mejía,
on 9/17/2009
By: Anita Mejía,
on 9/17/2009
By: Anita Mejía,
on 9/15/2009
By: Anita Mejía,
on 9/15/2009
By: Destiny Mae,
on 5/4/2007
Karen is a little girl that is seven and is in second grade she has two families and she lives with her mom and step-dad and she visits her father every other weekend her dad has a mansion and her mom has a small house she is going to a pony camp with her best friends Hannie and Nancy she is sooo exited about it but when she gets there she has to pick out a horse she picks out a palomino Diablo he is just beautiful but after a while older kids make fun of her and Nancy is afraid of riding Hannie rides too much they aren't having much fun.
What I like about the story is that it has ponies in it and horses and I am all over ponies and horses and if there is a book with animals especially when it's with horses or ponies.
That Walmart comment. It happened to me last night at my parent’s house. I stepped outside to take garbage to a compost pile and thanked God for the privilege. And the tears came. I won’t get to do that task forever. My mom is gone. My father will go. The house will be sold. I want to treasure every moment in that place. The vacuuming of floors, changing of beds, cleaning commodes. And especially the chance to care for my father.
This has been a year of grief for me. Somehow I hadn’t expected to have more sorrows with age although I guess it makes perfect sense. Thanks for sharing your heart. I am sorry for your losses, too Donna.
Beautifully said sweetheart.
Donna, my thoughts and prayers go out to you and your family. I lost my Godfather in January and I am losing my father through mental illness. I completely get the crying for no reason. I have done a lot of that in my car lately. It is so comforting to know that no matter how tear streaked I may look or how angry I may be at a situation, God is still willing to hold me-even if I don’t feel it at that moment. Thank you for this moving post.
Lovely post. The first anniversary of my father’s death is looming and I have been thinking a lot about grief. Thank you for this great way to think about the process.
Grief has a life of it’s own. that’s what I learned after my first husband died over 30 years ago. ANd subsequent griefs can rip open that wound– unexpectedly. But as Joyce said, being raw to grief also can help us treasure the present. Because we never know when we might lose it. I am sorry for your losses; but understand your grief. But even better–the Lord, who has experienced ALL our pain and sorrow–understands it.
Thank you… and AMEN!
It is so hard, all those ‘firsts” after those we love are gone. I am praying for you. And if you need to talk – you know where I am. :)
I love you. :)
Thank you for sharing, Kathleen. Losing someone to mental illness is a hard, hard sorrow to bear. I’m so sorry. I’m praying!
*Hugging you* I’m so glad you have these moments right now, and the ability to take care of your daddy. And thank you for sharing your heart. I am praying for you, my friend.