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Grief
Sept 5, 2021 16:57:56 GMT
Post by bjd on Sept 5, 2021 16:57:56 GMT
Not the subject of grief, but why wouldn't a couple be allowed to occupy a 2-bedroom flat? What about working from home and using a bedroom as an office, or a guest room?
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Grief
Sept 5, 2021 17:36:44 GMT
Post by fumobici on Sept 5, 2021 17:36:44 GMT
Not the subject of grief, but why wouldn't a couple be allowed to occupy a 2-bedroom flat? What about working from home and using a bedroom as an office, or a guest room? I was wondering the exact same thing myself. Or maybe a couple who prefer separate rooms. Hardly seems like the building management's bee's wax either way.
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Grief
Sept 5, 2021 17:53:40 GMT
Post by kerouac2 on Sept 5, 2021 17:53:40 GMT
Such a subject could not even come up in my own building. We have absolutely no say on who buys the flats. However, we are having our annual assembly next week with no fewer than 3 new owners for our 7 apartments, so I will be very curious to see them.
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Grief
Sept 5, 2021 18:22:44 GMT
Post by lagatta on Sept 5, 2021 18:22:44 GMT
The bedroom rules were certainly not made by anyone in my housing co-op! They are a bureaucratic thing established by some public body that provides funding and other help to housing co-ops, as a form of social housing, though they aren't the same as HLM (public housing). Yes, it does seem at odds with modern needs. I don't have a "living room" as that is my office and library. But friends gather in the kitchen, which is relatively larger for a small flat than one in a French city would be.
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Grief
Sept 17, 2021 9:00:55 GMT
Post by tod2 on Sept 17, 2021 9:00:55 GMT
On Sunday, 19th September 2021, our family will say a final goodbye to my niece, Gaynor Schoeman.( www.mycause.com.au/p/130660/canning-walker-website ) Her ashes will be scattered amongst the spring flowers of the Western Cape. It is a place she absolutely loved. Gaynor was not only the first woman, but the first person, to walk the Canning Stock Route of 1,657Km in the Western Australian desert, on 5th August 2013 which took her 2 months and 5 days. She will be remembered with great love by her family and friends. Gaynor ended her life at sunset on 2nd January 2021.
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Grief
Sept 17, 2021 9:23:53 GMT
Post by kerouac2 on Sept 17, 2021 9:23:53 GMT
Sounds like an amazing person.
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Grief
Sept 17, 2021 10:27:59 GMT
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Post by mickthecactus on Sept 17, 2021 10:27:59 GMT
Absolutely.
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Grief
Sept 17, 2021 16:23:44 GMT
Post by tod2 on Sept 17, 2021 16:23:44 GMT
Thank you both - She was one of a kind. When the little ceremony is over I might post the words I sent my sister to read to all those who went to bid her a fond farewell.
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Grief
Mar 15, 2022 14:50:20 GMT
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Post by Kimby on Mar 15, 2022 14:50:20 GMT
A worthwhile essay on Grief. It is not something to “get over” rather something to move through. I have found that after losing Dad in 2013, Mom in 2015, and my younger sister in 2020, not to mention both in-laws, a brother-in-law and two cats, I am getting better at grief. In fact, it is becoming an old friend that I hang out with whenever revisiting memories of my lost loved ones. This is not “wallowing in grief”. Rather it is embracing the emotions and honoring those whose loss has been so significant in my life. www.yogafortimesofchange.com/permission-to-grieve/
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Grief
Apr 3, 2022 14:00:57 GMT
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Post by Kimby on Apr 3, 2022 14:00:57 GMT
If The Trees Can Keep Dancing, So Can I
“What I'm learning about grief is that it sits in the space between laughs comes in the dark steals the warmth from the bed covers threads sleep with thin tendrils is a hauntingly familiar song, yet I can't remember the words...
What I'm learning about grief is that it rolls like a heavy mist settles into the crevices lingers on the skin. Visits, then visits again Lurking under my chair. And, when I'm not watching Reaches out her tiny claws And bats my ankles — Grief sneaks up on you. You find yourself on your couch with a well of rage living in the pit of your stomach and nowhere for it to go. And, It chokes you.
What I'm learning about grief, is that it can come like a whisper or storm through loud as thunder it leaves a hollow, to be filled with a new planting. And, when you wake for another day that feels oddly the same as the last, It crawls right back into your lap. an ocean of tears So, you vary the crawl with the butterfly, the backstroke with breaststroke. At some point, drowning is no longer an option.
What I'm learning about grief Is that it is a language. Suffering is its own speech it will not go away just because you won't look it in the eye He rides shotgun when you go by old familiar places Eventually, you will get closer and he will say "See, it's not so bad. I got your back." This pandemic, this tragedy, this fulcrum of life is a shovel unearthing secrets we wish would stay buried I learn that I am ashamed I love solitude. Hard times call for soft people. There is softness in stillness, in staying home, in distractions deleted, in a togetherness that stretches great distances.
What I'm learning about grief is not found in mint leaves, floating in a glass of tears boiled thrice over. It is an acquired taste which we never crave It likes nachos Staying up late Watching Scandinavian murder shows Sleeping in And eating cake for breakfast. it drips, like water, It gets in everywhere through the small unseen fissures in the ceiling. You can ignore it like dust. Just keep yourself too busy with laundry and living.
Grief shows up unannounced Like when your husband tells you last October That he's never loved you And wants permission to leave So you burrow the ache into carefully guarded well And wonder if that means the memories have to go there too
What I'm learning about grief is that it can turn you into someone you don't want to be, can help you become someone you never thought you could be is that it transcends color, race, Religion, gender. is that it's an old lover that won't leave. trying to hold your hand again – that it aches in the arches of feet that its mother is loss, its father, change Make room for it. Is that tiny losses add up The missed first party my son was to attend The school days he yearns for with his friends I tell him it will be over soon
What I'm learning about grief I learned a long time ago. Knead grief, as you would bread. Weave grief, as you would thread. there is no vaccine against it — we can't develop antibodies against it, it is something I have and something you have — but in these times it is something we have It is anger and denial It is chaotic laughter from splintered memories It is jagged cries and single tears It is numb and indifferent It is the pinprick of light, promising A slow semblance of normality returned
What I'm learning about grief Is to acknowledge its presence Its many forms and guises Then, to use it, while reaching out Connected To everyone who is braving this same storm
What I'm learning about grief is that it is still learning about me Learning that I am strong and resilient If the trees can keep dancing, So can I.”
This community poem was created using submissions by:
Jim Binford, Louisville, Ky. Holly Redmond, Dayton, Ohio Jennifer Sharpe, Phnom Penh, Cambodia Alicia Richarte, San Antonio Destiny Gayz, Philedelphia Ami Simpson, Montgomery, Ala. Nikki Simchuk, Seattle Helen O'Connor, Friday Harbor, Wash. Molly Kelly, Chicago Tim Stary, Wichita Falls, Texas Paul Love, Austin, Texas Michelle Nickol, Tucson, Ariz. Michaela Esau, Hutchinson, Ka. Elizabeth Greene, Wilmington, Del. Elda Mengisto, Lynnwood, Wash. Michael Hess, Albuquerque, N.M. Melissa Blankenship, Cochran, Ga. JoAnne Jensen, Phoenix Patricia Mosco Holloway, Denver Tracy Engle, Roseville, Calif. Stephanie Hubble, Howell, Mich. Heidi Armbruster, Brooklyn, N.Y. Margaret Keir Berg, Grafton, Wis. David Nelson, Des Moines, Iowa Jasper (13 years old), Clinton, N.Y. Delroy Roomes, Mishawaka, Ind. Bailey Gartman, Asheville, N.C. Angela Winfield, Auburn, N.Y. Amy Diber, Klamath Falls, Ore. Judy Chaet, Asheville, N.C. Lisa Reeves, Buffalo, Mo. Michael Ruffin, Yatesville, Ga. Sonnet Medrano, Austin, Texas : 4/29/20
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Grief
Apr 3, 2022 15:01:49 GMT
Post by kerouac2 on Apr 3, 2022 15:01:49 GMT
I fully understand that certain people find solace in pithy words and poetic utterances.
But whenever I have felt grief, it is totally personal and nothing that anybody could say would ever change it. And I would resent their interference.
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Grief
Apr 3, 2022 15:32:17 GMT
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Post by Kimby on Apr 3, 2022 15:32:17 GMT
I think this “community poem” is helpful because it includes insights from many many people with varying points of view. There might be a stanza that rings true for almost all of us humans who encounter grief in our lives.
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Grief
Apr 4, 2022 20:35:22 GMT
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Post by Kimby on Apr 4, 2022 20:35:22 GMT
A memoir that I am reading now expresses the author’s grief process while losing 4 loved ones in two years, and having a close call herself.
The Trail to TINCUP; Love Stories at Life’s End, by Joyce Lynnette Hocker.
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Grief
Apr 4, 2022 23:18:05 GMT
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Post by Kimby on Apr 4, 2022 23:18:05 GMT
“Look, the trees are turning their own bodies into pillars
of light, are giving off the rich fragrance of cinnamon and fulfillment,
the long tapers of cattails are bursting and floating away over the blue shoulders
of the ponds, and every pond, no matter what its name is, is
nameless now. Every year everything I have ever learned
in my lifetime leads back to this: the fires and the black river of loss whose other side
is salvation, whose meaning none of us will ever know. To live in this world
you must be able to do three things: to love what is mortal; to hold it
against your bones knowing your own life depends on it; and, when the time comes to let it go, to let it go.”
“In Blackwater Woods” by Mary Oliver, from American Primitive. © Back Bay Books, 1983.
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Grief
Apr 8, 2022 14:51:22 GMT
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Post by Kimby on Apr 8, 2022 14:51:22 GMT
Here’s a nice way to look at life. It can help put loss and grief in perspective.
The Train of Life By James S. Tippett
“At birth we boarded the train and met our parents, and we believe they will always travel on our side.
However, at some station our parents will step down from the train, leaving us on this journey alone.
As time goes by, other people will board the train; and they will be significant our siblings, friends, children, and even the love of your life.
Many will step down and leave a permanent vacuum. Others will go so unnoticed that we don't realize they vacated their seats.
This train ride will be full of joy, sorrow, fantasy, expectations, hellos, goodbyes, and farewells. Success consists of having a good relationship with all passengers requiring that we give the best of ourselves.
The mystery to everyone is: We do not know at which station we ourselves will step down. So, we must live in the best way, love, forgive, and offer the best of who we are.
It is important to do this because when the time comes for us to step down and leave our seat empty
we should leave behind beautiful memories for those who will continue to travel on the train of life.
I wish you a joyful journey on the train of life. Reap success and give lots of love. More importantly, thank God for the journey.
Lastly, I thank you for being one of the passengers on my train.“
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Grief
Apr 10, 2022 5:36:05 GMT
Post by questa on Apr 10, 2022 5:36:05 GMT
Owing to the higher rainfall this year the famous wild flowers of Western Australia will be very special. People come from Europe and the Americas just to photograph the vistas. Gaynor has chosen a beautiful place to merge into. She will be at one with the flowers and desert.
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Grief
Aug 29, 2022 15:59:14 GMT
Post by cheerypeabrain on Aug 29, 2022 15:59:14 GMT
I got a call this morning to tell me that an ex-colleague and friend has died. Totally out of the blue. She was 62. Heart attack on Thursday declared dead on Sunday. We had just arranged to meet up for coffee and a natter on 20th September.
We were already sad because a lovely neighbour (lived opposite) died last week. Turning out to be a shit month really.
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Grief
Aug 29, 2022 16:06:07 GMT
Post by bixaorellana on Aug 29, 2022 16:06:07 GMT
So very sorry, dear Cheery. Not only is that sad, it was such a shock and must be so hard to assimilate that these people are gone.
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Grief
Aug 29, 2022 16:28:11 GMT
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Post by mickthecactus on Aug 29, 2022 16:28:11 GMT
Indeed. Sorry to hear that Cheery.
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Grief
Aug 29, 2022 16:46:40 GMT
Post by htmb on Aug 29, 2022 16:46:40 GMT
How awful, cheery. So sad to lose a friend, especially in that way.
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Grief
Aug 29, 2022 19:13:04 GMT
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Post by Kimby on Aug 29, 2022 19:13:04 GMT
Unexpected deaths are the worst. Sorry for your losses.
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Grief
Aug 30, 2022 20:13:16 GMT
Post by cheerypeabrain on Aug 30, 2022 20:13:16 GMT
Thank you. In the middle of the night I clattered about looking for my old photograph albums. One of them contains lots of photos taken at work and at a few work 'dos' . There is Gill grinning on almost every page. It was lovely to see her...in the lab, in the pub, at a skittles night etc. She is in a lot of photos in other albums too.
So she'll always be with us. Part of the team.
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Grief
Aug 30, 2022 21:01:13 GMT
Post by lugg on Aug 30, 2022 21:01:13 GMT
So sorry Cheery.
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Grief
Aug 30, 2022 22:43:28 GMT
Post by mich64 on Aug 30, 2022 22:43:28 GMT
So sorry Cheery to read of your loss of such a dear friend. Sending hugs.
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Grief
Aug 31, 2022 7:16:23 GMT
Post by mossie on Aug 31, 2022 7:16:23 GMT
May I add my condolences
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Grief
Sept 1, 2022 20:19:49 GMT
Post by cheerypeabrain on Sept 1, 2022 20:19:49 GMT
You're all very kind. I'm still processing the news. I need to go to the funeral to say goodbye.
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Grief
Sept 3, 2022 8:44:11 GMT
Post by cheerypeabrain on Sept 3, 2022 8:44:11 GMT
A chum got in touch yesterday with more information (we are all still struggling with Gill's death). On the Thursday before last Gill was having a water boarding lesson with friends when she started to feel unwell. The instructor towed a still conscious Gill to the pontoon...where they all got her out of the water. Then her heart stopped. The intructor, Gill's friend, and later a paramedic worked on her for an hour and managed to get her heart beating again. Gill was taken to hospital and onto ICU on life support. The family were told early on that there was little hope, over the next few days that diminished to 'no hope'...and on Sunday the life support was withdrawn after Gill donated her liver and kidneys.
So Gill died whilst having fun, and some of her lives on in the organ recipients.
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Grief
Sept 3, 2022 22:42:26 GMT
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Post by Kimby on Sept 3, 2022 22:42:26 GMT
That’s a good way to look at it cheery. Sorry it happened, though.
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Grief
Sept 4, 2022 16:01:22 GMT
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Post by Kimby on Sept 4, 2022 16:01:22 GMT
For grieving parents, but works for other losses, too:
The Stone, by Jessica Watson
The best way I can describe grieving over a child as the years go by is to say it’s similar to carrying a stone in your pocket.
When you walk, the stone brushes against your skin. You feel it. You always feel it. But depending on the way you stand or the way your body moves, the smooth edges might barely graze your body.
Sometimes you lean the wrong way or you turn too quickly and a sharp edge pokes you. Your eyes water and you rub your wound but you have to keep going because not everyone knows about your stone or if they do, they don’t realize it can still bring this much pain.
There are days you are simply happy now, smiling comes easy and you laugh without thinking. You slap your leg during that laughter and you feel your stone and aren’t sure whether you should be laughing still. The stone still hurts.
Once in a while you can’t take your hand off that stone. You run it over your fingers and roll it in your palm and are so preoccupied by it’s weight, you forget things like your car keys and home address. You try to leave it alone but you just can’t. You want to take a nap but it’s been so many years since you’ve called in “sad” you’re not sure anyone would understand anymore or if they ever did.
But most days you can take your hand in and out of your pocket, feel your stone and even smile at its unwavering presence. You’ve accepted this stone as your own, crossing your hands over it, saying “mine” as children do.
You rest more peacefully than you once did, you’ve learned to move forward the best you can. Some days you want to show the world what a beautiful memory you’re holding. But most days you twirl it through your fingers, smile and look to the sky. You squeeze your hands together and hope you are living in a way that honors the missing piece you carry, until your arms are full again.
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Grief
Apr 18, 2023 19:18:40 GMT
Post by lugg on Apr 18, 2023 19:18:40 GMT
Today I was told that one of my Mum's best friends had died . She had been a big part in my life and my sisters over the years. My Mum died over 20 years ago but we kept in touch, visiting her in her new home in the Aude every now and then. She came back to England last month to die here so she could her ashes could be placed along side her husbands. Grief yes ...but I think she had really wanted to die for the last year or so...her body was failing but her mind remained so sharp.
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