Tag Archives: grief

“Finding My Way”

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Today is the 15th Anniversary of my Dads passing. I miss his smile, his wisdom, and most of all his hugs.

Parents are like God in a way. They hold, care, tend, and love us even though they have their own agendas in life. At some point they have to put us down so we can walk on our own. Dad’s death was a time for me that felt as if I was wondering in the desert all alone. I wondered how I would know how to do all that was yet to come without him to talk it over with. What I learned was that just like God’s word had been planted in my heart, mind and soul. So had the wisdom of my Dad’s words. Two fathers working together to teach me how to stand on my own and live the best life I could.

Those that we love in this world will leave us one day. Cherish the time you have now with them. Learn from the wisdom they have to share. And as my Dad would often say to me, “take what you can from my words that resonate with you now, and leave the rest behind for another time.”

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December 24, 2015 

A Note from Ollie

“I’m ready for this party to get started!” 

“The Grandkids are coming that means I’ll be cleaning up the floor tonight! Can’t wait!”


This popped up on my Facebook timeline this morning, and I lost it. There’s no Ollie this year here, they’ll be no grandkids here for our annuel Christmas Eve celebration because of my condition. I do have a lot to be gratful for though. My family and friends who have done so much in these past few weeks to make things easier for me. And we are still having our celebration at Shannon’s this year as our kids pitch in together to carry on our family traditon. Letting others do things for me is not easy, but has been a good lesson in humility. In turn I’ve been blessed with much grace. I guess the lesson for me is to remember with change comes much pain, and yet beneath it lies the grace that gets us through it.

Merry Christmas and may we all be blessed with a health happy New Year!

“Missing My Furry Friend”

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Today I’m missing the warmth and comfort of my Ollie dog beside me. His unconditional love was contagious and settling. He had a way of centering me as I lay my hand on him. Together we’d breath in and out until I was awakened to all that matter, being in the moment of life and love.

As I read over my words, I realize how grateful I am for the memory. He still has a way of lifting my sadness, touching my heart, and inspiring me.

“Little Green Plant”

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    How ya doing little plant?
    You’re as pretty as can be.
    I’m glad you’ve come
    To live with me.
    You sooth a broken heart
    In my time of need.
    You cheer me with 
    your tiny 
    little
    green
    heart
    shaped 
    leaves.
    It always seems to be that way
    it’s the simplest of things
    that gives us hope
    for a brand new day.

    “Moving On”

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    It’s difficult to move
    when you’re feeling so sad,
    But not doing a thing
    also feels kind of bad.
    I hear my Dad’s voice say, 
    One step at a time.
    Soon you’ll begin
    To feel alive,
    And again see yourself 
    On an upward climb.
    Just start from now,
    One day,
    One hour,
    One moment
    At a time.
    When you come back to the living
    You’ll start feeling fine.
    All you have to do
    Is simple start from now!

    “The Rainbow Bridge”

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    To all of you who loved Ollie, and have lost a pet of your own sharing your pain with us. We wanted to share this story of hope with you, that we received in the mail. Thank you for your kind words, love, support, prayers and understanding. It has meant so much to us know that we are not alone in our grief.

     

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    “My Dog Gone Grief”

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    img_0267On October 23, 2016, we laid our sweet Ollie dog to rest, and our hearts have been broken in these last few days without him. I think about how ironic it is that this happened on the same day that I always posted “Sundays with Ollie.”  For us it was literally our last “Sunday with Ollie.”  I kept thinking he was 13, but after looking at his papers he was actually 12. He became a part of our family in October of 2004. I remember the day we picked him out. I was going to take home the first puppy that came up to me. They say it’s their way of picking you out, but Ollie was too busy chasing his brothers and sisters around the yard, and he was the runt of the liter. I fell in love with him right off the bat. He was 6 weeks old and so tiny I could hold him in my two hands. As we took him away from the only family he knew he was scared, but he melted in my arms as I began to hum softly in his ear. Our bond began, and while Tom wasn’t much of a dog person, it made him happy to see me so content. Ollie, being the personality that he was warmed his way into Tom’s heart as well.

    As I was looking through his papers I found the receipt for a dog training class I signed him up for. It made me laugh remembering how totally uncooperative he was. Ollie was more interested in playing with the other dogs then learning how to behave and listen. He had no fears of other dogs, he’d let the biggest ones know that he was no push over. By all accounts some people might consider him an irritating dog with his loud bark and his piercing stare, but it was his charismatic personality that overshadowed anything else. I would do anything to hear that bark one more time right now. As Tom said, Ollie was one of a kind, and surely our most favorite of all pets.

    God has a way helping us through our losses. We simple must be open to what he has for us to receive. As we left the pet emergency, taking Ollie home to bury him in our back yard. A woman appeared out of nowhere seeing how distraught I was she said to me, “peace be with you sister, you’ll see your furry little friend again someday.” Then she took my hand and prayed that God would bless me with his loving peace. I felt like she was an angle placed right where and when I needed her. The next day as I was sitting in my sacred space, the void of Ollie was overwhelming.  His presence always played an intricate part in helping me to become centered. Feeling unable to concentrate on anything, I started flipping through my “Science of Mind” Magazine stopping at an article called “Dog gone grief.” I couldn’t help thinking how much the title sounded like something Ollie would say in one of his post. The author Stef Swink was writing about the recent loss of her own 13yr old dog. She was reminded by a friend, that it’s ok to allow ourselves to feel life’s heartbreaks. “Deep love,” she goes on, “is worth the pain! If you are in anguish, allow it and honor it.” That’s what Tom and I are trying to do. It feels like we’re on roller coaster of emotions, same as we were when we lost our loved ones. There’s the ups and the downs, the twist and the turns, and the downhill screams allow me to cry as loud and as hard as I need to, letting my tears heal my heartbreak. I talk about my grief, because I can only share what I feel. But both Tom and I know by the grace of God our “dog gone grief” will slow down when the time is right. It is then that we can sit with the treasured legacy that “Sundays with Ollie” has yet to offer us.

    Tom tries to lighten the mood by telling me that Ollie is with our other dogs now, his brothers, and knowing Ollie he’s probable chasing them all over the place in heaven.

    I can hear him saying his favorite line, “I’m a lucky dog, indeed!”

    “Unwanted Regrets”

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    Today I feel a bit melancholy as I remember it is the anniversary of the death of someone I loved very much. I miss her kind, loving, and self giving heart everyday. It seems as time goes by and you accumulate many more loses along the way, one reminder brings all of them into view. 

    I think about how much I miss each one of them for different reasons of course, but I still feel their presence, and hear what they would have said about this or that. But I also have regrets of things I didn’t say, things I wish I asked about, and I wonder most if they knew how much I loved them.

    I wish I could have realized sooner how important it was to say the things to them that I so easily find the words for now that they’re gone. I wish I would have gotten to know more about who they were. What their dreams, passions and goals were. What their childhood was like, what they thought about their parents, who their best friends were. I don’t know maybe it’s just because I am so involved with our family history that these things seem all the more important to me. One thing I do know for sure is that death is permanent. There are no second chances. What we don’t know and haven’t experienced is hard to understand until it happens to us. Unfortunately by then it’s too late to do anything about it. So if you love someone with all your heart soul and mind, show it in all you do and say, don’t assume that they know what’s in your heart.