june11

June 11th 2016

A few weeks ago, Father Paul had a sermon that was very intriguing. I am not using his sermon, just the story he had read and used himself in his sermon.

LOSS! "A year after the death of her daughter, a grieving mother (mom) writes to her family and friends:

“There are no appropriate words; nothing you can say that will make it better. But your calls,

your visits, your invitations mean a lot to me. They remind me I am still alive and still have a life

outside this tragedy.

“I cry a lot, and I am okay with that. I’m not embarrassed about it, and you shouldn’t be either.

Don’t suggest that I take medication. I’m entitled to my emotions. I need to feel, to grieve. I

want to talk about my daughter. I want to say her name and hear her name, and if I cry, it’s okay.

Please don’t avoid talking to me because you don’t want to upset me. I will cry either alone or in

front of you, and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable or guilty.

“If what you tell me is true, that you think of me all the time, please call me or send me an e-mail.

Don’t wait for that random grocery-aisle meeting to tell me how much I am on your mind… My

loss is not contagious. You shouldn’t be scared to be with me. Any discomfort you initially feel

should subside if you give it a chance and give me a chance. If you are planning an evening out,

a lunch date, a getaway, please make an effort to include me. I often feel like a pariah. My

intention is not to ‘bring you down’, and I do my best not to burden anyone with my sadness.

Don’t feel awkward inviting me to have some ‘fun’, and don’t assume I won’t join in, so why

even bother asking. I may often decline, but it is comforting to be included. Being excluded is

killing me…

“If you see my kids, don’t just ask them how I am doing; please ask them how they are doing.

They lost their older sister, their confidante, their best friend, and need to know that people are

concerned about them, too. This loss happened to my whole family — all of us.

“I realized this past year, after the last meal was dropped off, the last card arrived, and the official

visits were over, everyone’s lives resumed, except ours. Yes, we go through the motions, smiling,

working, nodding, and telling people we are fine. But deep inside there is that void, that constant

ache that will always be there, as it should be, and that is alright with me.”"

© Rev. Paul Baillargeon

I am guilty.

I am guilty

of leaving my friends and family

to work out there problems

or deal with their loss

without interference

feeling I was being to pushy

or demanding of their time

while they had so much

on their own plates or on their minds.

Personal space is a funny thing.

Although you need it,

when you have lots of it,

you do not want it.

And when you want it,

there is none to be had.

I rejoice in the fact

that I have friends and family

who do not hold this bad habit against me,

and that they themselves

though not perfect

are always there for me

when I need them.

I just have to ask.

ASK.

It's like saying a bad word.

When you do need a shoulder,

you expect people to know

and just do the right thing.

You do not want

to "ask" for help

or comfort

or a hand to hold.

You want it just to be there.

How often have we blamed

our spouse for not just giving us a kiss,

or hugging us while we cried?

Probably as often

as we have sat wondering

exactly what to do

when a friend loses a loved one

or the family has a problem

that there is no easy way out of.

I think this story

could be

a giant kick in the pants

for all of us.

Don not take for granted

your supporting friends,

or the love of your family.

Give more than you get,

in the hopes

that you will be paid back ten fold

on those days

that you need it.

Good night from a very very tired woman

on John Street.