Grief - it was like smoke. Thick dense smoke from a house fire smothering and choking me. Smoky trendels of death encompassing me. You blow it away and even more replaces it. Grief, sorrow, misery, suffering, heartbreak. Words, just words, ones that can't even come close to describing the anguish I am feeling. Now all that is left is a clay urn. Full of ashes, like the remains of a memory. The priest's words drone on, so impersonal, so indifferent. Uncaring to the suffering I am feeling. To him she is nobody, to me, she is my world. Now the only thing physical thing left of her is an image. Well worn and faded, more precious than anything money can buy. Nothing can take this away from me.
It was the birds that woke me. Their small chirps and
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whistles announcing the arrival of the day. I opened my eyes to nothing. Not black, just the absence of colour, not nothing just the absence of anything. I rolled to the left of the bed, expecting, like I had everyday this past year, for there to be the warmth of life but now there was nothing, something I should already be used to. Just the cold sheets, untouched, smooth, with a lack of life. Today marked a year, a year since the love of my life left me, a year since I had felt anything remotely close to warmth around my frozen heart. But just a week since the only thing I had left of her was robbed from me. I could still picture her clearly in my mind, her flowery dress full of vivid colours, pinks, reds, oranges, greens, blues and yellows covered by her flour smeared apron. The smell of all kinds of baking followed her wherever she went, the smell of home. Her brown hair drawn back in a loose bun. Warm eyes the colour of molten chocolate filled with kindness, surrounded by lines, evidence of her constant smiles and laughter. Her laughter was indescribable, like a sound of magic, a carefree sound full of laughter and joy. It brought feelings of peace and happiness to me, but also despair for I knew I would never hear her laugh again only in my memory. On the first anniversary of her death I longed to have her beside me but she was gone, I couldn’t even look at a picture for like death, blindness wasn’t something that could be undone. It was caretaker who woke me. Her incessant chatter in her annoyingly perky voice as she wakes me with a cheery good morning yanking me from my dreams. Dreams of a better life when I could still see and my love was still with me. However my lack of sight has taken its toll and my age is not kind to me. Now her image is no longer as clear and the once vivid colours of her dress have become muted and blurred. All that remains in my memory of her is her kind brown eyes still shined with that eternal love, the kind that can never be extinguished and her laughter, while it was quieter, it was no less magical. Fulling me with feelings of joy and happiness. However on the second year anniversary of her death my life only seems more meaningless and empty. It’s the beeping that wakes me. That cold, impersonal, shill, repetitive noise signalling that my heart's still beating even when somedays it feels as if it was so fragile it could just stop and let me finally leave this world of loneliness and despair. I lie on the hard hospital bed trapped in my frailty of weak bones, sagging skin and a empty heart. Because when something stays frozen for too long it becomes brittle and weak and three years after that cursed day the hope of finding something to melt my heart has greatly diminished. Why has God cursed me so, for now her image is no longer in my mind. Only her magical laughter remains however it doesn’t evoke feelings of joy but only despair, grief and anger. What did I do to deserve this, first to have her taken away from me, a loss of sight and ability to gaze upon photos of the years we had together and then my senility cursing me to forget her image. In this cold empty hospital room shrouded with death I have never felt so alone. I am restless, I can feel the years in my tired body, I can feel the end approaching.
Death held no fear for me, only hope. Just the single hope that I could see her one last time, hear her speak in her melodious tones and let her laughter surround me and fill me with joy. For in my memory nothing remained of her. The one thing I swore to remember and cherish was gone, her laughter. Suddenly a loud continuous beep fills the empty silent room as I hear frantic doctors and nurses flood in. They can do nothing for me now. As the beeps of my heart grow slower and slower I can feel myself falling into a deep sleep my grief dragging me down into an oblivion of darkness.
my spirit trying to pull away from my spent body. But the grief clung to me, trying to drag me back to my human vessel. I felt the light and dark fight for possession of my soul a tug of war between good and evil. But the darkness won and I sank into an oblivion of endless black, cursed to wander alone forever with my grief.
For the first time in 4 years I could see. A silhouette surrounded by an angelic light. The angel held out her hand, brown hair in a bun and a brightly coloured flowery dress with the warmest most loving brown eyes. As I took her hand I heard a laugh the most alluring and magnificent sound I had ever heard filling me with a feeling of bliss and tranquility. As we began to drift skyward in the corner of my subconscious I heard the beeping
stop.
As the first poem in the book it sums up the primary focus of the works in its exploration of loss, grieving, and recovery. The questions posed about the nature of God become recurring themes in the following sections, especially One and Four. The symbolism includes the image of earthly possessions sprawled out like gangly dolls, a reference possibly meant to bring about a sense of nostalgia which this poem does quite well. The final lines cement the message that this is about loss and life, the idea that once something is lost, it can no longer belong to anyone anymore brings a sense...
“Pass On” written by Michael Lee is a free verse poem informing readers on grief, which is one of the most difficult obstacles to overcome not only when losing a loved one, but also in life itself. “Pass On” successfully developed this topic through the setting of an unknown character who explains his or her experience of grief. Despite Lee never introducing this character, readers are given enough information to know how they are overcoming this difficult obstacle. In fact, this unknown character is most likely the writer himself, indirectly explaining his moments of grief. One important piece of information Lee provides is the fact that he has experienced loss twice, one with his grandfather and the other a friend who was murdered by the
The author initially uses words with negative connotation, such “wild,” “storm of grief,” and “sank into her soul” (1), to suggest a normal reaction to the death of a loved one.
Breavement is handeled differently in different generations. Weather it is a kid that has a terminal illness or an elderly person who is diagnosed with a terminal illness, each breave differently. Breavement deals with not just someone clsoe dying but, someone themselvs who is diagnosed with a life threatening illness.
Death is a reality that can be interpreted in many ways. Some people fear the possibility of no longer living and others welcome the opportunity for a new life in the afterlife. Many poets have been inspired by death, be it by the approaching death of loved ones or a battle for immortality. Just as each poet is inspired differently, each poem casts a different hue of light on the topic of death giving readers a unique way to look at death.
or any issues with her urine production. Mrs. L stated that she does not urinate excessively and that she has never noticed an extreme change in color of her urine. A urinary tract infection or yeast infection is not something that Mrs. L said she has experienced in the past. Mrs. L stated that she is not currently sexually active because of her age and it is more difficult than it used to be. She has never had any sexually transmitted infections or other issues with her genital health. Mrs. L stated that she does have arthritis in her feet and hips. She has never had a muscle tear or tore a ligament or tendon. Mrs. L also said that she has never had any issues with her ACL. Her back surgeries are the only things Mrs. L stated that have been
Surrounded by a foggy white film, I tried to adjust my vision to see. Anything familiar would appease me at this point. Nonetheless, I did not see a thing. Am I dead?" I thought to myself. Can this possibly be what the afterlife is like? I began to feel very anxious. The dense mist totally consumed my body and mind. This was not what I planned for myself. My life was supposed to be filled with an array of happiness, love, wonderful sights, and the joy of watching my children grow. Where is my sanctuary? Last thing I remember was looking out of my window and seeing the serene sky. At the time, I assumed I would be joining those that I love so deeply. My assumption was dismissed by a glimmer of reflection on my life up to this point.
The night was tempestuous and my emotions were subtle, like the flame upon a torch. They blew out at the same time that my sense of tranquility dispersed, as if the winds had simply come and gone. The shrill scream of a young girl ricocheted off the walls and for a few brief seconds, it was the only sound that I could hear. It was then that the waves of turmoil commenced to crash upon me. It seemed as though every last one of my senses were succumbed to disperse from my reach completely. As everything blurred, I could just barely make out the slam of a door from somewhere alongside me and soon, the only thing that was left in its place was an ominous silence.
Since July 2009, my personal life consisted of taking care of my ill husband. My husband was my best friend and we did everything together. Last year when he passed a huge gap was left in my life. Besides dealing with my grief, I am working to build a life without him. However, I am relying on God to guide me through the grief and help me rebuild my life. Thankfully, through this program I have an opportunity to grow closer to God while I build my life for the future.
Grief can be defined as the natural reaction to loss. Grief is both a universal and personal experience (Mayo Clinic, 2014). Individual experiences of grief vary and are influenced by the nature of the loss (Mayo Clinic, 2014). There are multiple different theories that have attempted to explain the complex process of grief and loss. Theorists such as Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, William Worden and John Bowbly explain in their theories how they believe an individual deals with the grieving process. In this essay, I will be focusing on William Worden’s theory and will be discussing the process for a child aged nine to eleven.
The word grief means a reaction that an individual show particularly for losing someone or something that they are very precious. Grief can be associated with anything like loss of loved ones, relationship breakage, pet death or loss of something that is very precious. Grief is a natural reaction to loss, which is combination of an emotion and psychological response to loss (Wilson, 2012). The process of grief has some dimensions as behavioral, cultural, cognitive, social and philosophical (Sooter, Chikaraishi, & Hedges, 2014). Bereavement is the process of grieving and letting go of the loved one who has passed away. People mourn is affected by religious, belief, culture and customs (Care, 2013). The term bereavement is interlinked with the process
All of my life, until I was eighteen years old, I didn’t understand the concept of grieving. Grief just hasn’t been something I’ve ever had to experience before. Because of my lack of experience I had no understanding of what grieving felt like. All of his changed for me on July 29th.
Death is a natural and inevitable part of life. Everyone will experience death, whether it is of a loved one or oneself. In W.H. Auden’s poem “Funeral Blues” (1003), he describes such a catastrophic event and the drastic effect that it has on his life. It is interesting how people choose to accept this permanent and expected event, death. Similarly, Emily Dickinson has written many poems about death, such as “The last Night that She lived” (843), which describes a family waiting for a woman or girl to die and the dreary and depressed mood that exists within the household. Mourning is considered a perfectly healthy reaction when someone who is deeply loved and cared about passes on, and this is illustrated in “The Memory of Elena” (1070-71) by Carolyn Forche. She writes about the events following a funeral and also flashes back to the actual moment that a wife has watched her husband die. W.H Auden’s “Funeral Blues,” Carolyn Forche’s “The Memory of Elena,” and Emily Dickinson’s “The last Night that She lived” are all poems which share death as their subject matter, but differ in the fact that they discuss death in a unique style with a variety of literary devices to make them more effective.
Two years and four months ago I died. A terrible condition struck me, and I was unable to do anything about it. In a matter of less than a year, it crushed down all of my hopes and dreams. This condition was the death of my mother. Even today, when I talk about it, I burst into tears because I feel as though it was yesterday. I desperately tried to forget, and that meant living in denial about what had happened. I never wanted to speak about it whenever anyone would ask me how I felt. To lose my Mom meant losing my life. I felt I died with her. Many times I wished I had given up, but I knew it would break the promise we made years before she passed away. Therefore, I came back from the dead determined and more spirited than before.
The moment we stepped foot into the hospital, I could hear my aunt telling my mother that “he is in a better place now”. At that moment, something had already told me that my dad was deceased; it was like I could feel it or something. I felt the chills that all of a sudden came on my arms. As my mother and grandmother were both holding my hand, they took me into this small room. The walls were white, and it had a table with four tissue boxes sitting on the top. My other grandmother was there, and so were my two aunts, my uncles, and