Run out of plans...

Thankyou for the Football Staduim comment but I think that's my bum your talking about 😳

Most people think I am a dog breeder but actually I am a grief councillor you wouldn't believe how many people phone me to enquire about a puppy only to burst into tears before they have actually spoken to me .

It's something I deal with on a weekly basis , I know some people would say it was only a dog and doesn't compare with a person my answer to that is it is the love they felt and there grief is real .

Of course I wouldn't compare the loss of a loved one to that of a pet but these people are genuinely grieving and you thought my life was just puppy poop !

Time ! Time ! Is the only healer and unfortunately you can't rush time and nor she would we try to. At the moment you are living in grief every moment of every day , sleeping it / eating it / breathing it / dreaming it . It is all consuming but I promise you one day it won't be your first thought when you wake . Ok it will be your second thought but that is progress until one day you will feel the Sun on your skin and enjoy the taste of food again .

There is no magic formula only time can heal you at the moment you feel like you are wading through Treacle with your wellies on stuck to the treacle and unable to move forward every step is such a huge effort. In time the treacle will become like syrup and you will slip and slide for a bit maybe even slip backwards for a while , eventually the syrup will become like sugar water and you could even try your flip flops , the wellies will be long gone but take care because that grief is still there and the floor is still slippery.

Then the Sun will come out and dry the floor completely and you won't even worry about what shoes to wear , you might even go bare foot.

I am here when you need me .

BFN

Julie X

Does this help? I've only copied and pasted it though

MY FRIEND JUST DIED. I DON’T KNOW WHAT TO DO.”

the grief cycle

ALRIGHT, HERE GOES. I’M OLD. WHAT THAT MEANS IS THAT I’VE SURVIVED (SO FAR) AND A LOT OF PEOPLE I’VE KNOWN AND LOVED DID NOT.

I’VE LOST FRIENDS, BEST FRIENDS, ACQUAINTANCES, CO-WORKERS, GRANDPARENTS, MOM, RELATIVES, TEACHERS, MENTORS, STUDENTS, NEIGHBORS, AND A HOST OF OTHER FOLKS. I HAVE NO CHILDREN, AND I CAN’T IMAGINE THE PAIN IT MUST BE TO LOSE A CHILD. BUT HERE’S MY TWO CENTS.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes.

My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see.

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function.

You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

~ by GSnow

Edited by member 30 Aug 2017 at 20:36  | Reason: Not specified