Hard powerful share. It has taken me 12 years to have grief softened over my StarChild crossing over. What a double whammy. (((Hugs))) Writing poetry and getting some sound healing instruments helps me.
Oh Marjorie, that is the worst pain! To lose your precious child. Writing helped me to make sense of it. Sending love and (((hugs))). Sound healing is amazing.
I'm so sorry for your losses, and I can totally understand your rage. It's a healthy emotion when one is grieving. I'm glad that, in the long run, your anger dissipated.
Omg. Rea, we should talk more. I am tapping more into my spiritual side, but obviously you have been able to manage great pain through meditation, so I am curious about that. I'll try to send you a message or vice-versa.
I went through the same thing. I was so angry with my first husband when he died because he didn't take care of himself and his obesity was the reason he died.
Most of us cannot fathom such rage. Most of us may have empathy, sympathy even, but a visceral connection requires more. I had a West Point classmate who trained with me as a ranger and paratrooper and went on to serve as an infantry officer in the 82d Airborne Division. After 2 years he was given leave to go to medical school and after graduation and residency was assigned as brigade surgeon to an armored brigade in Vietnam. The horrendous, gratuitous violence turned him against the war and he resigned his commission in protest. On returning to the US, his marriage fell apart. He remarried, became a pediatric psychiatrist, raised children of which two were boys--an older boy from his first marriage and a toddler from his second. The toddler died of cancer and the older boy committed suicide. When I last saw him at a conference at West Point, I sensed his rage, smoldering from his sense of betrayal in Vietnam, the senseless loss of his children, and other afflictions. In the end he abandoned psychiatry and before his death was ordained. He is buried in a church cemetery between his two sons.
Oh my goodness, Irving. I understand his rage completely. This breaks my heart. My rage kept me standing. I couldn't allow grief to break me again. I had a young son, who only had me left. He depended on me.
Rea, as you know, this rage is thr crust--the scab-- covering a deep wound, and must be debrided if the wound is to heal. Of course the wound never really heals but the pain lessens and we can go on. But in my lifetime I have seen these dramas played out many times.
I made peace with it and myself, Irving. We are able to overcome the most dire situations. For me that came with meditation and being in control of my thoughts. We are the masters of our suffering. I chose peace after the rage.
Wow, I’m so sorry to hear that. I can’t imagine what that must be like.
I think we find a way to survive, Andrew. Thank you for your kind comment.
Grief does strange things to us.
That it does, Aurelia!
Hard powerful share. It has taken me 12 years to have grief softened over my StarChild crossing over. What a double whammy. (((Hugs))) Writing poetry and getting some sound healing instruments helps me.
Oh Marjorie, that is the worst pain! To lose your precious child. Writing helped me to make sense of it. Sending love and (((hugs))). Sound healing is amazing.
I can only imagine this... and it feels reasonable to be consumed with anger, honestly. Two big losses... grief is a beast. 💜
A raging beast, Abby. Thank you for reaching out. 🩵
Hi Rea,
I'm so sorry for your losses, and I can totally understand your rage. It's a healthy emotion when one is grieving. I'm glad that, in the long run, your anger dissipated.
It had to, Beth. Thank you for your kindness. 💗
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🫶💞
Thanks for sharing Rea. All of those feelings are natural and meant to be felt.
Thank you!
Omg. Rea, we should talk more. I am tapping more into my spiritual side, but obviously you have been able to manage great pain through meditation, so I am curious about that. I'll try to send you a message or vice-versa.
Powerful writing.
We will talk about it Jordan. It is powerful.
I went through the same thing. I was so angry with my first husband when he died because he didn't take care of himself and his obesity was the reason he died.
I understand, Nancy. It was maddening.
Most of us cannot fathom such rage. Most of us may have empathy, sympathy even, but a visceral connection requires more. I had a West Point classmate who trained with me as a ranger and paratrooper and went on to serve as an infantry officer in the 82d Airborne Division. After 2 years he was given leave to go to medical school and after graduation and residency was assigned as brigade surgeon to an armored brigade in Vietnam. The horrendous, gratuitous violence turned him against the war and he resigned his commission in protest. On returning to the US, his marriage fell apart. He remarried, became a pediatric psychiatrist, raised children of which two were boys--an older boy from his first marriage and a toddler from his second. The toddler died of cancer and the older boy committed suicide. When I last saw him at a conference at West Point, I sensed his rage, smoldering from his sense of betrayal in Vietnam, the senseless loss of his children, and other afflictions. In the end he abandoned psychiatry and before his death was ordained. He is buried in a church cemetery between his two sons.
Oh my goodness, Irving. I understand his rage completely. This breaks my heart. My rage kept me standing. I couldn't allow grief to break me again. I had a young son, who only had me left. He depended on me.
Rea, as you know, this rage is thr crust--the scab-- covering a deep wound, and must be debrided if the wound is to heal. Of course the wound never really heals but the pain lessens and we can go on. But in my lifetime I have seen these dramas played out many times.
I made peace with it and myself, Irving. We are able to overcome the most dire situations. For me that came with meditation and being in control of my thoughts. We are the masters of our suffering. I chose peace after the rage.
Reasonable rage,
feeling abandoned, grieving.
Loss makes us “lose it.”
That it does, Marisol. ❤️
Thank you, Molly. Sending love and peace. 🤍🤍