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Your New Reality: How traumatic grief reshapes your world

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posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 11:23 AM
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Rare is the person who will miss the grief experience. As intelligent beings, we have a deep sense of loss, whether loss of a job, innocence, or another person. Generally, grief is a staged process that helps us to deal with our loss in a reasonably ordered manner, and then move on. Some losses are greater than others, and some few can push grieving into a level that is traumatic and has a profound and lasting effect on a person.

My wife and I awaited one another for 42 years, searching for the right person, our soulmate, and she was mine and I was hers. We knew after just a few weeks of meeting that we would spend the rest of our lives together, we were engaged within three months, and married three months after that. As my wife, Patti, said, "when you know you've found the perfect person, why would you want to wait?" It was as if she knew that our time together would be short.

After four years of marriage, every day a joy for me, and after a morning no different than any other, Patti called me at work around lunchtime and, with a strained voice, told me she thought she was having a heart attack. I was home ten minutes later to let the EMTs in, but they were unable to resuscitate her -- in speaking with the EMTs and, later, one of Patti's sisters, a nurse, it's likely that she died within a minute or two of that phone call. Only 46 years old, and dead from a massive heart attack.

What happened to her, I have faith and belief, but I don't have any knowledge. What happened to me, though, has been traumatic, complete, and devastating. As I begin to work out of the other side, I thought to write some of this down, to share the sorts of things that happen. It is likely that you will experience something similar, and whether you do or not, it may help you interact with a friend or family member in a similar situation.

I do have to say, however, that a commonality of traumatic grief is that it doesn't affect everyone the same way, and it's both unfair and improper to assume that lessons learned from one grief experience will apply to another. Grief is a reflection of the relationship, the person grieving, and external factors that have nothing to do with the loss. For example, I have Asperger's Syndrome, one of the reasons that my relationship with Patti was so special, because she understood, worked with and actually enjoyed some of my foibles, but that part of my person affects how I grieve.

Elizabeth Kübler-Ross fashioned the famous "Five Stages of Grief" -- denial, anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance -- out of her work with people who were, themselves, dying, but she quickly realized that it applied not just to the dying, but to those who grieve their loss. Shock comes before any of them, and it's like taking a shovel to the head. As I sat in the emergency room, listening to the ER doctor tell me that Patti was gone, I felt absolutely, utterly numb. Not generally emotional, I cried, wailed, shook like a leaf. "I don't know what I'm going to do", I said, over and over, to no one in particular. The hospital chaplain asked me if I wanted to go into the room to see her, and I did, but I kind of wish that I hadn't -- she still had tubes shoved down her throat, and her eyes were open, vacant, staring, and all I could do was grab her hand, already cooling, and start bawling and telling her how sorry I was.

Sorry, for what, I don't know. I've still not sorted that out, though when I visit her grave, or talk to her, I still have this overwhelming sense of feeling sorry.

But the shock remained, and it was a cocoon, of sorts, that sheltered me from the stark reality of my situation. Getting her back to her home town, five hours away, getting myself there, planning the funeral, writing part of the eulogy, all tasks made easier by the fact that I felt nothing, I saw nothing, I remembered nothing. I vaguely remember the wake and the funeral, although when I concentrate, pieces of it come back crystal clear.

After the funeral, I returned home, although I no longer really had anyone here. In the ensuing months, I've worked through a couple of other stages, although I skipped anger and bargaining, for the most part (Kübler-Ross noted that all stages aren't necessary, but everyone goes through at least three of them.) Reading through other people's experiences, I've found that there are generally two types of recovery from traumatic grief. The first group works through things and, though they will continue to be impacted by their loss, they generally work themselves back to a state of normalcy in time.

The second group, and I count myself among them, do not ever get back to that state. A "new normal" develops, but it is a normal that an outsider would view as being skewed, a reality that has parts from this world, and parts from a world of sorrow and pain. Ultimately, I'm okay with that. I have a very strong faith, and it has both sustained me and actually grown through this experience, but the deep love that Patti and I developed in those four and a half years made her such a part of me that her loss literally ripped away a large piece of who I had become, and I don't expect to ever feel less hollow.

Some aspects of reality that traumatic grieving have impacted include:

Financial -- I can't emphasize this enough, which is why I have put it first. We live in a world where so much of our financial lives are online and protected by PINs and a variety of passwords, and if you're not able to tell your spouse what one of those seemingly insignificant pieces of data is, you will be causing them undue stress at a time they can least afford it. I never bothered asking Patti what her password or PIN for her online bank account was, so that money stayed locked up in her bank until we went through probate. The day I realized this, I wrote a letter to my daughter, detailed every account, password and PIN, and put that letter in my safe deposit box. Don't make your wife or husband worry about how they're going to feed the kids because you didn't tell them a four digit number.

When you are dead, no one can ever ask you anything, ever again. Not your PIN, not what you'd like to name your unborn child, not where you put the flyswatter, nothing. If it's important to you, write it down. You might live to be 100, you might die in the next hour. Write it down.

(continued)




posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 11:26 AM
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Spiritual -- Like I said, this experience has brought me closer to God. That might seem a bit odd, but Patti and I both were deeply religious, and my faith tells me that God didn't kill her, and, though he might have saved her, the better good came from her passing. That's something I don't understand, but I recognize that, and so I don't fault God, but thank him for being here to help me through this.

Social -- My experiences are tempered, a bit, by my Asperger's, but I've seen others say similar things. Your relationship with other people is bidirectional, though ironically both sides act the same way, for different reasons. For the most part, I am ignored by other people, avoided by them. I can spend eight hours in an office and never have one word spoken to me, even by friends or people I've known for years. I've actually seen people see me coming down the hall, and turn to feign interest in a painting to avoid talking to me. Why? Because it's uncomfortable. Because I'm that poor guy whose wife died, and who doesn't seem to be getting beyond it, and they don't want to think about it, because it's just unpleasant.

When people ask you how you are, I divide them into two groups. The first group, which is pretty much everyone, doesn't really care, they just feel they need to ask to be polite. A simple "I'm doing okay, thanks" sends them on their way, but it doesn't really matter what you say, because they're going to be uncomfortable with anything, because they're uncomfortable with you. The second group, which is almost exclusively family, cares very much what you say, but they're not very happy with what it is. I'm not sure what people's expectations are, but I can tell you that, whether I say I'm good, I'm awful, or I'm okay, they're concerned with that. It's aggravating, because I feel like I'm making progress, getting through this, but no one seems happy with how I'm doing.

Going the other way, I have a massive drive to want to be with people, but not to associate with them. Lewis, again, put it very aptly when he wrote "I want to be in a house filled with people, if only they would speak to each other and never to me." Most of the aversion is that sense of discomfort, not only their unease at talking to me, but my unease at the feelings of envy I have for their normal life, their stability, their lack of grief. As I said, this all pretty much works out, but leaves me alone a lot of the time, and alienated when I'm around others.

Weirdness -- Patti and I had an amazing level of communication, we talked every day, always stayed in touch, even though we both travelled a fair amount for business. I had hoped that this closeness would mean some level of communication after her passing, but I haven't seen it. There have been a large number of odd things that have happened to me, but I would say only a handful are odd enough, and meaningful enough, to merit consideration of being supernatural, and none of them that I would pin my faith on.

Associative -- This probably also falls under the "weirdness" category, but it's more mental or psychological than that. Since this happened, I find that my brain is making very odd associative "jumps", which are consistent and reproducible. As an example, whenever I do a Sudoku puzzle, my mind immediately snaps back to a cruise that Patti and I took last fall. We travelled a lot, and the cruise was the last major trip we were to take. I didn't do any Sudokus while on the cruise that I can remember, so I don't get the connection, but it happens 100% of the time. The cruise part is interesting, because at one point, I had a "vision" (take that for what you will) of her and I on a different cruise in heaven. It wasn't a dream, it wasn't a fantasy, it was just this weird visual sense. I connect it to that being our last trip, but beyond that, who knows.

Temporal -- This is the big one. This is the major impact. I no longer have any sense of time. Not in the macro sense, not in the micro sense. Hours pass at vastly different rates, and the rates seem random, not associated with activity or lack thereof. When I try to get a handle on how long it has been that I've been grieving, I can feel that it's been years, or I can feel that it's been days, and both seem exactly right. I frequently have to remind myself that Patti is gone, and that she's been gone for quite a while, because I'll come home and have the very real sense that she was just here this morning. Of all of these factors, I think that the fluidity of time is the worst.

Psychological -- I had a period of time, lasted about a week, where I had the very real feeling that I had this whole thing reversed -- that I was, in fact, the one who had died, or been injured, and in a coma with Patti at my bedside. It came out of a couple of the "weirdness" events, and I remember that it came on when I was sitting in my car in the driveway and I felt this "revelation" that this reality was just a "game". Not a game in a manipulative sense, I don't have the words to explain it, but I remember that I just started laughing about the whole thing. I quickly recognized that to accept this was to start down the path to madness, so I just acknowledged that, if it was the case, it would work itself out on its own, and let it go. The feeling went away within a week or so.

There are, of course, a number of other aspects of this experience, but I'll stop with this last one.

Reality -- This is the hardest one to deal with, because it's the all encompassing aspect that pulls them all together, with the Stages of Grief being the way that you come to grips with it. And it comes down to the finality and completeness of the loss. Patti is never coming back. I can never ask her a question. I can never hold her hand, or plan a trip, or see her smile again. Not in this world, anyway. And when you come to that point, when you make that leap, and you accept that reality, it is a crushing, catastrophic thing. Acceptance is not the end of your journey, it merely signifies that you've come to grips with reality, and you are ready to manage this "new normal" and get on with life.

I hope that this helps give some insight into one person's journey through traumatic grief, and to realize that, no matter how great the loss, with time, there is recovery and healing.



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 12:05 PM
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hi , i really think you are a brave person went through this hardship after losing a love one. i really can feel your pain and your mind trying to cope with everything. thank you for your experience, i cannot imagine how hard would it be for me to deal with this but your experiences and struggling to cope with it really touches me.



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 12:30 PM
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Hugs to you. Thank you for sharing this.

One of my greatest fears, which I know I will have to face some day, is the death of my husband (unless I go first).

Peace and happiness vibes sent your way.....



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 12:30 PM
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Excellent post

I have been through serious grief myself although unfortunately, due to the circumstances, it is ongoing in many forms.
I have to say for me, the feeling of being alone is the worst. I have felt that i'm the only person on the planet and nothing can relieve the despair.
A post like this is important to remind those that are going through the same that they are NOT alone.

[edit on 27-7-2010 by sayzaar]



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 12:44 PM
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I am also going through grief with a sick child.I believe in God but most of the time I am lost in my own pain.This pain has changed me in alot of ways but I don't think for the better.I am not bitter but I think I will be profoundly sad till the day that I die.God bless you and I am sorry for your loss and hopefully there will be no more pain in the next life.



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 01:06 PM
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For what it is worth, which I'm sure is very little, I relate all to well with what you have experienced.

For reasons beyond my comprehension, I have endured a lot of loss in my life. Each time I have lost a loved one, it has altered who I was as a person and literally changed everything in my life.

Your story touched me from the beginning when you mentioned your wife's age and how she passed away.

My mother was 34 years old when she passed and my father was 39. They both died of heart attacks within 6 months of eachother...nearly to the day.

I was only 15 when it happened but I can tell you that I became an adult almost overnight. The world changed, or at least my world had changed and I was forced to change with it.

My life was put into such a tailspin that it took years and years for me to even have an opportunity to reach the acceptance stage of grief. You're right, reaching that stage changes nothing other than accepting the fact that you have to move on with your new life without the person you love.

Grief is such a horrible feeling and I know that there is nothing anyone in this world could say to you that will ever take it away. Just know that you touched my heart today with your post and that you made another person feel a little less lonely in this crazy world.

I wish you all the best.



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 01:12 PM
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greetings and condolences. I would star and flag this post but that seems so trivial to the power of your words and thoughts and would be a seeming disgrace to your lost patty! They say that time heals all wounds but we all know that it just isn't true. Remember to celebrate the time you had with your wife, cherish the memories and count yourself as fortunate and extremely lucky that you had the brief moment with her. My heart goes out to you as does my "prayers" that you will be a better man for having her in your life!



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 01:20 PM
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Originally posted by MagesticEsoteric
My mother was 34 years old when she passed and my father was 39. They both died of heart attacks within 6 months of eachother...nearly to the day.

I was only 15 when it happened but I can tell you that I became an adult almost overnight. The world changed, or at least my world had changed and I was forced to change with it.

My life was put into such a tailspin that it took years and years for me to even have an opportunity to reach the acceptance stage of grief. You're right, reaching that stage changes nothing other than accepting the fact that you have to move on with your new life without the person you love.


This is one of my great fears, that I will be one of those who follows their loved one to the grave so quickly, because of the trauma that it will put my daughter through. (I didn't mention her much, but she is 19, and I effectively raised her by myself from her birth until Patti came to us.)

If one was to chart two variables, "I want to die" and "I want to live" you would see a very high level of the first right after Patti died, but it quickly fell off. Initially wrapped up in my loss, all I could think of was that death would bring either reunion or peace. My faith and good sense precluded thoughts of suicide, but if I'd been struck by lightning one of those early days, I'd have been grateful for it.

But, as I said, that fell away pretty quickly. I do not fear death, as the person I love more than any other has already experienced it, but neither do I desire it.

The other variable, the will to live, also had a radical change after Patti's death, effectively plummeting to zero, but, interestingly, it has risen very little in the ensuing time. I have a good friend who has cancer, and his battles are valiant struggles founded in his will to live. This is something that I no longer have, and as my health fluctuates, I'm concerned a bit that my lack of interest in staying alive will contribute to a decline. But, try as I might, I struggle to find promise in the future, or relief from my pains, both physical and emotional, so I make incremental increases in that aspect, rather than a significant change like the "I want to die" variable.

Thank you (all of you) for your kind words and shared experiences. No, we never walk alone, and all of us benefit from others' perspectives.



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 01:56 PM
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Crud. I just noticed that in my cut that broke the post into two pieces, I missed these, and both posts are already too long to fit this in by editing.

Health -- Statistics say that I am six times more likely to die in the short term than another man my age. This statistic is irrespective of age, economic status, or other factors -- it's just a fact that widowers die prematurely pretty often. I can tell you why -- I have not felt "normal", like I did prior to Patti's death, more than maybe 10% of the time. The rest of the time, it's nausea, odd aches and pains, and an extreme lack of appetite -- I've lost 30 pounds since she died, and that's not intentional, I just don't feel like eating, and most meals are things I force on myself.

Emotional -- C. S. Lewis, in his book "A Grief Observed", wrote of death being a new phase, not the end, of a loving relationship. I've tried to keep that in mind, and on some level, it has worked, without her physical presence and our shared experiences, I am left to grow my love of her essential person, and I have. The deep outward sorrow of the first few weeks has gradually been replaced with a general emotional numbness (the Captain Barbossa line in Pirates of the Caribbean "I feel... nothing" comes to mind) and that's the new normal. Happiness is elusive, though it's still there when I actively look for it.



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 02:07 PM
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reply to post by adjensen
 

Similar to your situation I met my (late) husband, we were married a few months later. Done deal.
10 months later he was gone.

Someone close to me told me the person I was died with him, but, I would be 'born again'. (And though I am a Christian, they were not talking about that rebirth experience, rather I'm referring to the reality of rebirth after loss. Especially the loss of a 'soul mate'.)

From experience it's truer than anyone can know unless they've gone through it.

As for me it's my deepest wish, somehow, someday, I'll get to 'see' what I believe in. Meaning I do believe 'something better' will come from my loss, I just can't even begin to imagine what it might be...

But, I keep that faith - All things adding to the glory of God...

Though I still find myself wondering just what 'good' (glory) could come from loosing someone so very loved.
I'll just keep hoping one day I'll get to see what it is...

Thank you doesn't say enough. Your thread touched something in me that's been 'untouchable' for a very long long time.

peace to you and yours
Sincerely
gracie

EDIT =





[edit on 27-7-2010 by silo13]



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 02:27 PM
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reply to post by adjensen
 


I vividly remember those feelings of just wanting to die too. It was just too much weight and burden on my heart mixed with confusion and fear of what would become of my life and those of my siblings.

The weight was so heavy on my heart that at times it felt like I couldn't breath and when that would happen I always wished that I literally couldn't take another breath. I went through stages of complete disregard for my well being and did things so reckless and dangerous because I had no fear of death or dying. I didn't take care of myself and my health suffered but, I didn't really care. Nothing really mattered to me at that point in my life because everything that mattered was ripped away from me.

It took some time to remove myself from this self destructive cycle but, I eventually did and now look back in horror and disbelief. Not to mention absolute wonder that I am even still alive.

You'll find your will to live but, it's buried deep down inside your soul right now. It's going to take time to discover it because you still have a lot of pain and sorrow to dig through first.

I hope I'm not crossing any bounds here but, if I could say something about your daughter...She needs you. She needs her father for as long as she can possibly have you in her life. If there are ways to improve your health, maybe your daughter can be a source of inspiration or strength. I will tell you in all honesty that the lonliest moment of my entire life was the moment when I realized that I was orphan and I wouldn't wish that feeling onto anyone.

I know how hard it can be to try and take care of yourself when it seems pointless but, I also know any father that raises a daughter all on his own is a father that would move mountains to make his daughter happy.

I truly believe you will find the promise in the future you are looking for...I really do. I wish the best for you, your daughter and your friend.







[edit on 27-7-2010 by MagesticEsoteric]



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 02:32 PM
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To an extent I do know how you feel.

April 21, 2006 my girlfriend at the time died suddenly of a heart attack. The most traumatic part about it was the fact that I was on the phone with her when she began to have her heart attack. It was unsettling and terrifying at the time, and I felt useless because I wasn't able to be there with her. I felt like I had no control whatsoever over the situation, and that ate me up inside for a very long time. The last thing I recall was her passing out, I could hear people in the background but couldn't really make anything out in detail. Eventually I got a call from her father at around 5am or so with the official new that she was dead.. I never got to say goodbye or that I loved her. The void opened up inside me and I didn't know how to deal with it.

I held lots of mixed and chaotic emotions for quite some time after this, I couldn't tell you exactly how long. Like you said, the concept of time seems to fade into obscurity, as if it happened just yesterday but also in another life a long time ago. I barely ate at all for extended periods of time, I isolated myself from nearly everyone, I had forgotten what it was like to sleep.

Granted we had not been married for 4 years, but the love we had was still very deep and real and I will always love her and I still think fondly about her. The difference is that now when I think of her it makes me happy and I know she's perfectly fine wherever she is. I don't think of her to hold on to the past I think of her to remember the grace of life she brought to me and taught me. It is inspiring and empowering to go through such experiences and come out more evolved.

The one major thing I learned from this experience was that you just cannot control all situations, it taught me how to let go, but it took me years after she died to truly begin to understand that. It was a seed that was planted the day she died and in the past year just began to bloom. I now find myself not so attached to relationships, and am better at coping with loss because I don't resist what happens as much.. you just cannot change what is, and you absolutely can learn and grow immensely from it. What you can control is how you learn from and perceive of such experiences.

Things really only improve if you are moving forward and learning, not getting trapped in what ifs and maybe things could be different.

What's done is done, so how do we use it to empower ourselves and assist others? That's an inspiration to me and I think of that often because sometimes it really is too easy getting caught up in the moments good or bad, and the games we play within our minds.

I hope you continue to find peace and fully reconnect with the beauty of life



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 02:46 PM
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oh, this made me cry.

i'm so sorry for your loss and i feel for you and wish i had something helpful to say. but i never do, except i feel for you - i FEEL you.


i know what it's like to live in a world colored by grief, although not as intensely as you. far more often but that is not the same thing at all.

often just makes you tougher but intensity is something else altogether that i have no understanding of what the effect might be other than change. i was actually thinking back on the most intense grief in my life, just a little while ago, after taking a shower. and then i find this thread of yours. it was the last time i lost, in the material, a dearly loved love-one, about 18 months ago.
it still hurts and i am still dealing with parts of the process, the last parts, but they are lingering, i think.

in that case, i had time before the loss to deal with it, because of a period of illness preceding death.

suddenly is awful - it really knocks the wind out of you, doesn't it? i've had more non-sudden losses than sudden, but lots of both - all before i was even 30 years old. i lost most everyone before i was completely an adult! but it hurts more the older i get - i feel everything more acutely including sadness and grief.

i do know that in all things GOD is making us better and wiser but it sure hurts like hell.

i'm so glad you have Oscar! he looks to me like an angel, now!

much



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 03:00 PM
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Hi-thanks for detailing this difficult info.

I am looking for material about/on simply moving to a different place as a means to escape grief, present, and future. I am sure you have had thoughts along these lines? I'd appreciate a synopsis on your thoughts regarding relocating as a safety valve...

Thank you



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 03:28 PM
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Originally posted by davidmann
I am looking for material about/on simply moving to a different place as a means to escape grief, present, and future. I am sure you have had thoughts along these lines? I'd appreciate a synopsis on your thoughts regarding relocating as a safety valve...


If you mean physically moving, I have definitely given this some thought. As I said, there is really no one here any longer, my daughter is at university in another state (though she's home for the summer right now) and both Patti's family and mine live five hours away.

On the plus side, there is the painful reminder that comes from going to places here that she and I enjoyed together. But I mitigate that by not going out very often. On the negative side, moving is another stress that I don't want to have to deal with right now.

Emotionally, I'm not yet ready to take Patti's stuff out of the house, so aside from a few things, the house is largely as it was when she died. Not in the "museum" sense, just that I saw no need to hide pictures or take her clothes out of the closets. A shirt that she took out that morning for some reason is still sitting on the dresser, not because I'm desperate that it stay there, but I have no compelling reason to put it away and I just don't think about it.

That's a bit problematic, I'm sure, because it likely helps to reinforce that "denial" phase that's still floating around my subconscious, but not so much that it matters.

I have committed myself to staying here for at least a year, because I don't know whether I'm making my decision because moving is in my best interests, or because moving gets me out of grieving for a while.

Shortly after I came back here after the funeral, I was lost and felt like I needed to make plans to get back on track. Patti was really good at planning and organizing, so I did what I thought she would do -- sorted out what my options might be, made pros and cons lists, and it seemed really obvious what I should do, I should move to be with my family.

That made me feel really good, and I took the dog for a walk, thought about how this was all going to work, and it all seemed to click. But after the walk, I sat down and prayed and talked to Patti, and when I had articulated my plans, I realized that it was the worst idea possible. Not that I'd come to the wrong decision, but that coming to any decision was foolish in my state of mind.

So, unless some compelling reason forces me to leave, I will stay here for a bit, even if logic says that's not a great idea.

Hope that helps!



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 03:46 PM
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I think your post is helpful for people looking up information and trying to cope with their shock. Thanks for the contribution



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 04:39 PM
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Very moving account, especially from a brother with Aspurgers.
She will be waiting for you when you pass.



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 04:48 PM
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reply to post by adjensen
 


Sorry. I've never felt grief other than when I do something profoundly retarded. People die? i say good bye. Disaster? I help out. Attacked? Where's my gun?

Can't say I feel grief or sadness very often. Funny. Because I'll cry at some pretty bland scenes in moves by when my family member dies it's just part of life and I go on.

However I can't say it changes my world. It just happens. Crap happens. You learn and move on.

[edit on 27-7-2010 by Gorman91]



posted on Jul, 27 2010 @ 05:00 PM
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Originally posted by adjensen
Psychological -- I had a period of time, lasted about a week, where I had the very real feeling that I had this whole thing reversed -- that I was, in fact, the one who had died, or been injured, and in a coma with Patti at my bedside. It came out of a couple of the "weirdness" events, and I remember that it came on when I was sitting in my car in the driveway and I felt this "revelation" that this reality was just a "game". Not a game in a manipulative sense, I don't have the words to explain it, but I remember that I just started laughing about the whole thing. I quickly recognized that to accept this was to start down the path to madness, so I just acknowledged that, if it was the case, it would work itself out on its own, and let it go. The feeling went away within a week or so.


I had this same experience when I passed by a traumatic grief experience. I started to see reality as a game. The most interesting experience I had on those hard times was a very vivid dream. I dreamed that I wake up in a hospital. I was in coma. Than the doctors came and injected a drug in me to put me back in coma. I immediatelly woke up in my real bed, after the injection. The dream was so intense and real that I started to believe that I was in a real coma. After that, I started to see reality just as a temporary game... nothing really matters, everything pass...



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