Wednesday's Woe - Denial After 6 Years?! ~Tommy and Angie Prince

Every day since you've been gone, there's such an isolating loneliness and an aching so deep inside; it's a feeling that fills my head, my heart, my eyes and my ears, a feeling that steals away the joy, leaving only the torment of my tears. And every day when this feeling comes, the power and intensity is like a thousand drums pounding in my heart tearing me apart.

My heart and I will never get used to your being gone.

Wednesday's Woe

Denial After 6 Years?!

~Tommy and Angie Prince

To deal with the reality of what happened to our child, we could not function with such reality "in our face" all the time. As psychoanalyst Otto Rank describes, it is neurotic to not face our live's truths, but it is also neurotic to face our harsh truths at all times. We do need to process the death of our child into our brains, our psyches, our bodies, our souls, etc. But we also need to take some breaks from such harsh reality at times to give our poor systems a breather. We have to face death and yet live at the same time, so it becomes a living nightmare.

We talk about life's rhythms. One thing that can stop our life's rhythm in its tracks is to momentarily "set aside" your child's death by becoming busy with life, then happen to glance at a picture of her you haven't seen in a long time ~ a flash of normalcy at some other time in your life comes face to face with the harsh reality of her death. What???! NOOO!!!! That couldn't have happened to my baby, not that!!! Not in her young life!!! The very striking picture of her screams out "Beautiful Life in All its Normalcy." But, No!!! You're "Chutes and Laddered" back down to 'Start" in a second's time. Square One. Day One of your grief. And the pain comes tumbling down over your heart like a freight train to where you wonder if you will survive...

Fragile Flower

Fragile Flower

I looked at the mandevilla tonight,

And I saw three dainty pink blossoms there;

Although a marvelous thrill to my sight,

Beauteous blossoms proved more than I could bear...

The beauty of God pierced through to my soul;

The Creator God in all His finesse,

Created with care . . . but sin takes its toll . . .

My tears would soon water the flow’rs pink dress.

“My world was perfect, Miss Mandevilla,

Tied in a bow like your pretty blossom;

Now my world weeps like the weeping willow

Midst God’s world, still filled with beauty awesome.”

Each time I looked at each dainty pink flow’r

Radiating beauty, its only duty,

The tears again would quickly overpow’r,

Flooding mem’ries of my sweet baby’s beauty . . .

Lord, You’re so present in Your creation;

Each flower petal bears Your fingerprint!

Yet Satan’s presence in the equation

Will destroy it all . . . in devastation . . . ?!

Once I was strong, but now I’m rendered weak,

So strong: husband and children all ‘round me,

All full of Your love, Your will we did seek—

. . . Now plundered, ravaged by the Enemy.

When I see th’ beauteous mandevilla, Lord,

I catch a glimpse of Heaven filled with You:

No sin, no decay, no devastation . . .

Just You—worshipped by saints—their reward:

To live daily within Your Heavenly view,

In robes washed white, restored to perfection.

But I—I’m still here Lord—dealing with death,

Grieving through each day, though I take life’s breath,

With glimpses of You, but living in hell . . .

How to live in vic’try? Would someone pray tell?

Meanwhile, You say, “My grace is sufficient,

For My pow’r is made perfect in weakness;

Ev’rywhere Satan makes you deficient,

Enables Me to shine . . . through your meekness . . .”

O Creator God, You’ll overpower

Satan’s destruction of each fragile flower . . .

You've already restored my baby girl!

. . . Grant me grace to live in this broken world. . .

Lord, may I be like each dainty pink flow’r,

Radiating (Your) Beauty, my only duty,

And when my tears quickly overpow’r,

Flood my memory with Your awesome beauty. . .

http://infogizmo.com/downhome/flowers1.html

Written 7/22/09 – Fragile Flower – Angie Bennett Prince

Life in Grief Arena

Life in Grief Arena


My husband “can’t anticipate” me now;
Even I can’t anticipate me now!
I have more anger than I had before;
I have more agitation than before...

Almost 3 years, we both nose-dived this week;
In ways, I’m getting stronger…others, weak.
We’re loaded down with more than we can bear...

I can’t go out; my heart’s too raw and bare;
If I do, I see triggers everywhere:
It feels…I’ve stepped into the lion’s lair…



"I'm not who I was, don't know who I am,"


My husband said this week.... We’re in a jam:
How are we to fight this Grieving Battle,
For we’re up Grief's Creek without a paddle,
Even missing the kayak or canoe …!


What’s a grieving parent supposed to do?!


My husband wants to kill; I want to scream;
We’re substituting nightmares for each dream…
Last night, my husband was killing someone
With pitchforks; I was being spat upon
By someone I had thought was my good friend...
Night turns to day, but sleep did us upend.


We barely function; we mostly grieve...
Who'll enter Grief Arena and relieve?




Which would strip you more –

Grief? Or... Lions’ Den?

One leaves you dead –

th’ other . . . you wish you’d been.




Grieving’s the nightmare that will never end …
And both—without a Savior…would be the end!

Some say, "God loves you and has a wonderful plan for your life." ...Does that plan include excruciating pain and suffering? If so, that sure doesn't FEEL like "a wonderful plan" ...!

If only for this life we have hope in Christ, we are to be pitied more than all men.
Colossians 15:19 (The Holy Bible, New International Version)

picture: martyr+tract.jpg

Written 7/9/09 - Life in Grief Arena - Angie Bennett Prince
2 years, 11 months, and 7 days after the death of our 19-year-old daughter, Merry Katherine

Counselor, “Heal Thyself!"

hope …is what keeps me alive

The Lord is there to rescue all who are discouraged and have given up hope. 

~Psalm 34:18 CEV 

Counselor, “Heal Thyself!"

 

Light-headed, can’t catch my breath, panic-struck,

Triggered, hypervigilant; now I’m stuck . . .

Hap’ning again – signs of PTSD —

Time for this counselor—“practice what you preach!”

. . . A song . . . “God is moving by His Spirit . . .”

Comes to mind—my “right brain” needs to hear it!

God hovers near; shortly, here come the tears.

Panic is broken . . . and so are my fears.

A simple song from a former church life,

The pastor would sing, soothing each of us . . .

Soothing harried hearts to a quiet hush . . . .  

I “hear” him sing . . . then . . . here comes the knife—

This man of God too, lost his precious child;

My crying heart cannot be reconciled:

So much suffering here—in our lives on earth—

Losing our children – what’s all this pain worth?

It ravages our lives, renders us weak . . .

My son reminds–That’s when we hear God speak!

The Man of Sorrows, acquainted with grief

Ministers to my heart, brings sweet relief . . .

Thank You O God for a way through the pain;

You provide Your light amidst death’s dark bane.

You said, “In this world, you will have trouble.”

(This is so true—I lost my baby girl!)

“But take heart!  I have overcome the world.”

Your Sweet Spirit lifts me from death’s rubble . . . 

 

*PTSD:  Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder

**God Is Moving By His Spirit

            God is Moving By His Spirit,

            Moving o’er all the earth,

            Signs and wonders when God moveth,

            Move, O Lord,  in me.

what if i got it wrong, picture originally uploaded by jane.bird.

In memory of Paul Dana Walker, Jr.  1956 - 1980

In memory of Merry Katherine Prince  3/29/1987 - 8/2/2006

Written 5/17/09 – Counselor, “Heal Thyself!” – Angie Bennett Prince

Bless the Beasts and the Children

"Life here's not all! ... There's the rub."

Bless the Beasts and the Children

“Play little tiger; play with your mother;
We haven’t much time to stay;
But I know you must miss your big brother,
So take your time now to play.

“Because it’s so safe to play in Beast Park,
You may take your time to roam;
The sky is cloudy; it will soon be dark—
When we get tired, we’ll go home.”

Mother said, “God bless my cub; she’s so young;
Yet she likes to be so bold;
She doesn’t know there’s danger in this world—
She’s the strongest of her fold.”

God smiled tenderly at mother and cub,
“Don’t you know I will take care
Of little cub, whether her paws might stub
Or troubles—the lion’s share
Plague her like ... that one behind that tall shrub?”

Mother jumped up, quivering in alarm,
Grabbing her cub in her grip,
“Why did You say You’d protect from all harm?
I didn’t ask for hardship!”

As the lion ran, God said with concern,
“She must have trials to grow;
Otherwise, she’s too weak for this sojourn—
So some dangers she must know!”

“Her brother was killed; why should I trust You?
You didn’t protect that cub!
We must go home now; I don’t like Your view—
I can take care of my cub!”

“So that’s what scares you,” He tenderly said.
“You trusted me with Big Cub;
It must not have ‘worked’ then—Big Cub is dead.


"Life here's not all! ... There's the rub."


Mother moved close ... then walked away sadly,
She couldn’t risk cub’s life to end badly,
So she left the God of Life,
Walked down Doubting Path of Strife . . .




Bless the beasts and the children,
God bless doubting mommies and daddies too –
When dark storms taunt and threaten,
God, grant us trust to help us hope in You!

Painting by Eugene Delacrois, A Young Tiger Playing with its Mother, 1830
You Tube, The Carpenters, "Bless the Beasts and the Children"

Poem written in response to poetry cues beast, bless, bold, and to the painting of "A Young Tiger Playing with its Mother" by Eugene Delacrois, 1830 as noted on the blog, Simply Snickers: http://simplysnickers.blogspot.com/2009/04/poetry-prompt-through-sunday-april-26.html

Written 4/24/09 - Bless the Beasts and the Children - Angie Bennett Prince

What Happened to My Baby Girl?!

What Happened to My Baby Girl?!

Who were you really?

Yes, it sounds silly—

I knew you so well;

Now I’m living hell.

How can I go on—

One God gave on loan

Is no longer here;

I can’t change the gear;

I can’t move forward;

I can’t go toward

Life—I live in death,

Dying each life’s breath,

Missing one I love

Though she’s gone above,

My heart’s gone to hell

Since the day you fell . . . .

Where were you headed

Restless, pathetic—

Why did you so cling

To the sick’ning thing

That drained life away,

Making color gray,

Making happy sad,

Making honest bad,

S-t-e-a-l-i-n-g you from me,

Killing my baby!

See how I am stuck

In the mire and muck?

So lost . . . grieving you,

And then wondering who . . .

Who you really were—

I didn’t know . . . her—

The one friends describe

As one who’d imbibe,

Treating people mean,

Manipulating,

Lying through your teeth.

M-a-r-i-j-u-a-n-a leaf

Controlled ev’ry move,

All moves to behoove

Smoking that next joint . . .

But what was the point—

To escape your life . . .

Into darkness rife?

They say you looked “hard,”

Cuts me like a shard;

My baby was soft

With no hacking cough.

She smelled like a rose,

No stench to the nose,

No cigarette stench

Where noses would pinch

To refresh the air.

But you didn’t care;

You just wanted more . . . .

Our LOVE you’d ignore;

It got in your way

Of having your way:

Party, sleep, repeat:

Destruction replete.

Well, you got your wish,

And I got anguish.

So you were destroyed,

And I face the void,

Wond’ring what happened,

Living life, saddened . . .

Where’d my baby go . . .

That – I’ll never know!

So I’m left to die

Broken heart inside,

Witnessing your death

Before . . . your last breath!

What happened to you

. . . Before . . . death took you?

My sweet baby’s gone,

Stolen by a clone

That people describe

Without you inside . . . .

THAT must be the child

Who’s tender and mild,

God resurrected

When death infected

Out-of-control-child

Who stole you, went wild.

So THAT’S where you are!

Perched upon a star,

Talking with Mommy—

No more a zombie!

You have your TRUE soul;

God has made you whole!

That’s why I feel blessed

And my heart caressed

When we two commune,

Our hearts back in tune!

My baby is here;

Her spirit is near . . . .

No more bound by chains,

Now your heart regains

The soul God gave you

When He made you new.

Now I can rejoice;

I hear your REAL voice!

Though my baby’s “gone,”

She’s no more a clone!

Though death’s a fact,

My baby is back!

Bless-ed be Your name;

You all pow’r reclaim.

Buried in the tomb

You’ve changed to a womb

That begets the child

Satan had beguiled.

Now she is restored

As our prayers implored!

It’s like Jesus said,

Before He was dead . . .

“Wheat must fall and die

To reap its real life!

So each man must die

To reap his true life!”

Baby, though you died,

In Him you abide!

Now freed from all sin,

True freedom you win.

You live though you died!

In peace, I'll abide;

God's love comes beside . . .

Command those who are rich in this present world not to be arrogant nor to put their hope in wealth, which is so uncertain, but to put their hope in God, who richly provides us with everything for our enjoyment. Command them to do good, to be rich in good deeds, and to be generous and willing to share. In this way they will lay up treasure for themselves as a firm foundation for the coming age, so that they may take hold of the life that is truly life. 1 Timothy 6:17- 19


Jesus replied, “The hour has come for the Son of Man to be glorified. I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds. The man who loves his life will lose it, while the man who hates his life in this world will keep it for eternal life.” John 12:23-25


Jesus said to her, "I am the resurrection and the life. He who believes in Me will live, even though he dies . . . ."


Written 4/9/09 - What Happened to My Baby Girl?! - Angie Bennett Prince