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Found 105 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. My father died when I was 13 years old. Ever since, I have wondered about the long-term effects of such a devastating loss. I am now a fourth year Clinical Psychology PhD Student in New York City and I am thrilled that I have been able to turn this very personal topic into a meaningful dissertation study. If you meet the criteria listed below, I would be so grateful if you would take my survey! Please also share the link with anyone who might be interested. Your participation will be anonymous and you will also have a chance to enter into a raffle to win one of three $50 Amazon gift cards. 1. Are you currently 18 years or older and fluent in English? 2. Have you ever been romantically involved with someone? 3. Have you experienced the death of your biological mother or father before the age of 17? 4. If yes, were your biological mother and father married or living together prior to the death? If you answered yes to all of these questions, please click the link below: https://survey.co1.qualtrics.com/jfe/form/SV_9sKf37iPMrdgkMB Please email RelationshipsStudy2017@gmail.com if you have any questions. You can also email me if you are interested in hearing about the results after the study is complete. I am happy to share my findings! Thank you so much.
  3. 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.
  4. I recently lost my oldest brother, 33 to a severe car accident he and his wife of 11 and a half years were in. I received the call that she was in the hospital and that he did not make it. My whole world came crashing down. In an instant everything I loved and held dear to my heart was taken from me. It's been 3 months going on four months and I still wait up for him to come home, I'm still having neightmares of it happening to us again. This pain will never go away, I still hear all these voices in my head "he didn't make it" I had to call my mom and tell her that her baby was gone all I hear everyday "I have to go my son died". There is no reason this accident should have happened there was no traffic, it wasn't raining. The only cause is reckless driving. The man who hit them was late to work, he was speeding. He put his life before my brothers life. He took him away from me, my family, his wife, my 5 year old niece. He was her god father , he was suppose to take care of her. How is any of this fair? What did we do to deserve this? He was as close as it comes to being perfect. He always put others before himself, always so kind, giving, thoughtful and always laughing, smiling and jokeing around. He always did everything for us, he was the older brother aka the other dad, there were four of us kids, he always took care of us even when he didn't have to. His response was always the same when he did something for us "it's because I want to" I'll never get over all the hurt, sadness, anger, anxiety. Everything was so traumatic, it still is to this day. My life has forever been ruined. This man who hit him is out there, he's on the road who's to say he won't do this again? Why is he allowed to live, come home to his family? His complete family. I never got to say good bye, hug him, or tell him how much I love him and how much he means to me. The day he ended my brothers life he ended mine.
  5. Hi everyone. I'm new here. Just needed somewhere to reach out. Hope that's ok? I lost my Dad two weeks ago, I am 54, he was 84. Although in retirement he moved away with my Mum we remained so very close. He was my rock, my go-to person for any problems, also the person I laughed so much with. I am not coping. The funeral is the day after tomorrow. I have to write the eulogy and deliver it. I just don't know how I'm going to do it. emotionally I am very unstable, one minute ok next minute in tears. One minute happy, the next grumpy and snappy. Physically I am exhausted, feeling confused and dizzy. this is horrible. How do we get through this? Susie x
  6. I don't even know where to start, so I suppose I'll start at the beginning. 16 years ago I was rollerblading on a bike trail... tells ya how long ago this really was right?? As I'm rolling down the trail this beautiful black cat literally crosses my path. She walks out of the woods, and sits down and just stares at me with these big yellow saucer eyes. She meows at me, and it's love at first site. I picked her up and rolled back to my car with her. Let me tell you, roller blading with no arm balance is no easy feat, but I'd do it all over again a million times if it'd bring her back. I wasn't allowed to have pets, and I told myself that I'd take her to the animal shelter in a few days. She ended up with a name right away (Mitsu) and a box of toys that would go along with her, whenever I would get around to taking her there... Well, needless to say 16 years later I'm writing on a forum grieving over her. She was an amazing cat from the start, and she always looked excited with those wide eyes of hers. In all these years together she has watched me make a million mistakes, and rejoice over several great accomplishments. She was by my side without fail, and when ever the hardships of my life would occur, she didn't mind that I got those salty tears caught up in her fur. She just stared at me lovingly and let me pet her and hug her. I used to joke around that moving was a hobby of mine, and although she didn't enjoy it she came right along for every move I've ever made. When the world would spin out of control and everything would change at a rapid pace, she was the one constant. She was always there, loving me, and man I loved her right back. 6 years ago I brought her a furry friend and I didn't know how she'd take it. She'd had a couple other pets join her along the way when I'd had a roommate or boyfriend who'd bring theirs along, and she was never very thrilled about it. She wanted me all to herself. When I brought Zombie home, he was smaller than her which cracked me up. She was only 6 pounds her whole life, and Zombie is all of 4 pounds and shorter than her. He is a Yorkie Chihuahua pound puppy and I'll admit, it took her a short amount of time to love him. But then I'd catch them snuggled up together. When I met my boyfriend she fell in love for the first time. She loved him in the same way that she loved me, and he treated her as if she had always been in his life. We were a happy little family. I'd had her checked out at the vet less than 2 years ago, and he was amazed at how healthy she was for her age. I guess this is why I'm so devastated now. I realize she was getting old but there was just no warning. She was fine last Wednesday before I left for work. She followed me around like normal and even played with her favorite mouse toy. When I got home a few hours later I couldn't find her and I knew something was instantly wrong. I called for her, and she made the most horrific meowing sound that I'd ever heard. I scooped her up and we got her to the ER vet as quickly as we could. They took her from us as soon as we rushed in, and hooked her up to an IV. Thursday morning I called to check on her, and they weren't having much success finding out exactly what was wrong with her. When we went to see her Thursday night I knew we were going to lose her. It took my breath away seeing her nearly lifeless body. The only way I could tell she was alive was by the rise and fall of her breath in her body. She was unresponsive and her eyes seemed to stare at nothing. The vet tech said she had been like that all day. When I talked to the vet earlier in the day, he said she was still feeling dumpy, but I had no idea she was like this. After about an hour us talking to her and petting her, she did headbutt my boyfriend's hand for some more affection. She always did this, and it was very uplifting. I got up to sit down behind her, and she actually got up and turned around to face me. I just pulled her close to me and hugged her and kissed her so many times, as my tears dripped onto her and silently slid onto the blanket she was laying on. I told her how much I loved her and told her that if she was suffering to let go, that we would understand and in time be ok. The vet came in to check on her, and I told him that I didn't want her to suffer and asked if we should euthanize her. He assured me that he was still working on treating her, and he still had some hope that he could get her better if she would hold on for a little longer. It was after midnight, and I told him I'd give him until the next morning. A few hours later we got the call that she had stopped breathing. We went to see her one final time to say goodbye. I know that we were lucky because we got that chance, but it was so sudden, and she died the day before my birthday. Tomorrow it will be a week, and I have not been able to eat, and there is a ragged feeling in my body. I am just destroyed over this and I don't know what to do. I just watched 16 years fade away. I don't feel like talking to anyone I know because they just don't get it. I have been told that this is life, and everyone dies...etc. My boss told me to smile, and that I just needed to get another cat. Smiling is the last thing I feel like doing. Zombie is beside himself, and he keeps going to look for her. I put the blanket that she slept on next to me and he finally stopped and laid down on it. I don't know where to go from here. Any advice? Sorry for the long post, I'd heard that writing about them and their loss would help. So thank you for reading and for any help you can offer.
  7. 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
  8. So, despite my spelling and display name I am 14, my mom died of a 2 year battle with cancer- and I still feel lonely and lost without her. Those two years were extremely hard, firstly, my mom was diagnosed with cancer after being sick frequently and we had to cancel all our holidays but after around 1-2 years she got the all clear which I definitely took for granted. It was then a thursday afternoon when I got back from school with my long term best friend that she told me she only had 6 months left. I cried all night and the next day too. After around 3 months, she had surgery that failed and she was paralysed which she would cry about (she was depressed at this time). She didn't feel herself. She said she felt ugly. She was very smart too, and she said she felt as if the old her had gone. She couldn't do things with us anymore and I'd felt angry and sad and upset the whole time, there'd be times where I would collapse and not be able to breathe because I couldn't physically comprehend what was about to happen. I went to a netball match on Wednesday 12th November, and when I got back my grandma told me she was gone. I didn't cry the whole night. Me, my brother and my sister whom are both older than me all sat in the living room not really talking and I was awkwardly finding and saving pictures of nice houses as possibly a coping mechanism? I don't know. Before this, I'd fell into depression. I was self-harming, and not for attention in fact I hid it. I never talk about this, but it was the one time. After my dad noticed I explained it was because of the pain I was going through, after he forced me to talk to my mom in the hospice she was crying and felt guilty and I wanted to curl up in a ball and never talk or speak or live. After her death, I was okay. But I still have anxiety and depression disorder (GAD or the down side of Bipolar, without the mania). Year 7 was horrible, I was shy. Year 8 was gruel as I was trying to be pretty and seem normal. I have always felt ashamed of the way I look, and it was only recently my grandma and I were talking about my mom. She said she went through exactly what I did in terms of social situations, no one but my dad knows of my issue, no one (my brother does pick on me for being mentally unstable). Anyways, a couple years on and I still feel lonely and ugly. I still wish she was here so she could help me, she knows what I was going through and I just sometimes sit in bed and wonder who cares about me? Who actually do I have? My family fell apart after her death. My brother drinks and does drugs as well as being emotionally abusive to all of us, like I said with the comments, and is constantly breaking this family. My sister and I never get on. My dad is upset and moody and has a girlfriend who I like, but never spends time with us. I don't know, the sadness I've come to know and almost love. It's warming to be alone and not to have anyone, apart from my two stray cats. (I know, I'm a loner). I just don't know how long this will last. Will I ever get over her death? The memories and anger always come back, and the thought of her being so afraid before she died makes me want to too. Any comments or help will be much appreciated. - Bea.
  9. 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.
  10. When I was 7 Years old I lost my mother to Ovarian Cancer. She had the illness for three years but me and my brother who was only five didn't know. That was her choice, not to tell us but I still remember what happened like it was yesterday. On May 19th, I was in an accident, small one but I broke my finger and I had to go to the Emergency Room. My friend's mum was babysitting me and my friend at my house, my dad was at the hospital with her. He came back home, looking like he had been crying but he brushed it off when I asked. He then took me to a different hospital where they looked at my finger. When I was ready to go to sleep I hear the stairs creak and I know that it's my dad but hope it's my mum because she would still try to be there for me and my brother at events because she wanted a normal life for us. My dad was talking to my little brother and I heard my brother cry, I was scared to get up, brushed it off at first. He then came into my room and said "Mummy has died." I then cried for several hours and sat there and named everything I couldn't do without her. God, I miss her. She would always go the extra mile to help me out, she never failed me. I thought her illness was as bad as a cold because I was so young and didn't even know what happened. I didn't even know what cancer was, my brother didn't even know what death meant he was 5, but his instincts told him. I remember getting cards from everyone at school, people I didn't even know. I feel so numb. I'm on antidepressants now and they help, but I wish I could forget. I also am happy I remember but maybe I wouldn't be this shattered emotionally if I didn't remember. I remember her funeral way too well. We went to a church and then we had her service. Everyone was crying except me, my dad and my brother. At one point my brother started to cry and say "I miss my mummy. When is she coming back from heaven?" Or something along those lines. That broke my heart, and set me off crying for the first time since I cried that night. We were all in shock. At her burial I did the best to distract my brother and my grandma, her mother. That's what I tend to do, I care for others more than myself. I kept a smile on my face the whole funeral, watching my relatives sob. bI wanted to break and I needed her to get out of that casket and hug me and never let me go, but I knew that wasn't going to happen. I was in denial until the funeral. The 'moving on' part was a big slap in the face. You can't move on, but you have to live your life and that was the worst part for me. I didn't want to let her go. Actually no, the worst part was I didn't get to say goodbye. She left me a note with some of her memories and other details in it and she was so weak but she kept on typing. I won't go into full detail about the note, but included some of her favourite memories we spent. That broke my heart, because I didn't even appreciate them when they happened. I know it could be so much worse, but that's the story of how I lost my mother. I'm still learning to survive with Grief and it's the hardest thing I've ever learnt to cope with. I haven't been to her grave in 6 years, we moved countries after she died and that made it a lot worse. I remember spending everyday for 3 days after school in the hospital with her and her face still haunts me, maybe in a good way. But I watched her slowly die and I don't think I will ever be able to erase that.Thank you for reading this, maybe I will do an update in the future. Rest In Peace Verity. Also, Our family has a history of this type of Cancer so either I'm going to get it or if I have a daughter she will get it. It sometimes skips a generation but either me or her is going to die from it before the age of 60 like the other women in our family, also I do know the chances are small but I'm a teenager and I know that that's a risk I just can't take. I haven;t told my friends but I hate the fact that I can't have kids, I may be getting a test for the gene BRCA1 and BRCA2 so I will maybe do an update then,I know I can still have kids but it's such a high risk. I love kids, I can't take a chance and give her a short life. I wouldn't know the gender but I can't live thinking I've set my daughter up for death. DISCLAIMER: I am not pregnant now and won't be for either a while or never.
  11. I am 18 and I lost my mom February 16th to metastasized breast cancer to the bones and liver. I knew she wasn't going to live to see the age of 60 and I had just (literally two days) before come to terms with the fact that my mother was going to die before I wanted her to. I bawled my eyes out to my counsellor but she said I had taken strides in accepting my moms fate. Still, she was always so positive and had a bright look on the future, which in turn caused all of us to. The week before she died even while she was in the hospital she was the one reassuring me to take each day at a time. That was one of my last conversations with her actually, as I had called her the day before she passed (we thought she was coming home). When she went to the hospital, she was very yellow and had yellow eyes, and she was throwing up black more towards the end. The doctors apparently didn't know what was wrong with her but even before she went into the hospital I remember crying to my dad telling him these were signs of liver failure. I truly believe she kept her fate from us that week to spare us misery well we spent our last moments with her. Still, I was so scared but I had kept my positive energy until the very end. The last time my mom was conscious when I saw her, we talked about what life would be like without her, and we talked about personal things I've always wanted to tell her. She hugged me goodbye extra hard that night and now that I am looking back on it, it felt like she was saying goodbye. On the actual night she passed away, I was at soccer and my dad came in and looked at me and said we have to go. My stomach turned into a pit and I went into shock in our truck (I went into literal shock, I didn't not cry but my body was seizing up, I couldn't move and I was going numb). I gathered myself up, because I have a twin sister and a younger brother a sister. They were all crying hysterically, but I couldn't cry because I was in shock. When we got to the hospital we all sprinted up to my moms hospital room and seeing her like that made me start to cry hysterically. I couldn't believe the family rock, our spark and the love of each of our lives was actually leaving us. She was put into a sleeping state and we all said goodbye to her then. She passed three hours later and I was the last to kiss her goodbye. My immediate family is very close and because my mom was such a big presence in the community we have a lot of support, but ever since that day it feels as if my soul has been sucked out of me. I literally can't breath properly and I talk with my family about my feeling but my body still feels incomplete and soulless. I feel the lack of her presence every second of the day. she won't see my brother and sister graduate high school, she doesn't even know if I got accepted to the university of my dreams, I don't know her secret recipes, shell never see any of us fall in love and ill never see her eyes sparkle or hear her laugh. There are so many reminders of her everywhere, all over town and in my home, that it makes me ache so badly. Its so hard and its so confusing and scary all at the same time. I was so shocked that she left us so fast and that we had so many unanswered questions. I wish I could have one more minute to talk with her and tell her I love her and just to see her smile, I know this is all silly talk but my mom was the most ravishing sparkle and bad things arnt supposed to happen to pure and good people. I miss her so much and I don't know how I'm going to live the rest of my life without her. Im not saying that to be emo, I know we have to go on but I mean like I don't know how ill ever be able to laugh or build a family or stuff like that without my mothers love and guidance.
  12. 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.
  13. 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.
  14. 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.
  15. 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
  16. 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
  17. 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
  18. 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
  19. 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
  20. 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.
  21. 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.
  22. 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
  23. 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.
  24. 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.
  25. 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)