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The process of grief feels like a contradiction

Discussion in 'General Afterlife Discussions' started by peanutbritt, Sep 23, 2017.

  1. mac

    mac senior member Staff Member

    You've been very privileged, bill, to have heard through mediumship from your Susie so soon after her passing. Would that all the bereaved could find similar relief from learning about and accepting the notion of our survival beyond death. Sadly many never do.

    I'm sure it helps you to know where she is and that she's alive and well but it's totally understandable that you miss her presence. I hope you'll soon cope better with her loss.
     
  2. JCM

    JCM New Member

    Forgive my presumption but I found the following poem by Emily Dickinson helpful in dealing with grief that felt every bit as hard as I knew it would be;

    They say that "Time assuages" -
    Time never did assuage -
    An actual suffering strengthens
    As Sinews do with Age -

    Time is a Test of Trouble-
    But not a remedy -
    If such it prove, it prove too
    There was no Malady -
     
    peanutbritt likes this.
  3. bluebird

    bluebird Well-Known Member

    Thank you for that, JCM. I've never encountered that particular Dickinson poem before, and I like it, particularly the second stanza.

    A poem that I have found resonates with me is "Funeral Blues", by W.H. Auden. It's not a hopeful poem, but it is honest, and it is a poem with which I identify, since my husband's death. Perhaps it will help you (and/or others) to feel a bit less alone.


    Funeral Blues
    Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
    Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
    Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
    Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.

    Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
    Scribbling on the sky the message 'He is Dead'.
    Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
    Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.

    He was my North, my South, my East and West,
    My working week and my Sunday rest,
    My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
    I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

    The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
    Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
    Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
    For nothing now can ever come to any good.
     
  4. JCM

    JCM New Member

    Thank you for that. It seems to be in line with the "sympathetic fallacy"--here illustrated in a stanza of poetry by Robert Burns:

    Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon,
    How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair?
    How can ye chant, ye little birds,
    And I sae weary fu' o' care!
     
  5. bluebird

    bluebird Well-Known Member

    Yep. It is truly how it feels, at least for me.
     

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