Voicelessness and Emotional Survival > Voicelessness and Emotional Survival Message Board
Mindfulness and codependence thread
lighter:
Oh, to know what your dear Father, and my sweet Bill, saw in their final moments!
I trust it's something wonderful.
Lighter
sKePTiKal:
Trust is an incredibly powerful emotion. I think that's why betrayal of trust is also so shocking. I think that at least for me, there are degrees of trust - it's not 100% absolute vs no trust at all, most of the time. I have to be sure the other person understands something close to the same thing; that level of trust before it's given.
I am comfortable believing that heaven/hell are states of consciousness. So many people living in self-created or externally imposed hell... some working their way down the path to their personal heaven... some wishing they could SEE the path... some getting in their own way. I know Michael didn't have any expression of wonder or awe in his last moments. Nor horror, for that matter. Just physical difficulty and helplessness. For him, perhaps the relief I felt that his "hell" was ending - was shared. I can't know.
Hopalong:
Same page, Amber. I don't think there's any standard way a dying person "normally" looks or feels. Might be human patterns and visible nuances overall but life's a pass/fail course and when we get to the end, we all win the same ticket to whatever it is, imo. Yearning for relief of his pain, sitting with my dad felt like being a midwife. I accepted nature's slow proceeding but wanted it to be over; he'd suffered a lot and bore it with great courage. Not a macho cell in his body but staggeringly brave.
I, on the other hand, am a physical coward. One strong chest pain sets the anxiety machine into gear like a combine. Something so essential about that, with a diagnosis. Heart pain. It is scary to feel it alone. Nobody to call out to. (I'm okay this a.m. and think it was a panic moment brought on by my anxious preoccupation with Poet. Which will pass. All those predictive expectations I put on myself about doing it "right" really added to the pressure I feel.
Couldn't I just get a backache instead? LOL.
hugs
Hops
lighter:
As I read your post, Amber, I was reminded how powerful thoughts are. I could picture Michael's final moments....then pictured my Mother's.....then Father's....neither of which I was present for. Flipped my stomach with grief, filled my torso and head with fight it flight chemicals....
and a bit of regret....shame.....not to have there.
Women are auto-assigned the caretaker
roles, IME. In my own Nervous System, it's a truth I'm exploring. To be the ones sitting bedside, holding vigils, deciding what fluids, meds, and food are given, if any, IME.
My brother was there for my father. A flamboyant, very talkative gay, male,AA hospice nurse was in the room with my mother. I'd allowed his constant chatter to drive me from Mom's bedside......instead of calmly putting my finger to my lips.....gently asking him for quiet and some space to say goodbye. Flipped my stomach to remember it. The replacement nurse actually kicked me awake....I was sleeping on the floor, in a nearby room. She wanted to wake my SF....bc Mom had passed. I told her to let him sleep....it made her angry. Punitive, even, but I knew he'd be devastated and overwhelmed with what came next. He could meet the day we'll rested, say goodbye, and suffer less, imo.
Later, as SF sat, saying his goodbyes to Mom...such gentle words....
"Sweetie....youvwaited to go....you let me sleep....."
the nurse, sat stiff on the sofa, shot me a look....her face softened. My elderly SF lost nothing, and never knew Mom passed earlier that morning.
My sister, and I, said our goodbyes earlier, opening a door to allow her soul to go, if it needed to go. The nurse frowning and confiscating drugs, as we moved through our final pats, kisses and goodbyes.
Our brother slept, I hope......not knowing he'd be the one in charge when Dad had a stroke. There was brain death, but brother and the caretaker allowed intubation.... Dad's worst nightmare..... Dad handed out DNAs years ago. I carried my copy till it fell apart. How could they not remember that?
It was a crisis....doctors have opinions, loved ones listen, unable to discern, IME. Dad had to be "unplugged" and it took a while.
I dreamed my Father's Father chased me around his farm, from house to barn, enraged at my absence. It was during the worst of the Island renovation with the brutal little contractor standing on my neck, (fig.)
I wish I could have protected myself better.....coped better.....risen above, instead of getting dragged down distressing rabbit holes, when I attempted self protection.
People, who punish us, knock us down emotionally, stir panic and shove their emotional turmoil down our throats, into our Nervous Systems, magnify every difficult aspect of creating emotional distance, remaining above the chaos, IME.
I wonder, if the Poet, is doing this, on some level. But, as wounded victim, crying out in pain, rather than aggressively demanding/threatening contractor throwing tantrums, like a toddler. Lying and purposely creating confusion, in order to extend contact....punitive, little man/child.
I notice, I'm drawn to the bookstore my girls and I frequented when they were very small. I'd like to have a coffee and pretend we're back there, in the children's section, looking at books together. That's me, trying to comfort myself, calm....return to level...go to a happy place.....not bc of this thread. It's more about much much recent family togetherness....sans a break. And I have business this morning, I'd rather crush my ankle than tend to.
So.... emotional states.....energetic fields...heaven, hell.....if we leave this realm in our happy place, or chaotic suffering.....
maybe that's a stuck place.....a starting place one lands gets sucked into....moves through, hopefully.
Lighter
lighter:
MIL began sending emails to DD24 today. She's impressed DD is made a particular list at University, and is dangling "antiques your father left with me, bc your mother was divorcing and she and your Grandmother would have sold them."
First, the girls father cared nothing about antiques. Second, why not dangle all the money they stole? It's mind giggling cray cray, and the girls recognize MIL, and that side of the family, as fully delusional.
MIL also asked for DD22's contact info and what DD24 is majoring in...said she's contacting her now, "bc she's an adult," like NOW DD will have new insights or a memory lapse....or..... something.
What
Fresh
Hell?
Lighter
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