JOURNALING: A WAY TO HEAL

 I know journaling is not for everyone but for me it has been life saving. I've wanted to write about this subject for a very long time but it is so subjective (of or existing within an individual's mind rather than outside: personal)that I have been reluctant to put too much influence on what I think is important in the healing process. One of the most valuable lessons we have come to realize is that everyone grieves differently. The grieving process is uniquely that of the individual trying to find their way through it.

 My journey is exclusively mine. Yours is exclusively yours. However, the basic emotions are universal. And through online grief-based support groups a lot of us have found other tender souls struggling with the same feelings and experiences. We travel together but at the same time we travel  horribly and terribly alone. Alone and trapped with all that emotion that we don't know what to do with.  Very often we have no one we can talk to  because all our friends and a lot of our family has disappeared.

Before I discovered there was a way to reach out to and correspond with other suffering souls like myself, I was very much alone. Being alone I needed to find a way to make sense of what had happened; to try to deal with the devastation caused by my precious son's death by suicide. I needed to understand.  I needed to learn how to cope.  I needed to learn how to breath again.

 I never thought about if there was a right or wrong way to begin a journal. I began because I needed to get my feelings outside of myself. In the beginning there were so many, many different emotions. I was having a hard time putting a name to each one. An impossible task. I thought if I could  sit down without any forethought and just begin to write, the feelings would come pouring out. The hurt, the pain, the despair, the anger, and all that sadness.  But even more importantly, I needed to understand my reaction to all those emotions.

And I was right. That is exactly what happened.  As my pen began to write, everything I was feeling came pouring out.  Tears stained my paper but it was such a great relief to be able to get it all out.  I never thought or expected that I would share my journal or my own personal journey but, as you know, that is what I did.

I had all these suggestions for journaling that I planned on sharing with you but tonight I decided to go online and see what others had written. I found an article that says almost verbatim what I had wanted to tell you but it is oh so much better written than I could have done.

 I love how it begins:

"A window to your soul, keeping a journal can be a way of giving your feelings an outlet like no other, a place where your deepest thoughts can reside without fear of judgment, blame, or need of justification. Journals allow you to be just who you are, and are a place where you can travel through life's emotions with gentleness, compassion and deeper understanding."

I'm including the link below.  It will be well worth your time to read it

 For those that might think journaling is just too overwhelming; for those that think they don't know how to begin, I would like to make a simple suggestion. After deciding where you'd like to write (in a blank book, a journal, online, etc.) and dating the page, begin your first entry with "Today I....." Then describe how you're feeling at that moment. For example: "Today I am angry that no one understands how I'm feeling"; or "Today I looked out the window. The sun was shining and the world looked beautiful - for the first time in a very long time."

 Journaling can be one sentence. All it has to be is honest - a true reflection of how you're feeling at that moment. It doesn't mean that you'll always feel like that. After all, each day is a new beginning.

 A journal is a personal history. I am so thankful that I have something tangible that I can pick up and read. Something that helps me realize how far I've come in this journey. I was so numb the first year or so that I remember very little of what I went through. You may be thinking that you don't want to remember but even when you are going through the absolutely worst thing you'll ever experience, you are growing.

 Only by writing down all those feelings, all those thoughts, and experiences and then going back and re-reading it will you ever know just how much you've overcome. It will give you direction and a feeling of accomplishment. It will tell you about small successes that you might not even be aware of.

I can promise you that it is something that you will never regret. I would only caution that if you're going to write about others, keep your journal in a safe, secure place. That way you can rant, cuss, or do whatever you need to do to relieve your stress without fear of retribution. You have to feel free to express yourself, to be yourself.

 Please give journaling a try.  I think you will amaze yourself.

http://www.wikihow.com/Keep-a-Journal

REACHING OUT - TOUCHING HEARTS

In a world where we are bombarded by all the negative aspects of human nature, it is refreshing when we hear stories about an extraordinary young person. Such a person recently touched my heart in a deeply profound way. A young lady of remarkable courage. A young lady unafraid of sharing her very personal story in her desire to reach out and help others. Hers is a powerful story of selfless love and hope.

The following was posted by a friend on Facebook and I now would like to share it with you:

"Editor's note - The following was written by Mary Deem, 19, of Huntersville, in response to reports that two Lake Norman-area girls had recently taken their own life.

I wish i had known. I wish I had known that you hurt so badly. I would've told you that I know that pain, I know that ache.

I know what it feels like to have everything in you scream that you don't belong to this world. I know how it feels to give up.

I would have told you that, when I was 17, I wanted to die, and I tried to make it so. I would have told you that I swallowed as many pills as I could, that I took so much, so much because I didn't want to feel this anymore. I didn't want to have to fight for every day. I was so tired. I know you were so tired.

I would have told you how scared I was that I would die alone, how I felt my body giving up as it absorbed the drugs. I called my mom on her cell phone, even though she was right down the hall. I needed her there. I didn't want to be alone.

I would have told you about her face when I told her what I had done. I would have told you about the mix of confusion and fear and hurt in her eyes as she asked me the details. She called my dad into room - terrified but her composure still intact - and asked him to take me to the bathroom. She wanted me to try and get it out, all of that evilness I had put inside me.

I would have told you about how my dad cried out when I tried to walk out of my room. I would have told you how that cry echoes in my mind every day, about the way my legs were like jelly and I couldn't stand up. I couldn't move, my body was ready to go, it was just my mind still fighting.

I would have told you about the way my dad picked me up, carrying me like I was still the infant he held in his arms years ago, his baby girl; how he carried me to the car. I would have told you how I felt him shaking, just as much as I was, just as scared as I was.

They put me in the car, my mother crawling in the back seat behind me and my dad driving, driving to save me. I would have told you about my mom putting her fingers on my neck, about how she kept them there, just to make sure that my heart was still beating inside me, that her heart was still beating.

I would've told you about the bright whiteness of the hospital, me again in my father's arms. People everywhere, questions and questions and monitors and my mother's face, your mother's face. So scared and so hurt, because a part of her would die, too. A part of her had died.

I would've told you about how my memory goes away here and how the next two days are something you will never know of, except in stories.

I would've told you about waking up in a different hospital, of being restrained because I was fighting, fighting so hard for my life and fighting the demons that played in my head.

I would have told you about the first image I remember seeing when I woke up. My family, my beautiful family, bent over my bed, asking if I knew where I was. I would have told you how happy I felt to not have died, to see the people I love so much in front of me.

I would have told you how grateful I felt to have made it through the night, to be able to wake up again. I would've told you about the tree that stood outside my window in the hospital, the only thing I could see. I would have told you that it was barren and leafless. It was lonely and sad, just like me, that tree.

I would have told you that on the day I got out of the hospital, as I walked out into the sunshine, that tree, that sad little tree, had blooms. Blooms that rained petals down on the ground and that smelled like life, like another day. I would have told you about the uphill battle back into the everyday world, about the fight that I still had to fight every day against my sadness and loneliness.

I would have told you about how, with counseling and the support of my family, it was a little easier, a little less hopeless every day. I would've told you about that thought in the back of my head - every time I felt the wind on my face, every time I kissed my puppy, as I watched my sister walk down the aisle at her wedding - that I almost gave this up.

I was so ready to die, so ready to never live again, and then I was so ready to live, to feel the things I knew I deserved to feel.

I would have told you about happiness. I would have told you what it feels like to know the value of each day, to love this life even if it knocks me down. I would have told you about me now, about how incredible I feel every day, about knowing that even though it hurts so badly sometimes, it does get better.

I got better.

I would have told you that you have hope. I would have told you I could be your hope. I would have told you that the people around you would miss you, that their hearts would break when you left, that they would never be the same.

I would have told you that the world keeps turning, things keep changing, and this, too, shall pass. I would have told you that you deserve to live, that you deserve to feel what you feel. I would have told you how beautiful you are, and how much you have to look forward to. I would have told you that you are worth the fight.

I wish I had known.

I wish I had know that you hurt so badly ...

...because I would have told you."

GOD'S GENTLE EARTH

Gentle earth that cradles blue-watered lakes. Rolling hills that tumble down to flowing rivers. Hard-faced canyon walls that fall away to rocky floors below. Blowing winds that turn wheat fields into flowing golden hair.

Deep in the earth, caverns hide a landscape of majestic downward growing stalactites and upward reaching stalagmites. Formations that begin and continue with simple water droplets meeting limestone rock. Bleached white driftwood on rocky beaches. Hot white sand on tropical shores. Struggling through snowdrifts to a welcoming fire waiting in a cabin in the woods.

Walking slowly through life and not missing the small but beautiful moments. Understanding the importance of the seemingly insufficient things. Sitting quietly and listening. Staring up at the stars on a starlit night and seeing a blazing star streak across the black sky. Letting the moon light your way home. Taking the road less traveled for it will make all the difference.

The Road Not Taken

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I marked the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I,
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.

Robert Frost

**************************************

In grieving sometimes the simple but beautiful things in life get lost to us. The hurt, the pain, the numbness shuts us off and closes our eyes to those things that have the ability to give us great joy.

Let us pledge to one another that we will once a day earnestly try to find at least one thing, no matter how small, that brings us joy. Really open our eyes and ears. See those things you have seen without seeing; hear those things you have heard without hearing.

Give yourself permission to smile and find peace in that moment. Your loved one would want that for you. They left us because they were looking for an end to pain. How sad they would be to know that by ending the pain in their lives, it robbed us of the joy in ours. Let us be good to ourselves if only for one moment in each day. It may be a small beginning but it is a beginning. The first step in many.

Into Each Heart Some Rain Must Fall

Into Each Heart Some Rain Must Fall

"Be still sad heart and cease repining:
Behind the clouds the sun is shining,
Thy fate is the common fate of all,
Into each life a little rain must fall.
Some days must be dark and dreary."
- Longfellow -

Ella Fitzgerald and the Ink Spots sang it this way:

"Into each life some rain must fall
But too much is falling in mine.
Into each heart some tears must fall
But some day the sun will shine."

"A little rain must fall" ... Longfellow makes it sound like a soft Spring rain. "Be still heart and cease repining; Behind the clouds the sun is shining" ... don't be sad. Things are going to get better. "Some days must be dark and dreary".... Accept that life at times will bring unhappiness.

I think the key words in his poem are "a little". A little rain (sadness, heartache, trials) I can handle. What I find more difficult to deal with is a downpour. A deluge. Rain that doesn't stop. It goes on and on and on. Too much rain causes floods. A flood of unstoppable emotions. At this time in my life, Ella Fitzgerald says it all "Into each life some rain must fall, But too much is falling in mine."

Easter Sunday was going to be wonderful. I had stayed up all night happily preparing or prepping the dishes that would be served with our holiday ham. My heart was full of joy. Patrick, my husband, was healing much quicker than we had expected. Bobby, our son, was in a good place emotionally. Most of our children and their children were coming.

The easter baskets and eggs were ready to be hidden. I had set the table with the good china and silver; and on the table was a floral arrangement; on either side of the flowers were two of the Victorian rabbits I had made. Daughter Robyn, living in Arizona and being unable to come, had express mailed a huge basket of cookies for us to enjoy. Everything was going to be perfect.

And it almost was. We received a call that our son-in-law, Ken, had come down with the flu so he, our daughter Stephanie, and little Christian were not going to be able to come. Disappointing? Oh, yes, but it was alright. Sickness can't be helped. Besides we still had seven year old Persephone to hunt for all the eggs I had hidden.

The Easter Egg Hunt was great fun. The meal was fabulous. And the company was even better. Daughters Michelle and her friend Ashley, Tiffany and Matt and Persephone, and Patrick and I filled the chairs around the table. There was much laughter and such a spirit of love filled the house.

And I pretended. I put a smile on my face and laughter on my lips; but my heart was heavy. I was not going to further burden my family when we had all recently gone through so much. This was a day of celebration and renewal. Spring flowers were beginning to bloom, the sun was shining, the day was warm, and the grass was dry. Something those of us that live in the rainy Pacific Northwest can really appreciate. A perfect Easter day.

So why when it was such a glorious day did I feel so downtrodden? Why the need for pretense? Early that morning I had gone into the buffet looking for something - I don't remember what - and while lifting things up and searching, I saw a handwritten letter from Christian. I had never seen it before. I don't know how it got there but there it was - two years later. I opened it and began to read.

I share this with you because it is my hope that from his letter others might find understanding and perhaps even a degree of comfort. As my Christian clearly states it was no one's fault. It was his choice and once he had made up his mind, no one could do anything to change it.

It reads in part:

"To all my family and friends,

I know there will be a thousand unanswered questions. But the truth is no one could stop me. I've been trying to find a way to die that's not to violent. So I tried pills, that didn't work. I tried gassing myself with a car and with propane, still no luck. This time no one expects a thing. And this time I'll get it done.

I know this is selfish but it really seems like my only option. I lost everything and Kristen (his girlfriend and mother to his son Benton) is just gone. I just needed to feel some kind of love from her. I do wish I could've had just one more night with her - just having fun the way I do, crazy style! but oh well, I'm not going to cry over split milk. I can't take the lies, madness, or anything else.

There's nothing any one could do. It's not your fault, or her fault. This is my choice. I'll miss you all, like I know you'll miss me. But I'll always be there in your heart. Look out for my boys. They'll need you the most.

I've always lived by a code so I need to die by my way. I just need this. Everybody knew this was coming. I chose this two weeks ago, almost three now. But once someone really makes up their mind about something, nobody can change it.

I just feel like a ghost in the belly of the beast. But don't worry. I'll be free now. When you look around the world and you see that beauty, I'll be right there with you enjoying it. I love this world and all its gorgeous things - from a simple leaf, the sky, the smell of a flower, everything.

But I want to go now! My way! So enjoy your life because I sure have. A lot larger than most, like a rock star. I shined so bright. And now I feel as if all the light is gone.

Well I gotta go. So be strong, love your life, and have hella fun for me. I'll be right there laugh'n and talk'n s**t with you.

But please remember my boys. Look after them. Teach them to never steal and try not to lie. We all know I've tried to help people, to forgive, and to respect my elders - I love old people! Danny, J.P. (Christian's best friends) we all know this is how I've lived. But I sure did love it when a gangsta wanted to test me. That was always a thrill. I hate bad/evil doers. I've always tried to be in the light but I've always walked in the grey.

I love all of you, especially Kristen, Benton, and Brandon. Sorry I couldn't make it through this. But remember I'll always love all of you, and I mean everybody. Stay happy for me. It's all good.

Christian"

************************************************************

For once, there is nothing more I can say.

LOST IN THE MIST

There was a full moon last night. I saw it quite by accident while driving home. The brightness caught my eye. Trees were silhouetted against its bright glow and a whisper of clouds crossed its surface. Floating there in the night sky and lighting my way home, it lifted my spirits and gave me reason to smile. It made me happy.

The past two months...indeed, the last two years have been terribly, horribly, awfully difficult. I am just a ghost of who I once was. What happened to that girl that loved to sing and now doesn't? the girl that danced beneath the stars? and bathed naked in remote hot springs high in the mountains? Where is the girl that hiked into ice caves or through cougar and bear infested forests in search of new and unexplored places? the girl that loved adventure? that liked to dress up and go to dinner and movies with friends? where's the girl that use to wear make up and cared about how she looked? where's the girl that liked to go dancing? or simply danced with a broom around the kitchen to music from the radio? the girl that laughed all the time and loved to entertain? Where did she go? I know she existed once but she has faded into yesterday and is just a distant memory now. Just a shadow in a monotone world; she all but disappeared.

Friends are gone. Adventure is gone. Travel has stopped. You want to eat off a china plate, drink out of a crystal goblet, and have flowers on the table? forget it! Too much work, too much energy.

We have lake property but we haven't been there since Christian left us. I use to love to sit outside early in the morning, watch the mist rise up from the water, and listen to the mournful songs of the loons on the lake. How peaceful it was to just sit there and dream. I loved standing at the kitchen window and looking out over the lake as I washed the dishes.

Patrick would light the lanterns at night and we'd sit around the campfire with a glass of wine. Sometimes we'd talk, sometimes we'd just stare into the fire. Our bed was a little touch of heaven. It has a feather mattress, down pillows, and a white goose down comforter with white pillow shams. It looks and smells so clean. How I loved climbing into that bed and sinking down into crisp sheets, snuggling up with down pillows, pulling a cloud of softness over me, drifting off to sleep listening to soft music that was piped into our bedroom and the soft breathing of my husband. I even found joy in the steady sound of his CPAP machine. Why we don't go there anymore I don't know. It just seems easier to stay home.

The past two years have been ones of experiencing the unthinkable, learning to live through the unbearable, discovering that I am stronger than I seem, and braver than I ever thought I could be. And then just as I was beginning to get a foothold on life again after Christian's untimely passing, fate came along, grabbed me by the shoulders, and threw me down the rabbit's hole. I fell and fell and fell before landing hard in the cold darkness. When Alice fell she might have been dreaming but I found myself not sleep but very much awake and standing beside the hospital bed of my husband.

For more than two weeks I either stood by him and held his hand or sat in a near by chair in the critical care unit waiting for a diagnosis and word that he was going to be alright. Long days and even longer nights. How frightening it was. Fortunately once a diagnosis was made, he progressed quickly - much to the delight of family and friends; only to find himself back in the hospital a week later undergoing emergency brain surgery. Again I waited with trepidation and high anxiety. Luckily the surgery was successful and he came home a short time later - weak and in pain but on the slow road to recovery.

Just when we were beginning to breath again, another heartache was upon us. Patrick had not been home from the hospital a week when my oldest son staggered into the house and told me I had to get him to the hospital "fast". He was unable to tell me why but managed to get himself outside and into the car.

We hadn't traveled far when he loss consciousness. It was all the emergency room staff could do to get him out of the car. Once in the ER there was a flurry of activity. He had stopped breathing so had to be put on a respirator (and later on a ventilator). Everyone was trying to figure out what had happened to him. The infusion nurse was putting an IV in his arm, the lab tech was drawing blood, the x-ray tech was taking films of his chest, the respiratory specialist was manually manipulating the respirator. A CT scan was taken of his head.

The labs and his general condition indicated he had overdosed. His stomach was pumped. A short time later his girlfriend brought a suicide note into the hospital and five empty prescription medicine bottles were found. All were his medications he hadn't been taking.

For two hellish days his blood pressure was almost 300/164 and his heart rate was erratic and too fast. He began to run a high temperature and was unresponsive to either verbal instruction or pain stimuli. Even when his sedation was stopped, he wouldn't wake up. The doctor said it was a wait and see game but it didn't look good.

Once again all I could do was stand by a hospital bed and watch the monitors - just as I had done with Patrick not that long ago. I don't know why the rooms in critical care are kept dark but at both hospitals (Providence St. Peters and Mason General Hospital) the rooms were dark. They matched the dark desperate place in my heart and mind.

On the third day I showed up at the hospital and Bobby was not only awake, the ventilator had been removed and he was talking. He was talking but he was talking out of his head. Nothing made sense. His hand/eye coordination was way off. He was also hostile and upset. He was trying to climb over the top of the bed or over the rails. He was swearing. I think part of his agitation was caused by our inability to understand him. The doctor said it was possible that he would remain permanently in this condition depending on how long he was without oxygen and how the drugs had affected his brain.

When he was napping, I found myself standing at the window. All the anxiety and heartbreak was too much to bear. All the stress I had been through for the past six or seven weeks had taken its toll. I felt totally defeated. I stood there at that window and the only thing I looked at was the tree directly outside the window. That was all I could process. I didn't want to see the people coming and going. I didn't want to watch the cars in the parking lot. The tree was all I wanted to look at and even that took more energy than I wanted to give it.

On the following day I went to the hospital expecting more of the same uncontrollable behavior or perhaps something even worse. All night I hadn't been able to sleep wondering how I could possibly take care of my son and my husband. I was afraid to see Bobby for fear of what I might find. What I found, however, was Bobby sitting in a chair and drinking a pepsi. He was fully capable of forming his thoughts and articulating clearly. He was cheerful and upbeat. He looked and sounded better than he had in years.

The next day, which was a Sunday, a mental health professional came to the hospital to evaluate him. She, Bobby, my daughter Tiffany, and I decided that some time in an inpatient mental health facility was needed and would be appropriate. He had a really good attitude about being there and took advantage of everything they had to offer. He did so well that he was release much earlier than we had thought he would be. I had my doubts. After all Christian went to the same facility and he was released without the help he needed and we know the result of that. I didn't want history repeating itself.

It would appear I had no reason for concern. The man that took all those pills and tried to end his life was a lost and troubled soul. He was not able to cope with death of his brother by suicide two years earlier and four months later the death of his father to a heart attack. He was tormented with the thought of losing his baby to CPS because of his girl friend's drug addiction. He could no longer face her daily rages to get her drugs and her cruel and unpredictable behavior. In addition to all of that he had just learned that his one year old son had tested positive for Hepatitis C. The baby had been born drug addicted and we had hoped and prayed that the disease hadn't passed from his mother to him. All of this was too much for Bobby's tender soul.

After the lost of his first child and the subsequent end of the relationship with that baby's mother, being unable to deal with the pain, he began to use meth. He became someone I didn't know; and someone I didn't want to know. He was impatient and hostile. When high, his body movements were exaggerated; he would grind his teeth; and he would get this wild animal look in his eyes.

That person was not my kind, loving, sensitive, and caring child. He was a stranger to me; but the man that came home from the mental health facility was the son I feared I had lost forever. He had been returned to us whole and restored. He was his old self again. The girl friend has left - hopefully for good. All the external stress is gone. He looks younger and more energized than he has in years. He finally has hope for the future. He has a greater appreciation of life and feels he has a reason to live - his little boy. And we could not be happier for both of them.

I wish I could say that I'm okay as well but all this has left me reeling. I feel as though I'm only partially occupying this body I'm in. I'm not sure where I am but my mind seems to be floating around elsewhere. I feel out of touch. I suppose I'm just not grounded - yet. I really don't know how much stress the human body can take without cracking. But then again there is the saying that one doesn't know how strong they can be until they don't have any other choice. I'm not sure how to make myself well again. Hey! maybe I'm like a fresh boiled egg. I may be cracked but unless someone gets in there and pulls the pieces away, I'm going to hold on firm.