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Found 27 results

  1. Hello everyone, I've never done this before, so I'm not totally sure what I'm supposed to do, so Ill just share my experience with you. I'm 22 years old and I just lost my 27 year old sister two days ago. She overdosed, and it's hit me and my family like a ton of bricks. She made it to the hospital, but suffered severe brain damage. Shortly thereafter, her organs started to fail. I left work and rushed to the hospital, which was two hours away, to say goodbye. I don't think I realized the gravity of the situation until I saw her when I got there, and when I did, a feeling of unreality set in. This feeling hasn't gone away since. I broke down when I saw her lying there, it was a horrifying sight that I'd never wish on anybody. The thing is, after that moment, I've felt like my life has turned into some type of sad movie, with my family and friends playing the characters. Maybe my mind is using this idea as a coping mechanism to deal with the situation, im not sure. I feel like my normal life has been replaced with my sisters death. What I mean is my life now consists of me doing pointless tasks and having pointless conversations for no reason other than filling time and fruitlessly distracting me from the fact of her death. It feels as if her death IS my life now. Hopefully I'm making sense! I find myself trying to figure this situation out, as if it were a math equation. I constantly feel confused and distant, and I hate it. What happened to everything that was, just two days ago? Does everyone go through this? Will this go away? I know it's still very fresh, two days is not a very long time to grieve, but I'm not sure if I have even accepted it! I saw her take her last breath, I SAW it. I heard the doctor pronounce her dead, yet I can't shake this feeling that she's gonna show up and say "gotcha!" And start laughing so hard she starts to snort. I'm afraid that I feel too distant to reality, and I'll fall further down the rabbit hole. It's like I have two totally conflicting thought processes going through my mind simultaneously. I'm constantly thinking about her death, but I'm not fully ready to accept that it's the truth. Is this a normal experience? I'd appreciate some feedback. Thank you. vince
  2. Hi everyone. I am now 32 years old, my mother passed away when I was 13 she was only 40. I listened to people say how that was a young age not knowing myself how young it really was. For the 20 years I have both unconsciously / consciously making decisions that are, well needless to say weren't very good one's. I wrote this when I was feeling extremely lost and alone. I hope it helps in some way. - Life she can be a cruel mistress, she takes just as easily as she gives. We live we die, but all that in between and all that we try that is the gift in disguise. The darkness is where we go. This is where we are safe, this is what we know, we find comfort in knowing the enemy, This is our solice, darkness is my friend, Where we are alone, no one to disturb our fears and insecurities. No one to tell us what is right from wrong. Our drug of choice is our confidant it numbs the pain it distorts our memories, it takes us to somewhere else, anywhere else. We carry things for so long that eventually forget what it is like to let go of ourselves and shine. We live in the pain because - that of course is what we deserve, we reject all that reminds us that there my be hope, a glimmer of light THAT, frightens us. That is not meant for us, we are alone, we wallow in guilt and shame, we mask our sadness with jester like humor making sure no one else will ever fell like this. All of the choices we make all of the steps that we take - another step closer to the end, after all isn't that the present? When does it stop? Does it get better? Why did I do this? Why me? Question after question. Here's one, why do I do this to myself? Is it what they would've wanted? Another. Does my suffering offer anything to those that we suffer for? Selfishness, is that what she would have wanted? I push and I shove just to feel alive to have some sort of meaning - we drift, we observe just to see how the rest of the world carries on, I analyse the world take it apart just to find why it keeps spinning, why it just won't stop. Take one step towards the light and ten steps back, I am afraid, I do not belong there no one will understand, they will all judge they will reject me. I do not need help, I am comfortable here with my self pity and guilt. I am alone in my prison that is my mind, only a "select few" may enter my world bringing their lights and their candles along with them as they enter. Not for too long though, too long and it is time for them to leave. Leave me in peace, they couldn't possibly handle what I have to offer, being in the dark would destroy them, they are not strong like me OR is it weak like me? The difference eludes me. It has been an eternity, it should be over now? Surely? I should be successful. I should have everything I need (who I need) I should be a fully functioning pillar of society. I should be this, act this way. No. I am lost. I know now I am not alone, I am not the only one to suffer, everyone is suffering in one way or another.. No now I am now inspired, those "select few" we chose to enter our domain. They have left a breadcrumb burning trail from their torches, They are waiting for me. I will escape my safe haven/prison. I will say it was for others but it will really be for me and that is okay. With my strength growing and my fears overcome. I will be a light for someone else, such as those who have helped me. . . I thank you whole heartedly. I will live through you. And she will live on through me" I asked a friend - "does it get ever go away?" His reply - " it never goes away my friend" Take solace in knowing you are not alone. We are survivors - let go [ just a little bit ] Move forward, the world does not stop, so keep up be a beacon for someone else.
  3. Hi All, Since I lost my mom, 7 months ago, I’ve been searching for a haven where I can share my thoughts and emotions, without being judged. She is buried nearly a 6+ hours from me, so I’m not able to visit her as much as I wish I could. No one seems to understand why I’ve still been upset. I lost my best friend, mother, guider, therapist, all at once. The one person I went to for everything, is gone. I recently found this website called Mourners Lane. It allowed me to create a virtual memorial just for her. I could create her a headstone, write her messages, and even add her favorite music. When times get hard, which they do, I know have my mother with me anywhere I go. I’m able to visit her grave, morning, noon or night. I know I have a long way to go before I feel even remotely close to whole again, but I have a safe-haven for my thoughts and emotions. I thought, if it has helped me this much, it could help some of you, too. If you need help finding an uplifting place to honor and enjoy the memories of your loved ones, or need a place that allows your loved one to be with you, try out www.mournerslane.com Please suggest anything else that may help. Thank you xx
  4. My father died the same day my son was born! My father died at 5:08am and my son was born at 11:46am. He was a fire fighter, police officer and EMT. Every year I'm reminded by my son's birthday of that painful day. For years, I've tried to figure out how to manage the hurt and I've come to this conclusion. I have to except the facts but is there anything I can do to make the pain of losing me easier on my family when I pass away. Then I asked myself "what is it that would make my pain a little easier to deal with regarding my father". The answers was videos! I wish I had videos of my father. Not home videos but videos of him speaking directly to the camera from his laptop or cell phone telling my how much he loves me and reassuring me he will see me again. Maybe even a video wishing me a happy birthday. The possibilities are endless in what he could have made for me. So, you know what I did? I'm having a website built to do just that for everyone in the world to have. I'm taking my hurt and giving back to the world. I want everyone to have what I don't have. A chance to ease the pain by letting people create and upload personalized and confidential videos that they can leave for their loved ones. The website is called "Psily" pronounced (sigh-lee) and is the acronym for p.s. I Love You. I thought it would be a good name for the site. I am designing the site with everything I would want from my father like being able to create photo slide shows with background music, create audio files like a family member singing you happy birthday that you can listen to whenever you want, themed pages, just an over all very nice website. Think of it as a time capsule so to speak. CD's get broke, phones break, messages get lost, phones get stolen, computers crash. On my website, everything will be safe from all that and only the people you want can see the content you've made for them will see it. Some families aren't functional so we don't want a video made for a step mother or father to be seen by the biological parent, unless you want them to see it. There are many details going into this. I hope my hurt can help you as it will many others. You can find me on Facebook if you search "Psily". This is how I'm channeling my hurt. RIP dad I love you. www.facebook.com/neverforgotten208
  5. Two days ago, I had to put down my best friend of 14 years, Titoy. Titoy was a blessing to our family. Around Christmas 2002, we lost my Uncle Larry, or Titoy as his family called him, to a tragic accident. As a part of our grieving, my parents decided to consider getting a puppy to bring some joy back to our lives. My parents took me to the breeder just to see what kind of puppy we might get in the near future. As soon as I sat on the couch, this little guy crawled into my lap and looked up at me with that crooked look of his as if to say "You're taking me home, right?" That's when I knew we were meant to be together. It's as if HE chose ME. That day, we unexpectedly came home with a puppy and decided to name him Titoy. From then on, we were inseparable. Titoy was my very best friend. He was with me through everything from ages 9 to 23. He was like my shadow, following me absolutely everywhere I went. As a young pup, he was full of so much energy, playing fetch and jumping over the obstacle courses I'd make for him for hours. Titoy was a funny, sweet, quirky, feisty, loving spirit until the day he went to rest. As he got older, Titoy began to slow down as all dogs eventually do. His hearing and eyesight got a bit worse and he wasn't as spritely as he used to be. The most notable difference was that after a few rounds of fetch, he would start coughing. I wish I had known at the time that coughing was an early sign of heart failure. A little over a week ago, I noticed that Titoy was acting funny. His breathing was rapid and he wouldn't eat or move. I took him to the vet where we found out Titoy suffers from a heart murmur and his heart was twice the size it should be, making it hard for him to breathe. After two days of treatment, he came back home with us. Although his heart failure was irreparable, we put him on meds in hopes of managing his symptoms and making him more comfortable. After a week of meds, Titoy declined rapidly over night. Poor thing was essentially suffocating. I took him into the vet and I told them that it was time to put my baby to rest. I knew it was the right decision by the way he looked at me. Throughout his life, Titoy would get seizures. Right before his seizures would happen, Titoy would find me and look at me with panic in his eyes as if to say "Please help me". He looked at me that day and I knew that was it. Among many other things, Titoy has taught me unconditional love. Even when he knew it was time for him to go soon, he was the one comforting me. As I held him, he looked up at me, JUST as he had the first day we met, and kissed my tears away as if to say, "Don't be sad, mommy! It's not goodbye, just see you later. But it's time for me to go now." He went down peacefully and I'm happy he's finally free now. As I came home to my empty house, I never could have anticipated the loss I feel. I feel like I've lost a best friend and a child all at once. I keep expecting him to see him waiting at the top of the stairs waiting to greet me when I come in the front door. Expecting to hear his footsteps right behind me. To wake up with him cuddled next to me every morning. My heart physically hurts. I can't stay asleep because my chest is so heavy, sometimes it's hard to breathe. However, I know that over time, thinking of Titoy won't be as painful as it is now. In a way, I consider myself lucky to have gotten to say goodbye to him the way I did. The last thing he experienced was me holding him and he did not go in pain. It brings me solace knowing he's running around in doggy heaven right now, peaceful and care-free. I hope you know how much I love you Titoy. Thanks for choosing me to be part of your life. I can't wait to see you soon.
  6. When a loved one passes on, we typically find comfort in the arms of family and friends, in support groups, through grief counseling, and in our place of worship. But what happens when our broken heart needs something deeper and more profound than those kind words and a sympathetic ear? What if we yearn for a greater sense of certainty—that our loved one really is free of pain, and actually at peace in that better place? Evidential Mediums—blessed with the ability to form a connection with those who have passed on, offer a solution that many are now turning to. During a session with an Evidential Medium, departed loved ones are given a channel by which to come back—in spirit. Through the medium, they share evidence that validates their presence, and give examples of how they are still present in our lives. They share personal messages that would otherwise never be heard. Most Evidential Mediums consider this work a divine calling—a sacred gift—to be able to offer relief to those who have lost someone dear: a parent, spouse, friend or even a child. The following transcript comes from an actual mediumship session. The image of a young boy appears out of the darkness behind my closed eyes; faint and delicate—like the residue of a dream. I speak into the phone that is held close to my ear and describe what is unfolding before me. “I see a boy wearing a baseball cap, running barefoot across a large, grassy lawn. He is happy and energetic, and I sense his love of baseball. Do you recognize this boy?” “Yes,” the voice on the phone replies. “I know who you are talking about.” The scene changes abruptly. “There is a white farmhouse,” I say, “with a large, covered porch, and steps that go right down into the grass.” “Yes, that’s right,” the voice says. “That was his house.” “There is a woman running out of the house,” I continue, “down the steps and across the lawn. She is screaming out in horror, but I can’t hear her voice. I feel her panic in my body though; something bad has happened.” Why is she running? I ask myself—feeling deeper for the answer. I see the boy again. He is no longer running, but standing in the grass, looking back at me. His hands are at his throat—then he lowers them slowly to his chest. A realization hits me—hard. I struggle to breathe—overcome by a feeling of sadness. “This boy died,” I say. There is a pause on the line, then, “Yes.” “He was young, only eight years old,” I say. “There was an accident.” “Yes, that’s correct.” I feel the emotions coming through the phone, but the grief is faded and distant—not what I expect. An inner knowing feeds me the answer. “But he didn’t die recently,” I say. “It has been a while.” “Yes,” the voice confirms. “A while.” I don’t ask for more. I know that it is my job to provide him with the evidence, not the other way around. I focus again on the boy, and ask him how he died. He doesn’t show me, exactly, but his hands return to his throat. I feel pressure in my own throat and down into my chest. I hear “water,” and then I know. “He drowned,” I say. “Yes.” “The woman running from the house—that was his mother,” I add. “She was trying to save him, but it was too late, right?” “Yes.” The confirmations coming through the phone make it clear that the evidence I’m receiving is valid. I am connecting with a young boy who loved baseball, and who had drowned accidentally at the age of eight. And his passing was not recent. But my session with the man on the phone is not complete. I have solid evidence, but I know that this boy is not appearing before me only to provide proof of his presence, or to rehash the final, tragic moments of his young life. No, he has come forth to share a message to his family, and that is where my focus goes. Now, instead of “looking,” I begin to ask—and “listen.” In my mind, I ask him to share a message, and I feel his energy lighten. He is no longer the boy that had drowned, but a light, energetic spirit that is now free of his physical body. He tells me that he loved his short life. He regrets that it was not longer, and that his passing has caused his mother and his family so much grief. He is very happy where he is now, and there was no pain in his passing. I share this word-for-word with the person on the phone, who listens quietly. I have no idea what he is thinking, but I sense that we are in the midst of very special connection. The boy then says something that catches me off-guard. Even though I have learned over the years to not edit or hold back the messages I receive, this one seems insensitive to me, and I feel uncomfortable sharing it. I want to believe that I just interpreted it wrong. But that is not possible—I heard it, clear as day. His message was: “Tell everyone that I know how to swim now.” I take a nervous breath, share the message—and wait. I learn that the man on the phone is the boy’s uncle. After a brief pause to gather his thoughts, he again validates the evidence I have given him, including those final words. He tells me that was exactly the way his nephew was; he was always joking and playing around, and nothing could cause him to lose his infectious sense of humor. He was eight years old when he drowned many years before. His mother saw him in the pool that day and rushed out to save him, but she was too late. My “sitter” then tells me how grateful he is to receive such convincing evidence, things that I could not possibly have known, and how he now believes that his nephew is not only around, but still his same playful, joking self. As a complement to traditional grief support, experienced Evidential Mediums offer a service that is truly unique. The evidence and messages that come through make a mediumship session a wonderful place to find peace, healing, closure, and in some cases, long overdue forgiveness. A few weeks after the session above, I received an email from the young boy’s uncle. He told me that the previous weekend was the 20th anniversary of his nephew’s death, and the family had gathered in his memory. He shared with the family the details of our session. He told me how grateful they were to me for bringing Charlie through, and sharing his messages. The evidence had brought them greater peace, knowing that Charlie is still the same happy, fun-loving personality they all so fondly remember. rogerhardnock.com
  7. When a loved one passes on, we typically find comfort in the arms of family and friends, in support groups, through grief counseling, and in our place of worship. But what happens when our broken heart needs something deeper and more profound than those kind words and a sympathetic ear? What if we yearn for a greater sense of certainty—that our loved one really is free of pain, and actually at peace in that better place? Evidential Mediums—blessed with the ability to form a connection with those who have passed on, offer a solution that many are now turning to. During a session with an Evidential Medium, departed loved ones are given a channel by which to come back—in spirit. Through the medium, they share evidence that validates their presence, and give examples of how they are still present in our lives. They share personal messages that would otherwise never be heard. Most Evidential Mediums consider this work a divine calling—a sacred gift—to be able to offer relief to those who have lost someone dear: a parent, spouse, friend or even a child. The following transcript comes from an actual mediumship session. The image of a young boy appears out of the darkness behind my closed eyes; faint and delicate—like the residue of a dream. I speak into the phone that is held close to my ear and describe what is unfolding before me. “I see a boy wearing a baseball cap, running barefoot across a large, grassy lawn. He is happy and energetic, and I sense his love of baseball. Do you recognize this boy?” “Yes,” the voice on the phone replies. “I know who you are talking about.” The scene changes abruptly. “There is a white farmhouse,” I say, “with a large, covered porch, and steps that go right down into the grass.” “Yes, that’s right,” the voice says. “That was his house.” “There is a woman running out of the house,” I continue, “down the steps and across the lawn. She is screaming out in horror, but I can’t hear her voice. I feel her panic in my body though; something bad has happened.” Why is she running? I ask myself—feeling deeper for the answer. I see the boy again. He is no longer running, but standing in the grass, looking back at me. His hands are at his throat—then he lowers them slowly to his chest. A realization hits me—hard. I struggle to breathe—overcome by a feeling of sadness. “This boy died,” I say. There is a pause on the line, then, “Yes.” “He was young, only eight years old,” I say. “There was an accident.” “Yes, that’s correct.” I feel the emotions coming through the phone, but the grief is faded and distant—not what I expect. An inner knowing feeds me the answer. “But he didn’t die recently,” I say. “It has been a while.” “Yes,” the voice confirms. “A while.” I don’t ask for more. I know that it is my job to provide him with the evidence, not the other way around. I focus again on the boy, and ask him how he died. He doesn’t show me, exactly, but his hands return to his throat. I feel pressure in my own throat and down into my chest. I hear “water,” and then I know. “He drowned,” I say. “Yes.” “The woman running from the house—that was his mother,” I add. “She was trying to save him, but it was too late, right?” “Yes.” The confirmations coming through the phone make it clear that the evidence I’m receiving is valid. I am connecting with a young boy who loved baseball, and who had drowned accidentally at the age of eight. And his passing was not recent. But my session with the man on the phone is not complete. I have solid evidence, but I know that this boy is not appearing before me only to provide proof of his presence, or to rehash the final, tragic moments of his young life. No, he has come forth to share a message to his family, and that is where my focus goes. Now, instead of “looking,” I begin to ask—and “listen.” In my mind, I ask him to share a message, and I feel his energy lighten. He is no longer the boy that had drowned, but a light, energetic spirit that is now free of his physical body. He tells me that he loved his short life. He regrets that it was not longer, and that his passing has caused his mother and his family so much grief. He is very happy where he is now, and there was no pain in his passing. I share this word-for-word with the person on the phone, who listens quietly. I have no idea what he is thinking, but I sense that we are in the midst of very special connection. The boy then says something that catches me off-guard. Even though I have learned over the years to not edit or hold back the messages I receive, this one seems insensitive to me, and I feel uncomfortable sharing it. I want to believe that I just interpreted it wrong. But that is not possible—I heard it, clear as day. His message was: “Tell everyone that I know how to swim now.” I take a nervous breath, share the message—and wait. I learn that the man on the phone is the boy’s uncle. After a brief pause to gather his thoughts, he again validates the evidence I have given him, including those final words. He tells me that was exactly the way his nephew was; he was always joking and playing around, and nothing could cause him to lose his infectious sense of humor. He was eight years old when he drowned many years before. His mother saw him in the pool that day and rushed out to save him, but she was too late. My “sitter” then tells me how grateful he is to receive such convincing evidence, things that I could not possibly have known, and how he now believes that his nephew is not only around, but still his same playful, joking self. As a complement to traditional grief support, experienced Evidential Mediums offer a service that is truly unique. The evidence and messages that come through make a mediumship session a wonderful place to find peace, healing, closure, and in some cases, long overdue forgiveness. A few weeks after the session above, I received an email from the young boy’s uncle. He told me that the previous weekend was the 20th anniversary of his nephew’s death, and the family had gathered in his memory. He shared with the family the details of our session. He told me how grateful they were to me for bringing Charlie through, and sharing his messages. The evidence had brought them greater peace, knowing that Charlie is still the same happy, fun-loving personality they all so fondly remember. rogerhardnock.com
  8. When a loved one passes on, we typically find comfort in the arms of family and friends, in support groups, through grief counseling, and in our place of worship. But what happens when our broken heart needs something deeper and more profound than those kind words and a sympathetic ear? What if we yearn for a greater sense of certainty—that our loved one really is free of pain, and actually at peace in that better place? Evidential Mediums—blessed with the ability to form a connection with those who have passed on, offer a solution that many are now turning to. During a session with an Evidential Medium, departed loved ones are given a channel by which to come back—in spirit. Through the medium, they share evidence that validates their presence, and give examples of how they are still present in our lives. They share personal messages that would otherwise never be heard. Most Evidential Mediums consider this work a divine calling—a sacred gift—to be able to offer relief to those who have lost someone dear: a parent, spouse, friend or even a child. The following transcript comes from an actual mediumship session. The image of a young boy appears out of the darkness behind my closed eyes; faint and delicate—like the residue of a dream. I speak into the phone that is held close to my ear and describe what is unfolding before me. “I see a boy wearing a baseball cap, running barefoot across a large, grassy lawn. He is happy and energetic, and I sense his love of baseball. Do you recognize this boy?” “Yes,” the voice on the phone replies. “I know who you are talking about.” The scene changes abruptly. “There is a white farmhouse,” I say, “with a large, covered porch, and steps that go right down into the grass.” “Yes, that’s right,” the voice says. “That was his house.” “There is a woman running out of the house,” I continue, “down the steps and across the lawn. She is screaming out in horror, but I can’t hear her voice. I feel her panic in my body though; something bad has happened.” Why is she running? I ask myself—feeling deeper for the answer. I see the boy again. He is no longer running, but standing in the grass, looking back at me. His hands are at his throat—then he lowers them slowly to his chest. A realization hits me—hard. I struggle to breathe—overcome by a feeling of sadness. “This boy died,” I say. There is a pause on the line, then, “Yes.” “He was young, only eight years old,” I say. “There was an accident.” “Yes, that’s correct.” I feel the emotions coming through the phone, but the grief is faded and distant—not what I expect. An inner knowing feeds me the answer. “But he didn’t die recently,” I say. “It has been a while.” “Yes,” the voice confirms. “A while.” I don’t ask for more. I know that it is my job to provide him with the evidence, not the other way around. I focus again on the boy, and ask him how he died. He doesn’t show me, exactly, but his hands return to his throat. I feel pressure in my own throat and down into my chest. I hear “water,” and then I know. “He drowned,” I say. “Yes.” “The woman running from the house—that was his mother,” I add. “She was trying to save him, but it was too late, right?” “Yes.” The confirmations coming through the phone make it clear that the evidence I’m receiving is valid. I am connecting with a young boy who loved baseball, and who had drowned accidentally at the age of eight. And his passing was not recent. But my session with the man on the phone is not complete. I have solid evidence, but I know that this boy is not appearing before me only to provide proof of his presence, or to rehash the final, tragic moments of his young life. No, he has come forth to share a message to his family, and that is where my focus goes. Now, instead of “looking,” I begin to ask—and “listen.” In my mind, I ask him to share a message, and I feel his energy lighten. He is no longer the boy that had drowned, but a light, energetic spirit that is now free of his physical body. He tells me that he loved his short life. He regrets that it was not longer, and that his passing has caused his mother and his family so much grief. He is very happy where he is now, and there was no pain in his passing. I share this word-for-word with the person on the phone, who listens quietly. I have no idea what he is thinking, but I sense that we are in the midst of very special connection. The boy then says something that catches me off-guard. Even though I have learned over the years to not edit or hold back the messages I receive, this one seems insensitive to me, and I feel uncomfortable sharing it. I want to believe that I just interpreted it wrong. But that is not possible—I heard it, clear as day. His message was: “Tell everyone that I know how to swim now.” I take a nervous breath, share the message—and wait. I learn that the man on the phone is the boy’s uncle. After a brief pause to gather his thoughts, he again validates the evidence I have given him, including those final words. He tells me that was exactly the way his nephew was; he was always joking and playing around, and nothing could cause him to lose his infectious sense of humor. He was eight years old when he drowned many years before. His mother saw him in the pool that day and rushed out to save him, but she was too late. My “sitter” then tells me how grateful he is to receive such convincing evidence, things that I could not possibly have known, and how he now believes that his nephew is not only around, but still his same playful, joking self. As a complement to traditional grief support, experienced Evidential Mediums offer a service that is truly unique. The evidence and messages that come through make a mediumship session a wonderful place to find peace, healing, closure, and in some cases, long overdue forgiveness. A few weeks after the session above, I received an email from the young boy’s uncle. He told me that the previous weekend was the 20th anniversary of his nephew’s death, and the family had gathered in his memory. He shared with the family the details of our session. He told me how grateful they were to me for bringing Charlie through, and sharing his messages. The evidence had brought them greater peace, knowing that Charlie is still the same happy, fun-loving personality they all so fondly remember. rogerhardnock.com
  9. July 22nd 2016, 3 days before my 20th birthday, a day that shattered my world. I got woke up at about 9 from my best friend wanting to me to go to a chiropractor appointment with her. I told her maybe since I had just woke up but all I could think about was an intense horrifying dream about my dad overdosing. About an hour later I got another call from my sisters mom (we share the same dad not mom) saying something happened to my dad. But as soon as I saw her calling I had already knew what happened. She just kept saying something happened. I was asking where is he? In the hospital? What happened? She finally said your dad died. I asked her how? And I never expected what I was about to hear. Your grandpa shot him and killed him. I told her I had to get off the phone I would call her back. My whole body started shaking and I ran to my grandma and said my dad is dead. I had a dream my dad died and he really died. I knew I needed to call my work so I ran to my room and let them know I wasn't able to come in that my dad was murdered by his own father. I told them I didn't know when I would be back. After all of that I called my sisters mom and asked her some more questions and finally heard what happened. My grandfather shot my father multiple times in their home. My grandfather thought My dad was in drugs. My dad had his back turned because he saw the gun and was trying to run away. He made it all the way into the road where a woman ran out of her house to try to help him and call 911. The sad thing is the first 911 call came from my grandpa. Saying he shot his son and he thinks he's dead. When the ambulance got to where my dad was laying in the road he was still conscious but all effort to save his life had failed by the time they got to the hospital. He was pronounced dead at 8:08 in the morning. Leaving too many people with broken hearts and questions that can never be answered. And here I am 3 months later. In debit up to my ears from funeral costs and all of that, being the next of kin I had to be in charge. Waiting for crime reparations to help pay for a fathers funeral. Sad broken hopeless. No Father and absent Mother. Wondering how people start to cope and grieve with this kind of pain. My anxiety attacks have been non stop for days at a time. Stress is eating me alive. I don't know what to do. If anyone wants to share what helped them get through a loss I would greatly appreciate it.
  10. 3 years ago, my unborn baby sister, Rachel Lynn Bickel, died. Rachel's death hit me and my brothers hard but it hit me harder because we all had thought that we were getting a new baby sister and then have mom and dad tell us, it was devasting. That was in March of 2013, and 3 years later, I am still grieving over Rachel's death. She would have been 3 years old in March of this year, and I am still grieving. How can I get over Rachel's death? Do I need to go to a support group, and have my parents talk to me about coping with loss and my sister's death?
  11. Just a moment ago after going through facebooks "on this day" feature, I had a status of me telling my friends how much I missed my dad. My dad traveled all over Texas for business trips, and when he would leave I would miss his home cooked meals, talks, and advice. My mom and I would argue a lot when I was younger. We just didn't seem to understand each other. I eventually figured out it could possibly be because I'm a Gemini and she's a cancer. Anyways, my dad always knew how and what to say to me to make me happy again...he was the one I would talk to if I was having trouble with friends, or a boy. All of my friends were shocked that I shared my feelings to my dad. A lot of my friends couldn't talk to their dads the way I did. My father was like my mom too. When my parents were going through a divorce, things got really tough at home. But, my dad would always make sure my brother and I were fed, did our homework, and would spend time with us before we went to bed. He never made my mom look bad even though she put him through hell...my dad made things easier for my little brother and I through the divorce. It's so hard losing the one person you need the most, and depended on the most. Just a moment ago I was crying...feeling alone, sad, and scared. Whenever I felt like that my dad automatically had a feeling something was wrong and we would sit on the couch and jusy talk about whatever was bothering me and my dad would always remind me God is always with us...he always knew what to say and when to say it. So just a moment ago when I was feeling all these emotions, I texted my mom to talk to her...& nothing. My mom just told me to go see a guidance counselor.........not really what I wanted to hear. I just needed that comfort that my dad would give me...it's horrible losing someone you depended on and didn't expect to lose them so soon.....I'll never have him walk me down the aisle...have a father daughter dance...these things get to me, and stick out to me so much. *this was just me getting my feelings out there*
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  13. Hi there my girlfriend and i have been together 4 months now and have had a great relationship so far. 2 weeks ago her brother died in a tragic accident, she lost another brother to suicide 12 years ago. I was there at the wake and for her as best i could i kept telling her im here anytime for her. She was hugging me and talking to me the days leading up to the funeral. But now she hardly answers my texts, doesnt want me calling to see her and doesnt answer the phone. She did text me the day after the funeral and said she didn't feel i gave her the proper support she needed whereas her friends talked and cried with her giving her total support. Her friends know her for years and her family and her brother that died. I had'nt met her parents to the wake so i can understand why she can talk to them instead of me. I don't want to crowd her so i have been texting once in the morning and once at night but she sometimes does'nt answer. Im at the stage now where im thinking maybe i should leave her alone for a few days then text her again? I fear by doing this she might think i don't care and we could drift apart. She did say once that she knows where i am if she needs me. I don't want to make this about me as she is the one grieving but i would love to be there to support her. We are both 36 years old....any advice would be greatly appreicated!
  14. HI, I'm Penny and I'm new around here.I met Eaarl when we were both homeless, and living in a shelter in downtown Dallas. People told me not to get attached because such relationships don't last, but I never thought ours would end like this. We found out in October of 2014 that Earl had an agressive form of lung cancer, and that his survival chances were slim to none. So we spent till March of this year, scrambling to make sure funeral arrangements were in place and just getting through the days, trying to continue the mundane tasks of day to day living and pretending to live life. We laughed together, we cried together, did all the things that loving couples do. I told him I would be ok. He was more worried about my future than that he didn't have one. Now I find that I lied, I'm not ok, I wish I didhn't wake up every morning. I've had people tell me to find a boyfriend to make things easier for me. Just the thought makes me nauseous. Anyway, I hope I can find some solace here and maybe help somebody else as well. Part of the bad part is not being anybody's anything anymore. I don't know who I am, what I like, what I want. Am I a freak?
  15. My mom passed away last week sunday at around 08.30pm. She was sick for about three weeks, being an hardworking person, she used to be sick but always always pulled through. I saw her 8 days before she died and she was quite alright and I was even relieved that she'll be okay this time too. I still don't believe she's dead and this scares me, when I finally believe. What will I do? Although she was buried on Thursday 25th February. That too was the worst day of my life, going to pay for the casket and identifying my mother's body at the Morgue. She was 49. I am 22. I'm her first child, we are three. I have 2 younger brothers. 20 and 17 year olds. I'm in my third year in the university studying Psychology. Her biggest dream was to see me graduate and she said that to me over and over and over again. I was doing this for her. I'm confused and tired and afraid and scared. I feel sorry for my dad too. It hits him hard but he has to be strong for us which will make it harder for him. Dealing with his grieving process privately. Life is unfair. My mother do not deserve death, she deserved to see her grandchildren. She deserved to see me succeed. My life has been miserable, I thought joining a support group would help and I hope it does. It's hard. Words can't explain. It's really hard. Nobody will understand. I will miss her forever. Her 7am calls asking if I slept well, her calls at night. This was my biggest fear, losing my mother, I won't wish that on my worst enemy. It's bad. It's hard. It's difficult. It feels like death. But I know I will pull through. I will. I will. I have to. No girlfriend either, to talk to. I'm vulnerable at the moment, and I don't want to be dated out of pity, so most times I'm on my own. Friends come around but I still feel alone. Thanks for reading. Love, Dayo.
  16. Hi, I'm Nicole.. This past Saturday, my husband and I made the decision to let our cat, Scooter, go and have him cross the rainbow bridge. He was two and a half years old. At the age of one, he was diagnosed with Feline Leukemia. We went through a round of chemo (about a year of treatment) and he had responded very well to the treatment. Sadly, this past January, we noticed his pink nose turn white (a sign of Anemia) and took him in to the vets. He had dropped a lot of weight and needed a blood transfusion. The doctor (most amazing doctor / staff in the world) informed us there was a chance the blood transfusion wouldn't take and that we were way past the point of return. For a week after the transfusion, he did really well but all of a sudden, his health declined even further. Finally I broke down and could tell he was gone beyond saving. He was falling over and meowing in pain. His eyes weren't focusing and he was shaking. *sigh* I miss him a lot. Scooter was my first pet ever (I am 30 years old) and I never realized how much of an impact one little life could have on me until now. I spent the day after letting him go, crying on and off but trying to stay relaxed all day. Luckily my husband was home, so I wasn't alone. Today, my husband is back at work and I am home alone (I work from home). I miss Scooter so much and I don't know what to do. I can't focus on work or anything else. I miss feeding him, I miss giving him his pills. Scooter was so lively and would be in every room I would be in. He would wait by the door until I got home and then lay in my lap whenever I was working. I just don't know what to do right now and I feel so alone. I know letting him go was the best thing for him. I just don't know how to not cry and to keep moving forward. I just need someone to talk to I guess. I hate that I am alone right now (can't get out due to the weather). I know time heals all but I miss him so much and just don't know what to do...
  17. August 26 2014 I lost my dog 'King' and then January 24 2015 I lost my other dog 'Brandy' who is also kings mother. I've been devastated since 'King' died but now 'Brandy' died too. My world is shattered I dont want to live anymore. Im so lost I miss my dogs everyday. Im on antidepressants to try to help with my suffering but it helpt at first but that time has past the shock of never seeing my dogs again hurts even more. I know alot of people think im mad going crazy over dogs but they was my life. I was single didn't have a girl friend so I pretty much spent alot of my time with friends and my dogs. Now im both dogs are gone and im lonely and im not sure how to live now
  18. Dear Konnnie, I was excited to see an iPhone app, just tried to download the Grieving forum iPhone app, and it would't download. I did it through my phone and clicked on the link that is there. I have an iPhone 5S, and it's only a couple of months old. Am I doing something wrong? Take Care Everybody
  19. I have been following grieving.com on Facebook ever since I discovered it a couple of months back in the middle of the year while I was coping with my mom's passing. She was 69 and her death came as a shock to the entire family as she was hardly sick and was never once admitted to the hospital before for as long as I can remember. Then came one day on May 13, she was complaining of tummy bloatedness and we admitted her to the hospital immediately. They found a mass in her uterus but what unfolded after that was more dreadful discoveries. She had tumour in her rectum and the hospital was running one test after another to determine her primary cancer. However, she couldn't wait no more. She had an episode of sepsis when her colon ruptured on 28 May and the faecal matters entered her blood stream. She fell into a coma and never woke up. She finally left us on 30 may. It was a rude shock for the family having no time at all to react much. We didn't have a chance to care for her and take care of her like how other children could, taking care of their elderly parents. It's been months and I found comfort reading the postings on grieving.com to ease the pain at time. Recently, I took up the courage to enter a photo competition organised by a local cafe with the theme "making a difference". I had to submit a selfie taken with someone who made a difference in my life. I submitted a photo of mom and me, the one and only selfie that I had with her. I hope to win this contest in memory of my mom. This is my little way of managing my grief and also remember her. I wonder if I could trouble all of you to help support my effort? It is really simple. All you need to do is to like the organiser's page on FB and like my photo on FB. Below are the links. Step one- Like Cedele's FB page https://www.facebook.com/cedelesingapore Step two- Like my photo (Finalist 1) https://www.facebook.com/cedelesingapore/photos/ms.c.eJxl0MkRwCAMQ9GOMpY3TP~_NZblkkK5v~_MYAQ~;kUYhlsEn3hF8s4pPfeLEPVIyliXPXwmbcjWYc8RTnPKalKNix5RYKraJFicdnZ5fZwkjGZ099v3BcITAc~-.bps.a.10152851367913416/10152851369328416/?type=1&theater Once again, thank you for reading my lengthy post. Sometimes, sharing our thoughts and feelings is also a way of managing our grief. May you all find strength to go through the difficult episode you are facing and we will definitely meet our loved ones again someday. Hugs and kisses from Singapore
  20. Hi forum, I stumbled across this page in the hopes of getting some advice for my current situation, which I'm sure you all can relate to in some way or form. We lost my younger brother 5 years ago this July, to an accidental heroin (with other drugs) overdose. Matthew was 24 years old and at the time I was 25. It was such a shock to everyone, we all knew Matt was a little wild and had tried a lot of things to help him, which ultimately didn't. He wasn't known to use heroin either, which was another shock. At the time also, I was in a committed relationship for about 4 months and really, without my partner being there for me, I probably wouldn't have found the strength that I did to keep going. I did all the organising for his funeral, sitting up through all hours of the morning organising his photo slideshow, writing a eulogy, picking the music and speaking to the priest. I felt it was my duty as Matt's older sister to do this for him. I didn't even cry much during my eulogy - which I'm still surprised at today. Basically, 5 years on, my partner believes that I haven't dealt with his death 'properly'. We are going through some dramas and I believe this might be stemming from holding a lot of hurt in. I feel at this point in my life that I am at a crossroads - and I am really unsure of how to deal with this. I feel I have gone through some major changes as a person and now my partner is the one copping the brunt of these. As the eldest, I have always been the 'good' one so this might have some reason as to why I am feeling the way I am. Also, I have another younger brother who is just getting worse and worse since Matt's death. Constantly getting in trouble, unemployed, doing drugs, stealing from EVERYONE (even our from grandparents) and has a young daughter who he never sees. It is taking toll on our Dad as he says hurtful things like 'If you don't give me money, I'm just going to kill myself' things like that to make Dad feel guilty. Does anyone relate to these feelings? I have never spoken to a therapist or counsellor, which is maybe something I need to do. It feels like I am going through a 1/4 life crisis of some sorts? I would love ANY info/advice from you guys, as I feel no one really understands where I am coming from. Please help! Lala
  21. I've lost three family members within the past year and never prepared myself to fall into this abyss. After participating in local bereavement groups, a friend told me about a cruise in November that is just for those who lost loved ones and I signed on. It's called "turning grief into grace" and I am praying this will help me get beyond this pain and be able to function. It's strange, I know, combining a cruise with grief workshops, but at this point I'll try anything. Edy Nathan is the grief expert. I've seen her on television on A & E.
  22. Have you lost a family member or friend to suicide, homicide, war, an accident, terminal illness, or a natural disaster 6 months ago to 1 year and 6 months ago? Did you use your religion to cope with the loss? If so, you are eligible to complete a study aimed at understanding more about coping and has the potential to help others who have experienced the same type of loss. The survey is anonymous, only takes 20 minutes to complete, and is completed entirely online. Please visit this webpage to complete the survey: https://alliant.qual...3gdjiNspM1oKJIV Those who complete the survey have the option of being entered into a raffle to win one of five $25.00 Visa gift cards. This study is being completed by Tanya Lyn Yacynych Stock, M.A. This study has been approved by the Institutional Review Board at Alliant International University.
  23. So let me start with my story. I am 21 years old and today I lost my mother. She was my world. Not only was she an amazing mother, she was my best friend. Rarely a day went by that we didn't talk on the phone even if it was about nonsense. She went to the hospital on monday night due to a heart attack. The heart attack triggered an aneurysm she had to rupture and the brain damage led to her death. I cried all day. I am still sad don't get me wrong but I was wondering if it's normal for me to be so calm right now. I think about what she would day to me and it brings a smile to my face. Maybe it's because I'm familiar with loss because we lost my older brother to drugs 2 years ago. Maybe it's because my dad is the strongest man I know and has be checking on me and thinking of me since the second my mother was admitted to the hospital. I don't know why I feel so calm when 7 hours ago I was sobbing uncontrollably. I guess my question is, can I be at peace with this death so quickly? I understand that her death could not have been foreseen in any way and that she loved me more than anything on this planet. I also know that more than anything she wouldn't want me to be sad. I'm am 100% certain that I'll miss her terribly when I walk across the stage in two weeks at my college graduation and when I get married or have my first child. I miss her even in this second. But right now I'm trying my hardest not to be sad and think about the trillions of happy memories we made in 21 years. Does it make me a bad person?
  24. Hi, It feels strange for me to be writing here. Sometimes I just come on the forums and read what other people say and it makes me feel better just knowing that other people are out there going through what I'm growing through. Tax Day. Today is my Dad's birthday. He was an accountant too, as well as a professor, which is kind of funny. He died this September. After a really long battle with prostate cancer. He was 60. Today he would be 61. I'm 26. My sister is 23. My brother's 16. I think about him every day. Not the way I used to, thankfully. Those first few months, the first thing I would think of when I got up in the morning was that my dad was dead, and that thought would hollow me out. Now, I just think about how proud he was of me and that powers me through. He was such a great dad and a great guy. I try not to think about how much he suffered and how hard he tried to live. If there was anyone able to have willed cancer out of existence it was him. The worst part is that the last few days before he died, he was so confused that he couldn't talk anymore and he loved to talk. So many of his friends came to visit him in those final days and a lot of them commented on how strange it was to see him so quiet. I think about his oncologists occasionally and how much I hate them. How they encouraged him to do a clinical trial that ultimately stopped working for him. I think they should have stepped in when it stopped working and figured something else out. By the time he died he couldn't even do anymore chemo because his body had developed such a strong resistance to it. Everything is so hard now. I'm so worried about my brother. He talks back to my mom and is mean to her all the time. And the sweetness he had about him is gone. When my dad was dying my mom asked my brother to help her move him (my dad was 6'2 so he was still heavy even when he lost a lot of weight from the chemo). And my dad was scared because he was confused and he didn't know who my brother was. And then the dog ran into the room and attacked my brother because he thought he was hurting my dad and my dad fell and they couldn't get him back up. I can't imagine what that must have done to him. After he died, I never saw my brother cry once. But I can't get the image of my brother's face when he came downstairs to see that my dad was dead. Pure terror. His grades are really bad now too and I'm so afraid that he won't get into college because that's always been a goal of his and all of the other children went. Is there anyone on here that lost a dad that is a male? I don't know what to tell him or how to help. I just wish that there was a male person who would show some interest in stepping up but not try to be his dad. One of my dad's friends told my mom that my dad was there for him when his dad died and that he would like to be my brothers 'dad.' He and his wife were never able to have any kids of their own and I can't help but think that while he was trying to help, there was part of him that was maybe coming from a place of selfishness. I dunno. Maybe I'm just angry. My dad's brother is an addict/conman. The day after his funeral, he texted one of my dad's friends and asked him for $5,000 so his home doesn't foreclosed on 'before I get money from my brother's estate.' This was a lie. Also, my dad gave him the house, which they grew up in, for free. It was completely paid off and my uncle took out a mortgage on it to buy drugs. Although I do blame the bank because he hasn't had a job in years so how exactly did they think they were going to get paid back? My uncle sold some property that was jointly owned with my dad's estate, him, and their cousins and kept all of the money. I discovered that he is also receiving my grandmother's pension (she died two years ago) somehow and had previously impersonated my grandfather (who also died from prostate cancer 12 years ago). I don't know what to do because I feel like I should tell someone, especially about the joint property and the pension. But I feel unprotected without my dad. I'm afraid that if I go after him he will come and kill the rest of my family since we don't have my dad to protect us and he clearly will do anything to feed his habit. But I look up on the internet every day to see if he has died. I wish my dad were here to tell me how to pick up the pieces.
  25. Hi everyone. I just found this forum and joined because I read some other posts that sound the same way I am feeling. I guess I will begin by telling you about my dad's story. It is hard to relive it by writing this, but I wanted to share it with anyone who would like to hear it. My dad (Denny) had been battling with end-stage liver disease for over eleven years. Since the transplant list in Colorado was very long and slow moving, my dad was referred to Piedmont Hospital in Atlanta, Georgia. As my dad got sicker and sicker, his score still remained the same. We knew he needed a new liver asap. It was very hard to watch my dad suffer so much. My dad has always had a positive outlook on life, even through all the pain and suffering. He would never complain about his illness. My dad enjoyed helping out others. He would collect canned food and donations outside for those less fortunate. He also would insist on having his grandchildren over to play all day long even on his worst days. He would never miss an ice skating lesson either. My dad never let any of these obstacles get the best of him. He remained happy and positive throughout the many years of suffering. He is and will always be my hero! Finally in June of 2011 he was #1 on the transplant list, he was in the best shape physically and mentally. While in Atlanta my dad became seriously ill after taking a bad fall the day before his scheduled surgery. He was hospitalized and deactivated from the transplant list and sent back to Colorado to heal. We didn't think he would get called again for the transplant, but The transplant team called my dad on Friday February 18th 2012 and was told he was #1 again and to be in Atlanta by Tuesday the 21st of February 2012. Our family was happy, nervous, shocked. We new this was it! My dad was going to come home with a new liver! On February 27th, a donor gave my dad the gift of life. He recieved a new liver. The next day, he was like a new man. It was truly AMAZING! He was talking and he looked great. Then, about 3 days later something went wrong. The bile duct came apart and he had to have it rebuilt in a 2nd surgery. He then had trouble getting the bleeding to stop. He has been in ICU for 3 days and til the doctors saw an improvement. We were all shocked that this was happening. My mom, brother and I stayed at the hospital for hours and hours and days. Just when we thought he was improving, the doctors found internal bleeding and had to try and stop it so they performed a 3rd surgery and he was back in ICU again. We thought for sure there could be no more complications at that point. But yes, there were. He was rushed into the OR for a 4th surgery. The doctors found internal bleeding again and were able to stop it. After that last surgery his vitals were all very good and in very stable condition. He was so extremely weak. My dad's blood levels were going up, his toxicity going down. Moving from the bed to the chair and back to the bed multiple times a day to start building strength back. His color was coming back. All the doctors were amazed that he had made it. They called him "The marathon man" After months of physical therapy, we were on our way back home to Colorado. It was the happiest time for our family and friends. Unfortunatley the happiness would not last very long . My dad continued his rehab and he was working out at the gym every day. He had a couple rough days, but overall he was well on his way to a normal life. His immune system was low because of all the medications he had to take daily for life. While at the gym he banged his leg on a piece of equiptment. He started having multiple complications for a few months after banging his leg. It appeared he had some horrible reactions to the antibiotics needed to heal his wounded leg. It got to a point where even the doctors were baffled as to why he was getting so sick making it hard for them to help him. To make a long story short, my mom and I got a phone call on Christmas Eve. The woman on the phone said to me, “Your father is dying." I was in shock!! We called the ambulance and had him admitted into The University of Colorado Hospital. While in the ICU, we were told my dad had 24-48 hours to live and had to make a decision to either try to keep him going which would involve many more moments of suffering or to simply be put out of the pain and to end it in comfort. It was the hardest day/moment of our lives. My dad asked me to please let him go. I wanted to say NO dad, but that wouldn't have been fair of me. So we allowed him to make his own courageous decision. He was suffering too much. So I said goodbye and let him go. We took our turns one by one saying our goodbyes. They then moved my dad to the 12th floor of the hospital. (A floor reserved for minor illnesses and falls). We stayed by his side in a nice room with a view of the mountains bringing him anything he wanted, making him as comfortable as possible. My dad’s birthday was New Year’s Eve so we threw a party for him in his hospital room, with cake, music, crystals & movies. The doctors were all so shocked that my dad was still here with a strong pulse, perfect vitals but still a failing liver and kidneys. I truly believe that we were given that extra time for the beautiful reason of family connection as his sisters even got a chance to fly in from California & New Jersey. He was surrounded by so much LOVE, family, and peace. We laughed, we cried, we told stories, we watched movies and played his favorite musical albums. He even had a large Quartz cluster at the foot of his bed brightening up the room with a lovely vibration. It was great! He was almost able to communicate with us up until his final hours. He was not scared or worried about passing but instead comfortable and ready for his adventure ahead of him. We told him how many people were sending prayers to him online and he’d smile knowing that his friends all were thinking of him. As painful as it was to watch him fade away slowly each day we stayed there day & night and had slumber parties to pass the time as joyful as possible. My brother and I never left his side. We wanted to be with him when he passed over. My brother went outside for 5 minutes (as he was drawing "Denny Lane" in the snow) my dad passed away with only me by his side on (1/11/13) at 6pm a day that brought a peaceful blizzard of snow out of nowhere. From the 12th Floor overlooking the Rockies it was a spectacle. Our dad was a true fighter and never gave up, he made a courageous decision knowing that he had nothing but suffering ahead for himself and his family. He was full of LOVE and compassion, he was extremely generous and was a very hard worker all of his life. He was a special soul and touched so many lives. We are so lucky to have had him as our dad. My dad was my best friend. We saw each other everyday. I sometimes think that because we were so close, this has made his death so much harder. He was a loving dad, husband, papa, and friend to many. His life was about PEACE, LOVE and COMPASSION. He lived a life of kindness and generosity and aimed to inspire others to live the same way. He encouraged my brother and myself to follow our dreams and always supported us. He was a wonderful husband who was happily married to our mom for 36 years I am not quite sure how to use this forum yet, but I will try my best. I will make a post next on what is going on in my family's lives since my dad is gone. It is just me, my older brother, and my mom (who suffers from depression, anxiety, substance abuse, attempted suicide) left. I never imagined that life could get much worse, but everyday is a struggle. Thank you all for reading this long post.