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Found 95 results

  1. Hi, I recently lost my grandmother. She was old and fragile, and I was worried about her for months. I had been taking care of her but I never thought this would happen so soon. I don't think you can really prepare for death. I know that everyone dies, but I find it so hard to accept. She was very generous to everyone, which makes her loss so difficult. Unfortunately they are located so far away they haven't been able to see her. She was in no condition to travel. I am trying to keep it together, but I feel so incredibly empty. I don't have much desire for life, but I had been struggling with that for my whole life anyway. I have been depressed before, and I believe I have social anxiety to some extent. I don't have many friends, so I find this all extremely overwhelming. I hope I can move on somehow. I am avoidant and it is hard to connect with people. Thanks for reading.
  2. I'm barely functioning...I don't know how to deal with the excruciating pain I feel. One of my dogs,10'yr old an Amstaff named Daphne, aka Duckling, my best friend, who shadowed me everywhere I went, ran away two nights ago and got hit by a car or a snow plow on the highway. My 11 yr old daughter let our two dogs out for a pee on that stormy night we had ice rain mixed with snow, and forgot them for almost half an hour while I was giving her baby sister a bath. When she opened the back door only one dog was there and the gate to our yard was open...it's quite strange actually because normally it's the other dog that runs away and my Daphne would always stay put in the yard. I searched on foot with my oldest daughter and in my truck for a while then came home to switch with my husband and then when he came back i went out driving around again for another hour.we could not find her anywhere. I barely slept that night knowing she was out in the storm but I kept telling myself someone would eventually find her, she had a tag with my number, city tag, vet tag, microchip tag.... then next day I made a post about her being missing on Facebook and someone wrote me a msg saying she'd seen a dog lying on the highway about 5 min from my house the night before and felt awful that it was too dangerous for her to stop and see if it was alive. I went to see for myself if the dog was still there figuring it would be picked up already ( after a few hours of waiting for police and spca to get back to me about whether a dog had been picked up there yet or not) it didn't take me long to find her, she wasn't on the highway though but on the side service road. I can't go on to explain how she was ....what she looked like ...i feel like it would be cruel of me to imprint that picture in anyone else's mind. I absolutely can not get that image out of my head. It's haunting me. All day long. All night long. In my dreams. I cry off and on all day and night. It's not making it easier for my kids I know. I try to hide it but it's hard. I know time will heal my pain but I just can't see myself thinking of her or looking at a picture of her and not seeing that horrible image of her lying there the way she was.
  3. Hi Everyone, I am not the one to talk about things, but I think the time has come that I should- I don't feel like I can post things on facebook or twitter etc as I don't want my friends to think I just want attention- so perhaps this is the best way to do it to people who don't know me. My Mother had Motor Neurone Disease ( MND to people in UK or ALS To people in US) She was struggling with this for just under 2 years first she lost her voice which was very difficult for her and then some of her nerve were getting weaker, I won't go into too much detail as this is a horrendous disease and very hard for people who have it and their families, it was very hard watching her go through this, but she always kept her smile and gave me the thumbs up. She pretty much had her mobility until the end.. she passed away September 2014. My father was her main carer although she was still pretty independent he was able to go out to work a couple days a week, the only health condition he had was diabetes but this was under control. He died less then two months after Mum passed away...I moved in with him to spend time with him after Mum passed away, he came back from shopping one day but the shopping on the table and then went to his office to do some computer work, I heard a loud noise .. like a bang or fall. I then called out "Dad" no response so I went to have a look, he was on the floor eyes closes having a heart attack...called ambulance they couldn't resuscitate him so kept trying along the ambulance ride, still kept trying when we arrived, then after around 40minutes declared him dead ( I was there for this whole time period) My sister lives in Borneo Malaysia ( as did I before mum passed but I managed to get back before she passed away ) I called her to tell her Dad had died.. BIG shock out of the blue. Hung up spent more time with dad to try say goodbye, a nurse came in check his pulse and felt one.. brought everyone in got his heart going and put him on a ventilator.. I called my sister again to say he was back. She flew over as fast as she could 2 days later. Dad was in coma for 5 days they did some tests and decided they wanted to switch the Machines off. So Friday the 28th November my Dad passed away- his birthday Month and less then 2 months after my Mum, I became an orphan at the age of 29. Of course I am devastated but I also understand how lucky my sister and I were to have such loving parents, for as many years possible. I felt what if? what if I new my first aid better, what if I could have ran to dad faster realised he fell, what if I didn't panic.. he could still be alive. I'm sorry to have told you most of my storey and I don't know what I expect back-but right now it has been 2 years I still feel numb, I feel like I'm in a dream world, I feel Mad, I feel bitter, of course I try not to show this to people but I feel this inside. I put on a brave face and try to carry on with life. I watch movies with weddings, people having kids, their Mum's and Dads with them, I feel jealously I feel pain because I will never have this. My sister was so lucky to have my dad walk her down the isle at her wedding, her kids met their Grandparents. I wish I could have this, but I can't. Any way I have so much to say .. And I Would like to talk to people that feel the same, have had the same experience as me. My sister is older then me but she was weaker then me at the time of our devastation and I have always tried to stay strong for her, I just can't tell her my deepest feelings about this.
  4. 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
  5. Thursday January 19th I had to say goodbye to my best friend Gracie. She was much more than a pet dog. She was a friend, a family member and a constant bright spot in our lives. She was a Schnauzer Spaniel mix and lived to be 8yrs old. Her health was fading and we spent many trips to the vet to get her well. She was scheduled to have surgery on the 19th to have lumps removed near her lymph nodes. They postponed the surgery because of swelling in her throat and decided it was too risky. We were going to bring her back home that evening and wait for a better time. My Wife went to pick her up I stayed home. After an hour I received the 2nd worst phone call I've ever had, the first being the loss of my Mother. My wife called to say that we had to put Gracie to sleep because surgery would be too risky & she was suffering. She said I didn't have to be there if I didn't want to. I raced as fast as I could to be with my baby & see her one last time as hard as it was, I would've always regretted it if I didn't go. She was lying peaceful in a room sedated with pain meds. The Vet was very patient, giving us time with Gracie even though it was after hours. I hope that Gracie knew we were there for her & how much we Love her. We were stroking her and telling her we Loved her as the Vet put her to rest. She faded off to sleep and she was gone.The Vet was kind enough to give us a clay mold of her paw print at no charge, we also kept a clipping of her fur. I knew it was going to be painful, I've experienced loss many times, parents, relatives and pets. Losing Gracie is hurting in a way I didn't expect, I see her everywhere and as crazy as it sounds it's like I can feel her still here. I've never had that kind of Love for a pet, she was special. I fell for her the first time I held her. Everyone that met her liked her, I couldn't find a fault in her if I tried. She had so much Love. I will miss her so much. Thank you for giving me a place to express how I'm feeling. It's comforting to know I'm not alone and I feel for all of you that have experienced the same. James K
  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. I'm Emily, a 17 year old girl that had lost her dad at the age of 7. I remember all his love, all the good memories or fishing, of holidays, of my parents. When he died I was only 7 and my little brother 4, he doesn't remember our dad, but I do vividly. My dad died of a heart attack and had suffered brain damage. I said my good byes but never had closer, he didn't remember us, he didn't remember his own daughter. Since the age of 7 I've been bullied, in and out of therapy and suffer from depression, anxiety, trust issues and abandonment issues. I can't seem to cope with my dads death, I've never been able to get out of the mind set that I want to die, that I hate myself and I hate the world. Good took my dad from me, I understood that he must have his reasons, but my life, my mentality is going down the drain and I don't know how much longer I can hold on for. So I'm reaching out to maybe make sense of how I'm feeling before it's to late.
  10. I'm so confused... I don't know what I did wrong. I was only married for 3 years, and all of a sudden he wanted to end it... He ended it ON thanksgiving. On our anniversary... I just feel so lost. He didn't cheat, but all of a sudden he's in love with someone else... It kinda makes me feel like I wasn't doing what I should have been.. Like I wasn't giving him enough of my time, or love. But I did though. I did all of that because he was my world. He ended it 2 months after I had our child, our beautiful little girl who wound up being a still born. So it all sort of hit right there at once. And it's so hard, because now I'm all alone :(. He told me he still wanted us to remain really good friends, like we were before we got married. But i don't know if i can be friends again until i heal completely from the hurt of the divorce. Is that wrong? I mean I'm all for being best friends again, but only after i get over the shock of us splitting up. But i kind of still feel like I'm never gonna STOP loving him... I just don't know what to do. Someone please give me some advice.
  11. Hello everyone, I lost my beautiful wife, Jess, six weeks ago at only age 39. She died unexpectedly and left my three young children and I without so much. We are hurting, but taking life a day at a time. Jess was everything to me. In the 15 years we were together, we literally only spent about 10-15 days apart. We lived for each other. We did not have any other outside friends. We did everything together, and now that she is gone, I feel like I have no one. Sure, there are people helping, and so many who are polite with their condolences, but I feel like I am in hell without her. I miss her so much. I found this forum and hope to discover I am not alone with this hell I am living. I try to be strong for the kids, but it hurts so deeply. Mick
  12. I lost my husband and soul mate suddenly in a car accident on Nov. 28th of this year. We met when I was 14 and married when I was 16. We were married for 13 years and had 2 beautiful little boys together. They're 12 and 10 now. We were a very close family. We did absolutely everything together and I mean everything. My husband and I were fortunate enough to spend almost every waking moment together and never got tired of each other. I was always excited to see him and talk to him. I was always wrapped in his arms or holding his hands. I just don't know how to live or function without him. This terrifies me because like I said we have 2 boys together. I know I have to be strong for them and keep it together, but this is the hardest, most painful thing I've ever even imagined. Please tell me how to make this pain even a little better. I'm so lost now and no one seems to be able to relate or understand.
  13. loss

    Wednesday my world (and my DH, and our Golden Annies,) lives changed. Its a colder, darker, somber, empty existence. No, I am not exagerating. We have had a very rough year. Always one step away from being homeless BUT Emma was the light. Yes, Annie, too helped. Annie is a rescue from a bad man (mean, neglectful) so she's ver sweet n gentle and quiet. Emma, who rescued us 6 years ago when a care-giver of our 2 y/o Golden killed her. 2 months after Hannah's death we got Emma. What a spitfire! We almost took her back. A Golden who was aggressive? A puppy, yet. But we kept her. How glad we've been. Everyday has been an adventure. She was a stinker. We played games. She was so smart. She knew my moods. She knew the inflection of my voice. She and I were connected. I am unable to write any more now. I have been drunk, sick, unable to funstion. I wail and weep. My husband is grieving also. I'm scared to be alone. Trying to be thoughtful of Annie. As she is upset. Emma was having "zoomies" and slipped, fell and died. Possibly a stroke, the vet said. We declined a necropsy. We will receive her ashes soon. Has this happened to anyone else? So suddenly. My Faith is gone. I blame myself. I blame God. Any replys will help.
  14. Greetings, So this is my guy Jack. Near as we can figure Jack was 4-5 months shy of 15 years of age when he passed on November 23, 2016. This picture of him was taken the day before the vet came to the house. We had known several days beforehand, the date and time that the vet was to come to end further suffering. Jack was slowly losing his sight and hearing, although not totally. He had trouble in his spine that caused trouble in his rear quarters, Jack was ambulatory although had to be carried up and down the stairs in our home. We were managing pain issues and he had definite signs of "old dog syndrome." We were able to go on walks right up until the day he died albeit very slow walks. Things were not going in a good direction, nor were they going to. Many nights were spent consoling him. It seemed especially at night was when he became most restless, Sometimes (day or night) I would cradle him in the recliner (he would recline with me) and sometimes that would work. I had a little thing I used to do, almost like a form of "hypnosis" and it was effective in putting him at ease almost immediately, with him going to sleep Quite often I would get on the floor with him and just let him know I was there with touch. At night I often had to get at the foot of the bed with him as he barked or whimpered but eventually he would go into a deep sleep and all was well again. Jack loved life. He loved the outdoors and was well blessed to have had lots of freedom of movement. Many nights I would be up in the wee hours. No matter how restless he was, the outdoors was like an instant sedative. So if he wanted to go in and out 4 - 5 times in succession we would do that, alternating between in and out. Each time coming back in nibbling, snacking on dog treats and drinking lots of water and finally back to bed. I would do gentle physical therapy with him. He had very long hind legs. In the bed I would position him, get him comfortable, stretch him out gently and all of these things made a difference for him. He was still powerful in his front legs and chest. He still had a great appetite (Jack always self-regulated his diet) and was drinking plenty of water. Another vet had said there was nothing wrong with his heart or lungs, just that he was gradually loosing sensation in his rear end along with the other things mentioned. At some point I realized I was basically doing hospice care on my best buddy. I was no stranger to that work. In 2009 I helped see my dad off, doing hospice care with him. So loss being no stranger to me and yet the strength of the grief that I feel over losing my buddy Jack has been quite intense. Jack on November 22, 2016 I raised him and trained him from a pup. He was extremely intelligent, athletic and funny as all hell. I'm still not sure which one of us was the Laurel to the other's Hardy! The vet who came to the house was wonderful. I found her by searching on-line for vets who would perform this service at home. I was pleased to know I wasn't alone in my desire to have Jack go peacefully, in the place that was familiar to him. Suzanne (the vet) and I had only spoken once on the phone several weeks before her visit to end Jack's suffering. The day she came, she sat on the floor and the dog bed with Jack and me. She talked with my son (sitting nearby) and I, all the while gently preparing Jack for his final journey. Nothing was hurried or rushed. The conversation was easy and thoughtful. Suzanne said at one point "you know, one of the big differences between us and dogs is, dogs have no thoughts of the past, no thoughts of the future, all they know is right now, and how they are feeling right now." I knew of course that she was correct. Jack was very relaxed and very peaceful, eventually going to sleep from the sedative. He accepted Suzanne and her presence easily with, no hint of fear or recriminations. Suzanne also said, “take comfort in the fact that you weren't too late." That made me pause for a brief moment, but then I understood what she meant. In the days since, my inner voice has been asking but were you too early? Of course that's just a little mind trick, a quirk of the human condition, you see? Unlike Jack, I DO sometimes ponder the past and the future. A wise old friend told me once, many years ago, " Mike, there are two eternities in life. One is called yesterday and the other is call tomorrow, and those two eternities can drive men insane." Jack on the other hand, had no past, no future, not even at this most profound of moments, the ending of his life! I believe the worst part about grieving and loss is the sense that suddenly we are all alone in it. Even (or rather especially) and sometimes in a room full of people this is true. I know of course that I am not alone as this place and many others prove, and also for the love of loved ones who also grieve their own personal loss, in their own way, just as often with the same feeling of aloneness that we ourselves feel. I swear I don't know how others do it but I have a tendency to bottle the stuff and that ain't particularly helpful (or healthy.) The worst thing has been not to express or expressing what seems to be inadequately, the moving picture show of Jack in my mind’s eye and all that it encompassed, all that it has meant. As I point out to family members, I do not grieve for Jack as I KNOW Jack is fine. Jack is not in some hole in the back yard. That was merely Jacks shell, no longer being occupied. I grieve for myself, for all those years and moments that exist now only in memory, like a dream upon awakening. I held him as he went to sleep that day for the last time, never letting go till the end. I felt the life drain from him, his last earthly movements coursing through me like water and sand through my fingers. Choking back the tears that if allowed, would have been inconsolable, all I could manage, "my buddy, my buddy." More small talk with Suzanne, I notice she wipes a tear from her eye. Even after having performed this ritual God only knows how many times before, she feels this pain. Jack is resting now and forever. That is a good and noble thing. Walking Suzanne to her car, carrying her supplies and after waiting her departure, number one son and I went out into the shed to "decompress" while Jack lay on his bed at peace in the living room giving final testament to his short reign here on earth. We returned inside, and gently cleaning him up, and bundling him warmly in his favorite "shed blanket." Picking him up we gently brought him outside placing him into the ground which had been started the day before and finished by my son that morning. We buried him deep in a lovely place, It was a personal favorite of good ole Jack, underneath the trumpet vine so that in the summer when in full bloom, the humming birds will stop by to say hello to him and to us. Thank you to those who may have made it this far. This is kind of my personal message in a bottle Lastly, I would like to share something that has always given me the greatest hope and inspiration during times of loss, I think applicable to all well loved sentient beings that pass from us. Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there. I do not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow. I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sunlight on ripened grain. I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush I am the swift uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry; I am not there. I did not die. Mary Elizabeth Frye, (Written in 1932 this is her only known writing) Michael (missing jack)
  15. I lost my husband and soul mate suddenly in a car accident on Nov. 28th of this year. We met when I was 14 and married when I was 16. We were married for 13 years and had 2 beautiful little boys together. They're 12 and 10 now. We were a very close family. We did absolutely everything together and I mean everything. My husband and I were fortunate enough to spend almost every waking moment together and never got tired of each other. I was always excited to see him and talk to him. I was always wrapped in his arms or holding his hands. I just don't know how to live or function without him. This terrifies me because like I said we have 2 boys together. I know I have to be strong for them and keep it together, but this is the hardest, most painful thing I've ever even imagined. Please tell me how to make this pain even a little better. I'm so lost now and no one seems to be able to relate or understand.
  16. two months ago the worst thing that could ever happen to anyone, happened. I went in to have my little 6 ib 9 ounce baby girl, only to find out that she was born sleeping. She became an angel all to quickly. They gave her 3 hours to live, but she only lived for an hour and a half, and i held onto her so tightly the entire time. I gave her kiss after kiss and held her little hand in mine. I told her how much i loved her, and how i would never ever forget her. And i wont... I told her it wasn't goodbye, it was see you later. And that's honestly whats kind of been helping me cope, but i still cry myself to sleep almost every night. Ive never been more depressed in my life. And it sucks that my child, or anyone else's, has to pass away like that, or to pass away at all. I'm over being depressed.... I jjust feel like i cant do anything right any more and i just really need someone to talk to that understands.
  17. My name is Veronica Droser and my father died in January 2011. Since then I have been interested in understanding more about how bereaved individuals and families cope with and make sense of death. As part of my work, I am studying how the parent-child relationship is impacted by spousal/parental death. This project is my doctoral dissertation, and represents a way of not only giving back to the community, but also of processing and giving meaning to my dad’s death. I am recruiting parent/child pairs who have experienced the death of a spouse or partner/parent to take an online survey. The survey can be found here (tinyurl.com/familylosssurvey), and is anonymous and confidential. You can also enter to win one of 10 $20 gift cards. If you would like more information please email Veronica at vadroser@gmail.com.
  18. My heart is officially shattered. My sweet baby, Scooter ("Tooter") crossed the Rainbow Bridge on Friday after a month long fight with a URI. He was 18 years old and has been with me since he was about 6 weeks old. I always knew this would be hard, but, I could have never fully prepared for this pain. He helped me through so many tough times in my life, and how can you get used to a pet who slept next to you for 18 years, not being there anymore? Anytime I see his photo, find his little hairs, or see the bed without him on it, I lose it all over again. I know this is going to take time, and it's especially going to be hard over the Holidays, but I just want to find some small shred of peace. I literally feel like I just lost a child...he is so special to me and I miss him so much already. I feel guilty that his transition wasn't as peaceful as it could have been. My mom and I had just finished his 4pm feeding...I was still holding him when he began the process. I knew what was happening, clutched on to him and began to scream and cry. I feel some comfort in knowing that he was in my arms, next to my heart when he took his final breath, but, I also feel like I made it more stressful on him by not being calm. I guess we all tend to feel guilty about some aspect of the passing of our babies. He is truly one of the great Loves of my life and that will never change. Rest in peace my sweet Baby. Mommy loves you more than words can ever say.
  19. I am 35 years old and an only child. My parents have been divorced since I was 5. Back in September 2015 (six months ago), my father lost his battle with colon cancer. We did not know how sick he was, I only got the news that he was terminal about 10 days before his death. His decline was rapid and he suffered terribly. I was there to administer his care, sat with him. He asked me if I would be okay and I told him I would. He chose a moment when I left his hospital room to let go. I have been struggling with his loss ever since, been seeing a therapist. I can't stop thinking about how he was so weak and in so much pain. I'll never forget it. So, that was six months ago. Two days ago, on March 30, I received a late night phone call from my stepfather letting me know my mom had passed away. She collapsed while sweeping the back porch from a ruptured brain aneurysm. She was 64 and perfectly healthy. I have airline tickets booked to go see her in a week. I spoke to her earlier that day and she was fine. I am so beside myself. I started feeling disconnected... laying on the couch, I felt like this was happening to someone else and I was watching. My heart is palpitating. I can't take a deep breath, I can't eat, I can't sleep. I moved up my flight and I'll be attending my mom's funeral on Tuesday. Just six months and one week from my dad's. i guess there's no point to this post... I just feel so alone in this. I need help from people who know..
  20. Hello everyone, It has been about a year now since I posted on here, however after identifying all those needing help like I did I wanted to share my grief blog with you all. Last year not only did it reach people around the world, but the response I had was really meaningful and just showed me how much it helped others. So I want to help you. Here is the link below https://believement.wordpress.com All my love xxxx
  21. I'm 17 years old. On the 29th of Sept, my boyfriend was murdered. I sent him a message, but he was a hard worker, I assumed he had switched off his phone to study for the next days history test. And then he wasn't there the next day, and this horrible anxious feeling kept rising in my chest. And now it's nearly a month that he's been gone. They've found the people who did this to him, but it doesn't make it any easier. It makes it worse, cause it feels too real. He was our Head Prefect (student body president) so everyone knew and loved him. And cause of that, quite a few people think that they have control over how to mourn him. Our relationship was really turbulent, and it was pretty well known that we had issues. As far as anyone knew, we were still over - but we'd gotten back on the quiet. Cause we loved eachother. But people seem to think that I shouldn't call him my boyfriend and I shouldn't go out and I shouldn't mourn like I am mourning but I can't be happy and and and. it is so difficult. I shouldn't care about what anyone thinks. But I do. I really do. They were my supposed best friends... and now they exclude me from gatherings and birthday parties. Their reactions have calmed down since, but it makes me feel icky. And it's made the whole thing worse. I have no-one since he died. Since my parents weren't aware we were together, they feel uncomfortable about the whole situation. His family loves me, but I hate hate imposing. His older brother has bonded with his other friends, and since they were closer with him and knew him in a different way, I'm like the outsider. The last thing I said to him was horrible. I wanted to chat to him at break, and he shrugged. I said " Whatever, Abram." And he said "Whatever, Hannah." And that was the last thing I said to my first love. I sent him a message (as previously mentioned) telling him I think we should end things, and he asked why. And within an hour, he was dead. Why did I give up so easily ? When he died, did he know I was just overreacting like I tend to, or did he think it was the last straw in our relationship and that I didn't love him? Did he still love me, despite all I put him through? His friend sent me a message telling me that one of his unknowingly dying wishes was that he'd been meaning to send "Said I loved you...but I lied" by Michael Bolton to me, but he couldn't. But I've struggled to believe it. I am so lonely. My parents are struggling to understand and my mom doesn't want me to keep mourning. I have a few good friends, but they're mourning him too. And it's not fair to go on to them all the time. I've lost my person you know, we'd been friends for awhile before we got together and now it feels like I have no one. It's so easy to go back to purging and restricting. I know he wouldn't want me to, I just feel like I'm going to. And I can't relapse, I can't. But I can't handle life without him. It's so difficult. I don't know what to do. I just want someone.
  22. Alright, I'm going to give you the whole story, but first let me tell you a little about me. I am a 15 year old, male, who was very close to my mother. She had been dealing with cancer almost my whole life. Let me tell you a little about my Mom. She was a nice, caring, and stubborn person. Her favorite drink was diet coke and she smoked cigarretes since she was 16. DON'T ANYONE SAY THAT IS PROBABLY THE REASON SHE HAD CANCER, BECAUSE IT HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH IT. SMOKING IS NOT EVEN PROVEN, FULLY, TO CAUSE CANCER. LEAST OF ALL BREAST CANCER. She got married in the 80's and had two children, my older sisters (27 and 28). She got divorced in 89 and married my father in 98. In 2001, I was born. Shortly after she got cancer. In 2003, my Mom was diagnosed with stage 0 breast cancer, in her breast. It was "simple" back then. She had a double vasectomy and that was the end of that. The doctor said that the surgery was 99.99% effective. Well, in 2010, she was diagnosed again with stage 0 breast cancer, in her breast. Alright, this is slightly more complicated because it came back. She went on chemo for about 8 monts, had radiation, and had a total breast reconstruction. This route is even more effective than a double vasectomy, especially for a stage 0 breast cancer patient. The doctors and us all thought, ok what are the odds that the cancer will come back after all the treatment she went through. Again, well, in 2013, she was diagnosed with stage 4 breast cancer that had metastisized to her brain, back, lungs, liver, and lymphnodes. After she was diagnosed, she took off disability from her job because she knew that she couldn't work and have treatment. Her doctor at the time, same doctor she had in 03 and 10, was ready to get on it and battle it with as much treatment as possible. As much as my mom wanted to be treated, she didn't want that to be the doctors only focus. As some of you may know, when you have stage 4 cancer your doctor should focus on two things treatment AND quality of life. As a result of that, she switched doctors. This new doctor focused on treatment and quality of life. My mom spent the first two years after diagnosis doing different chemos, and had back and brain radiation. She would take a week off here or there to go on vacation. Year three she definitley lived her way. She went on four cruises, two trips to Las Vegas, and two cabin trips, all while taking different chemo therapies. Until, in June 2016, she took a chemo called Doxil. Doxil is a very bad, hard, and strong chemo that take a grear toll on the heart. She started taking this because her cancer had been declared too aggressive, and it needed to battle back with a very aggressiev chemo. After taking two rounds, she was unabe to handle it so her doctor took her off of that chemo and switched her on to a pill form of xillota, I think that's how you spell it. She got scans soon before she started that new chemo and they showed improvement in the cancer. She started xillota in late August. She was on it for about a week then she started having bad diarrehea and was getting dehydrated. She went to the doctor and she set up an appointment at the hospital on Saturday for her to get fluids and orderd for her to stop taking the chemo. On Saturday she went to the hospital and got fluids, but she started throwing up, so they decided to keep her overnight. She was in there from Saturday and was discharged on Tuesday. Everyday she was in the hospiatl she was getting weaker and weaker. She had to start using a walker. Her brain function had dramtically decreased since she was discharge (confusion, halucinations, etc.). I was having to help her around the hause even with her walker. The following Staurday she was being unreponsive and refusing to take her pain medicine, which she took on a regular basis for back pain. My dad called 911 and she refused to go the hospital. My dad tried to get her to at least drink something and she wouldn't. About an hour later he called 911 again and she went to the hospital. They ran a CT scan and they noticed that her cnacer had shown improvement, but her blood work showed an irregularity in the liver. Her oncologist ordered ot do an MRI of the liver on Sunday to closely examine what is going on their. On Monday the doctor came in with the results. Her cancer had almost completley taken over her liver. In other words, her liver was failing. The doctor said that there is no chancer for a transplant and that she estimates that the end will come in the next two days. The hardest thing my Dad had to do was tell me and My sisters that our Mom was dying. On that day, the nurses swithced over to comfort care. If you haven't noticed by now my Mom is a fighter. She made it from the Saturday she was brought in until 1:25 A.M on Saturday, September 3rd, 2016. All of the doctors and nurses were in awe of how long she made it. This is the hardest thing I ever had to go through. I, luckily, was ablr to get time alone with hevr in the hsopital to tell her how much I love her. It was terrible being in that hospital everyday and watching her slowly die. The important thing is that she was comforatble. However, I was fine the first week but when the second week came it all hot me. I was in the shower listening to music. I was begging and pleaing for my Mom to come home and give me a hug one last time. Then, all of a sudden, the music changed to one of my Mom's favorite songs. I started crying hysterically becasue, in my opinion, I knew that she was there and hat was her way of letting= me know that she us allright and I will be fine too. However, it is still too hard. I constantly think about her or things I could tell her, but then I remember that I can't. Please give me any advice you have on how to cope. Also, if you have any questions, please feel free to ask. I will answer to the best of my ability. One of my main reasons of writing this is so all of you Stage 0 or Stage 1 and even Stage 2 people realise that it could very EASILY happen to you too. Spend time with your family and tell them everything no matter how hard it is. The only thing my Mom kept from me during this whol etime was her life expectancy. Apparently when she was first diagnosed she asked the doctor what the life expectancy is. The doctor said, a "typical case" last about three years. My Mom made it three years and two months. Thank you for taking the time to read this. If anyine has any suggestions on how to cope with this, it will be much appreciated.
  23. Hey! Came across your grief support forum and thought I would recommend a great film that helped me in the grieving process. It's film about healing after loss called "Death as Life." It's very inspirational and helpful to me when I was going through a tough time after loosing my Memo. Go here to find out more of where to get it: http://sofiawellman.com/inspirational-products/coping-with-death-film/ Best regards, Jay
  24. https://www.theodysseyonline.com/dear-daddy-letter-to-the-man-lost-too-so
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