Wednesday's Woe - War Between the States: When Words’ Effect Berates…

Wednesday's Woe

War Between the States:

When Words’ Effect Berates…

The Importance of Not Comparing a

Death of Order (such as Child Losing a Mother), 

complicated though that may be, with a 

Death Out of Order (Mother Losing a Child)

War Between the States

Your state: Denial— 

My state: Under Fire

For still loving my dead child.

Clueless to my pain,

Doing what you do—

I cannot be around you.

Simply loving you—

I reach out to care,

But you stab me with a spear!

Blind to Child-Loss pain:

My heart you disdain—

(Its vulner’bility scares…)

Then words start to fly:

War declared ‘tween you and me

Slaughtering my heart…

Love must rear its head:

Declare— Our fellowship, “Dead!”

Camellias blooming blood red…

Moral of Story:

(No more words impart

To further grieve th’ mother’s heart!!!)

Interesting Note, the Japanese word for Red Camellia, Tsubaki, or 椿, has the meaning, 

“In Love, Perishing with grace”! 

So Apropos!

~~~

Having just read the book _life after the death of my son: what i’m learning_ written by grieving father Dennis Apple, I was inspired to turn again to poetry, using both sides of my brain to try to capture the essence of what just had transpired between me and a family-of-origin member whose words were extremely hurtful to me.* 

Dennis Apple, on page 163 of his book, so aptly says the following words in regard to writing a haiku about some of our Death-of-Child experience: {Uncannily, it also describes the essence of my attempted conversation with the family member who was pushing me to move on, and stay away from (what he deemed as) “unnecessary” pain, and “unbeneficial” pain.)

“There are many who would think this exercise morbid. If you feel it would be helpful to you, do not let their feelings about it discourage you.”

Amen, brother. Amen!

Regarding the writing of the above haiku, I make the following notes to some of the exceptions taken to the typical haiku poem originated by the Japanese:

*Inspired by Dennis and Buelah Apple, I am using the “Haiku” style poem, although I am varying lines of 5- and 7-syllables in an attempt to describe some aspects of my grief (leaving out as Dennis and his wife often did, the usual haiku ingredient of using a seasonal word in at least one of the triplet lines (although I did use a seasonal phrase in my final triplet), as well as my own choosing to leave out the traditional format of the 7-syllable line being the middle line of the triplets. I also use some rhyming which a typical haiku rarely does).

Camellia notations and picture from

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanakotoba

(found at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hanakotoba )

Tuesday's Trust - Run the Gauntlet "If You Want To Be Loved On...!" - 5 1/2 Years Into My Grief

Tuesday's Trust

Run the Gauntlet

"If You Want To Be Loved On...!"

5 1/2 Years Into My Grief

Daniel Boone was made to "Run the Gauntlet" in order to survive capture by the Shawnee Indians. Running the Gauntlet involved passing through a long line of warriors who then beat at him with "clubs, hoe handles, tomahawks, and butcher knives." Many men die after Running the Gauntlet just once but Daniel Boone, though badly beaten, survived.

Collectivism: the practice or principle of giving a group priority over each individual in it.

Gauntlet: noun, consecutive tasks endured sequentially; as these do not cause serious injuries, only bearable pain; they are sometimes eagerly anticipated by the initiate as a sign of acceptance into a more prestigious group.

I'll never forget the words of psychologist, Diane Langberg, who has been in private practice for years as a Christian therapist working with extremely wounded people. She was teaching us Christian Counselors (along with other Christian workers in the church) in an American Association of Christian Counselors' (AACC) seminar (Diane is now the president of AACC), words to the following effect:

"Don't think that you can talk down to people from out of your ivory tower to tell them to come up out of the pit of their turmoil to come up to you. You must be humble, gentle, and kind like the Suffering Servant and go down into the pit with them, and walk alongside them awhile, and then gently lead them out of their pit."

Brilliant words if I've ever heard any that speak to the heart of the most healing ways in psychotherapy, for there is no place for pride and arrogance (ever, really, but especially) when you are working with a wounded soul.

Now we are the wounded souls, 5 1/2 years into our child-loss grief . . .

And unlike the words of Diane Langberg's gentle and kind spirit, I heard words from a woman who thinks of herself as being a caring person (as she heads up many of the outreach ministries of our Sunday School), yet her words resonated with the harsh attitude I had sensed all along from most of the Christians around me during these five-and-a-half arduous years of grieving the death of our 19-year-old child... while we are barely functional, just trying to survive . . . one tiny step at a time.

Yet the church people still seem to envision us as the strong people we once were . . . and therefore have totally unrealistic expectations for us. The Death of Our Child changes us, yet we are being asked to come back and "fit in" to a collective unit which no longer reflects our depth of need ~ as if we were fully functioning after such depths of grief, as if our child's death never happened, as if our lives haven't been changed forever (this side of Heaven anyway).

It feels as if many Christians are requiring us to "Run the Gauntlet" to prove our love for them before we can "deserve" any love from them ON TOP OF Surviving our Child-Loss Grief which, by itself alone, already feels well-nigh impossible.

People seem awfully threatened when we have a need to break away from the "pack" to get our deeper needs met. It is unfortunate they cannot just love us anyway, just as we are. But our hearts are tender, and we must discern the environments that are loving and healing, just as we must discern when they are not...

So I wrote the following poem today, amidst crying deep sobs of grief . . .

"If You Want To Be Loved On...!"

5 1/2 years, I'd been away

From the class I'd attended (before my child's death) every Sunday...

"You must come here if you want to be loved on!"

she said to me that day...

that day our grand baby was dedicated ~

when we could barely get away . . .

but we did because it was a very important day.

Then we visited the class in which we once had faithfully participated...

"You must come here if you want to be loved on!"

(Is that what it has come to now

In the church that proclaims Your name:

A disabled grieving mommy must bow

To their rules, though our world will NEVER be the same?

Where is the love, sweet Jesus, that sent You to the cross to die,

Where You gave up Your life for others

Though Your own precious life You had to deny

Yet, those who say they love You, love to us grieving mothers would deny?)

"You must come here if you want to be loved on!"

No, to that I won't agree ~

For my Savior who died on the cross,

In His great love, He comes to me.

(Forgive us Lord for being so blind

To those around us who need Your love

When we have in mind, they must step in line

To our tune, or miss out on Your love.)

"You must come here if you want to be loved on!"

But You say,

"Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted."*

Thank You, Lord ~ We don't have to wait on others; we'll bask in Your love instead!

(But do they have any idea the added wounds they dish out upon our head?)

*Matthew 5:4

Pictures - from www.runthegauntlet.com

Poem - "If You Want To Be Loved On..." ~ 5 1/2 Years Into My Grief - Angie Bennett Prince - 2/20/2012

Wednesday's Woe - Secondary Wounds

Wednesday's Woe

Secondary Wounds

Losing you was more than I could bear.

It seems, when your life stopped, so did mine.

Five years out, I cannot pay death's fare;

It's hard to work when my heart does pine.

It's almost all I can do to cope;

All my energy is called to bear

T' carry grief's burden 'nd hold onto hope ~

Seems harder than anyone's fair share!

But when loved ones pile on with their vice,

Tis th' straw of th' proverbial camel's back ~

Of all folks, they should know t' be nice;

When they are not, they deserve a smack!

My grief may be too hard for them t' bear;

I'm thankful for special ones who can,

But th' least they can do for me is C-A-R-E,

And on their own vices, call a ban!

Secondary wounds weigh heavier at times:

Loving you brings tears, makes it hard to see,

But loved one's vice piled on, downright blinds ~

Grieving you, I expect; their attacks blind-side me.

Have mercy you who are called to love ~

Do you not know you'll answer to th' One above?!

~Angie

When I read a friend's poem of the same theme, I was struck by how much of a "pushover" I still may be. My poem seems so tame next to hers. She graciously gave me permission to share her version with you! Thank you Vickie!

For Everyone Who Knew The Old Me

Don't tell me you understand

Just lend me a shoulder or a hand.

Don't judge me if you do not know

how I feel to lose my son.

If you have nothing nice to say

You are right Just stay away.

The old me is gone

and NO you don't know

Leave us alone

if you can't be kind.

None of us are the same

You should be ashamed

You think all the possibilities through

of what you can say

when I finally get to talk to you.

Life goes on you say so well......

I pray you are never stuck in this hell.

Parents are gone

uncles and aunts

and you want to compare

what we don't share.

Because you asked a friend

you say

well funny that friend

is yours, not mine.

If you don't understand

it is fine.

I pray you don't have to walk in my shoes.

So maybe you're right to leave me alone

You say I'm So sensitive

Walk in my shoes for one hour one day

and then I will listen to what you have to say.

Thanks for the thoughts , the cards, the words

you couldn't even do that

it was too hard.

I just want you to know

the pushover I was

is gone for good.

For those of you who knew the old me.

~Vickie Warrington Davis

Picture, thanks to FotoSearch

Poem - Secondary Wounds - Angie Bennett Prince - 10/3/2011

Poem, For Everyone Who Knew the Old Me, is by Vickie Warrington Davis