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Dr. Bob is Robert Hsiung, MD,
bob@dr-bob.orgShown: posts 1 to 17 of 17. This is the beginning of the thread.
Posted by Jai on November 17, 2003, at 22:01:25
when my father died my brain just could not contain the truth. He was no longer on the earth and would not be back. I honestly thought if I sincerely said to him, "Okay Dad now I know what it's like to have you dead, just come back now and let's talk about it." I guess I thought he just might take me up on that offer. My brain just kept going through circular thinking. Where is my dad, he must be here somewhere...I would look for him but he was truly gone. The finality was so hard to grasp. He had always been there. Surely he would reappear. I miss him and the memory and pain is dulled with the passing of time. Death is such a mystery to me. My brain can't fathom it at all.
Posted by JimD on November 19, 2003, at 15:41:04
In reply to Death is so final, posted by Jai on November 17, 2003, at 22:01:25
Death is a mystery, but a part of life.
Your dad is still with you. You can continue to feel his presence, and he will continue to watch over you.
Posted by Jai on November 19, 2003, at 21:44:00
In reply to Re: Death is so final, posted by JimD on November 19, 2003, at 15:41:04
> Death is a mystery, but a part of life.
>
> Your dad is still with you. You can continue to feel his presence, and he will continue to watch over you.
>
>
Thank you. I will always love him. He was a wonderful person too. You are kind to respond. Jai
Posted by kazoo on November 21, 2003, at 1:17:31
In reply to Death is so final, posted by Jai on November 17, 2003, at 22:01:25
I am told that there's nothing worse for a parent to outlive their children; however, it doesn't matter which way this formula goes. By this I mean to say grief and loss of any family member at any age at any time is an ineffable pain no matter how you look at it.
I lost my older brother Joseph in 1994 (HCV), my Father in 1996 (brain cancer) and more recently my Mother December 6, 2001 (pulmonary shut-down). I wrote three obits, planned three wakes and funerals and wrote and delivered three eulogies ... you'd think I'd become inured to this kind of thing, but I'm not. One never does. It hurts me constantly to know that those I once knew and loved are physically gone, and spiritually somewhere else.
I went back to my faith (Roman Catholic) after the death of my Mother and found comfort there, but when I'm alone it all comes back to me like cruel spectres of the Past, reliving the events to their ultimate finality. What these events did do for me personally was to appreciate every breath I take and to understand my own mortality. Life is beautiful and death to me an aesthetic extension to this reality.
With heartfelt sympathies to you and your family, I remain ...
(Just a) Kazoo
Posted by Jai on November 21, 2003, at 11:33:53
In reply to RE: Death is so final » Jai, posted by kazoo on November 21, 2003, at 1:17:31
It's a funny thing about life...one forgets how fragil it is & how completely NOW it is. My partner lost his 2 1/2 year old son to a fire. It seems every loss is a shock...we are reminded that this is a temporary stay on this lovely blue planet. My mother died this spring. I have never had a sibling die yet. I imagine it is hard. My thoughts & heart felt thanks go out to you. Your response was a kind sharing. thank you. Jai
Posted by jay on November 21, 2003, at 19:46:29
In reply to Death is so final, posted by Jai on November 17, 2003, at 22:01:25
An interesting story: I have been (well, *used* to be) a very skeptical guy. I believed pretty much in science and rationalism. Well, this past summer, my parents gave me their cottage here in northern Ontario, Canada for two months all to my own if I wished. (What I did was go up for a few weeks...back home for a week..then back up again..etc.) Well, one day I was out canoeing by myself, and a Mom loon came floating along with a little baby loon, basically right up beside my boat. I stopped paddling, and they floated along with me for a good few minutes. Now I don't know if I was "convinced" or "converted" right away, but there was something almost spiritual in that, and in some very different way, for a second, felt connected to the "lost ones", my little daughter and her Mom/my girlfriend who had both died now about 6 years ago. I remember I was smiling and completely bewildered by the experience.
Posted by Jai on November 22, 2003, at 6:47:53
In reply to Re: Death is so final, posted by jay on November 21, 2003, at 19:46:29
Well, one day I was out canoeing by myself, and a Mom loon came floating along with a little baby loon, basically right up beside my boat. I stopped paddling, and they floated along with me for a good few minutes.
I love your story, it gives me goose bumps. My most favorite life experiences are in a canoe. I love being on the water, in the sun or when the long blue shadows come at dusk. I love the sky as it is reflected on the water. This could/would be enough but then you add the birds....oh Joy! The red wing black birds flying toward their night time roost. They move like a black ribbon twisting and turning over the mirror water in a flow of silence. I can hear their wing beats ever so softly. Thousands of them all moving as one being. It makes my heart skip a beat and my voice silenced as I inhale and wait till the stream of black feathered life writhes over my head and dissapears beyond leaf bare trees. I am in love at that moment with the hightened sense of oneness. The intoxication of life. thank you for reminding me of this bliss. Jai
Posted by geramiemonkey on November 24, 2003, at 12:06:46
In reply to Death is so final, posted by Jai on November 17, 2003, at 22:01:25
This is my first post on psycho-babble. I have been reading a lot of posts, but have not gotten the courage to post yet. Anyway...here goes:
Jai---I lost my father in May of this year. And I still can't believe he is gone...forever...never to be on this earth again. I miss him terribly (just as you describe missing your father). I was just dwelling on how heartbreaking it was...I and several other family members were with him in the hospital. He was in a sort of coma. He just stopped breathing and i was the first to realize that he was gone.
We had him cremated. So there is absolutely nothing left of him here. I recently found a bowl of his pudding with his spoon still in it, and I don't have the heart to get rid of the pudding, even though it is months old.Anyway...I chose to respond to this post because I understand where you are...exactly.
Crying now...and I'm at work. Better get myself under control...
Geramie
Posted by Jai on November 24, 2003, at 20:26:14
In reply to Re: Death is so final, posted by geramiemonkey on November 24, 2003, at 12:06:46
> This is my first post on psycho-babble. I have been reading a lot of posts, but have not gotten the courage to post yet. Anyway...here goes:
>
I know what's it's like to be new on this site, I stumbled upon it and have not left.
>
I and several other family members were with him in the hospital. He was in a sort of coma. He just stopped breathing and i was the first to realize that he was gone.
>
You are so lucky to have been with him when he died. My father wanted us all there but we were very far away. He died alone and I know he didn't want to. I am a little heart broken about that.
>
> We had him cremated.
>
We had my dad cremated too. I asked for some ashes. Each of his children got a bag. Months later I finally looked at his ashes. I sifted through them with my fingers...as his ashes moved through my hands I thought about all the memorable moments I had with him. I loved him so much. I was afraid I would die when he died. As bizarre as that sounds it helped me to begin the healing.
>
So there is absolutely nothing left of him here. I recently found a bowl of his pudding with his spoon still in it, and I don't have the heart to get rid of the pudding, even though it is months old.
>
I love this! So sweet.
> Anyway...I chose to respond to this post because I understand where you are...exactly.
>
> Crying now...and I'm at work. Better get myself under control...
>
Oh, honey.
> Geramie
thank you so much for taking the time, energy and risking this posting. I invite you to post more often.
Jai
Posted by Jai on November 25, 2003, at 8:09:20
In reply to Re: Death is so final, posted by geramiemonkey on November 24, 2003, at 12:06:46
My Father
My Dad has soft broad hands with the end of his nails filled smooth and smiling. When he concentrates and listens to what I am saying he lightly raps these nails on the top of the desk in a gentle cascading movement. As a teenager I would sometimes ask him about the meaning of life especially after I had gone out on a rotten date with a boy. I would watch his nails as he deliberated my question.
“Well...” he said as the nails went tap, tap, tap, tap, “I just don’t know?”
He did his best . He always tried. I loved him as if my very life depended on our connection.
Jai
Posted by shar on November 25, 2003, at 21:22:35
In reply to A tiny sweet story of my father, posted by Jai on November 25, 2003, at 8:09:20
Well, my father died when I was 14. It was all terribly chaotic; he had cancer and we were stationed in Germany, and he went to the States before us. He died three months later.
I can't even begin to imagine the terrible grief my mother felt, who had to stay in Germany and pack all our belongings, deal with the Air Force, get us all our shots, and we left school in 'backward' Germany to reappear in the States with 'new math' which I promptly failed ('tho I was trilingual by then.....).
My sister lived with relatives, I was making top notch standardized test scores, while failing school.
I last saw him after his last surgery, in ICU, for brain tumors. His head wrapped in white gauze. He didn't really know me, but he reached his hand toward me.
That was the bad old days when people didn't talk about death and dying. After his funeral, as I wept, nobody talked to me.
Now, I do hospice work. I provide respite care for people who have dying relatives at home. I went through weeks of training, and, so far, seem to be the Angel of Death.....everyone seems to die after a visit or two from me, some even before I visit.
Hospice means folks who have stopped curative care. They are estimated to have 6 or less months to live. Some are so open about dying, talking to their families...some have to fight their families to get an Out of Hospital "do not resuscitate" order (so, there won't be an attempt to revive them where there is no hope).
It feels good to provide respite to the caretakers, who are grieving, and usually exhausted. And, to be with the folks who know their time is limited.
Had I had a chance to talk to my dad (before 'talking about death is taboo' was the rule), I wonder if he could have let me know his wishes and dreams for me. I had a dream once, he and I were walking down a beach, holding hands, and we were talking about things I might do, and then there was a party, and he seemed to have an aura about him, and I ran and jumped into his arms, and said "I don't want you to die!" and wept and wept.
Shar
Posted by Jai on November 26, 2003, at 6:45:20
In reply to Just another dad story..., posted by shar on November 25, 2003, at 21:22:35
Shar, thanks for your Dad story. That sounds really hard; living in another country and seeing your dad like that. Someone I dearly loved died of brain tumors too. It's shocking when it's someone close and you are so young. My heart goes out to you.
I think it's wonderful you do hospice. I was tempted to work in hospice, I may still. My whole life has revolved around death. I have been fascinated with this (what I used to call the last struggle that we don't win) final exit in our lives. The fact that no one escapes this exit is so remarkable. My Dad was always terrified of death and he lived to be 91. He loved life more than I could ever imagine.
Jai
Posted by geramiemonkey on November 29, 2003, at 10:16:23
In reply to A tiny sweet story of my father, posted by Jai on November 25, 2003, at 8:09:20
There is one incident I can see in my mind, and believe I will forever.
When I was 14 we moved to Alaska. On memorial day weekend, we went for a "picnic". The weather was gray and windy and cold. We went to this lake
for the picnic. My father was the only one who got out of the car. He had his sandwich, potato chips and soda sitting on the hood of the car, and the wind was blowing really hard. But he wanted a family picnic, and we had one. My mother, brother and sister ate in the car. My mother took a picture of my father eating his sandwich and I carry that picture with me to this day. (btw, we left Alaska two years later)He was a real big help with my math homework :)
geramie
Posted by Jai Narayan on November 29, 2003, at 10:35:53
In reply to Re: A tiny sweet story of my father » Jai, posted by geramiemonkey on November 29, 2003, at 10:16:23
Ode to my dad,
His heart suddenly stop beating one day. He was hospitalized and eventually received a pacemaker. I wrestled with my feelings the night he almost died. I had had an overwhelming desire to reach inside my chest and pull out my heart and give it to him. He deserved it, he loved life like I never could.
Jai Narayanps( just so it doesn't cause confusion my name got bigger, it's a long story but my computer died etc...I am still the same Jai but now with Narayan attached.)
Posted by Jai Narayan on November 29, 2003, at 12:03:39
In reply to Re: A tiny sweet story of my father » Jai, posted by geramiemonkey on November 29, 2003, at 10:16:23
a slice of my life as a child
After school and before dinner one night I walked up to dad while he was reading the paper . I missed the days when I could sit on his lap and look at the pictures.
"Could I sit on your lap dad?"
"Sure," he said lifting the paper. I jumped onto his lap. My legs were much too long, they draped over his and looked stupid. I didn’t get the old familiar feeling of being daddys’ little girl. I just felt too big and sad as I began to get off his lap. Mom rushed into the room.
"Young lady, get off your fathers lap, you should be ashamed of yourself," Mom said as she grabbed hold of my left arm and squeezed it till it ached. I stood there confused and ashamed.Jai Narayan
Posted by geramiemonkey on November 29, 2003, at 19:08:54
In reply to mom vs dad, posted by Jai Narayan on November 29, 2003, at 12:03:39
(((Jai))) that must have just broken your heart.
and it breaks mine just hearing about it.you only wanted to relive something you thought was gone forever :(
i'm so sorry that it happened to you...
geramie
Posted by Jai Narayan on November 30, 2003, at 8:47:35
In reply to Re: mom vs dad » Jai Narayan, posted by geramiemonkey on November 29, 2003, at 19:08:54
It's such tiny incident but so full of all the ramifications of my childhood.
thank you for sharing the pain.
This is the end of the thread.
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