#i've learned to stop drowning in the waves of grief

[starstaiined]

thinking about the unforgiving nature of the passage of time

#just realized that i've probably rocked my baby boy to sleep for the last time without realizing jt #he's three right now and so fucking big #when did he get so big? #everytime i used to watch him when he was a baby i'd put the same lullaby on and rock him to sleep #he'd tuck his little head against my neck and i'd just rock him #tonight i picked him up and he had a growth spurt so he doesn't quite fit the way he used to #but he still cuddled close and hugged me tight while i rocked him #had to put him down and tuck him in so he could actually sleep comfortably though #long gone are the days where he'd drift off comfortably on me then i'd go around cleaning things up while holding him in one hand #god #i dont miss the person i used to be #i'm glad for the time passing for that much #i've learned to stop drowning in the waves of grief #learned how to cup it before it can grow. to say 'i know this hurts and i'm sorry it does. let's sit in it together.' #learned how to mourn without swandiving into a lake of self pity #but for all i've changed in the past few years so has everyone else #the kids have grown up. all of them were so little and are now at such different stages of their little lives #and i'm grateful to be a part of their story but damn it's so bittersweet #anyways i'm rambling and probably incoherent i'm just overly emotional about this

[ziggyz-eyepatch]

Some kinds words on grief.

"Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks."

-Reddit stranger

#grief

[theonlyoasis]

“Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people l've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life. Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves.

And lots of shipwrecks.”

#q #m #w

[sail-away-to-space]

Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

-GSnow (Reddit comment)

#grief #grief comes in waves #I'm still grieving my dog #reminiscing #love #my dog #reddit #waves #feels #feelings #sappy #death #share #gem

[septembersghost]

Hey jess 💜 what's your favorite lyric from each taylor swift album?

hi liv!!! 😘💜 ooooh, i love this question too and it's ALSO hard to answer - i just know i'm going to expose myself as a sad girlie here lol. there are lyrics of hers i dearly love that are much more specific to her own journey, and there are ones i tend to keep in my pocket that resonate very personally to me for various reasons.

my favorite singular lyrics aren't even necessarily from my favorite complete song on an album, which is interesting too!

debut: and you come away with a great little story, of a mess of a dreamer with the nerve to adore you (cold as you)

fearless: the music starts playing like the end of a sad movie, it's the kind of ending you don't really wanna see, 'cause it's tragedy and it'll only bring you down. now i don't know what to be without you around (breathe)

speak now: i took your matches before fire could catch me, so don't look now, i'm shining like fireworks over your sad empty town (dear john. almost chose a MUCH sadder line from this song - well maybe it's me and my blind optimism to blame, or maybe it's you and your sick need to give love and take it away - but that bridge is so cathartic.)

also: hold on, to spinning around, confetti falls to the ground, may these memories break our fall (long live)

red: so you were never a saint, and i've loved in shades of wrong, we learn to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts, but this love is brave and wild (state of grace. every line? these are the hands of fate, you're my achilles' heel, this is the golden age of something good and right and real!)

also!: time won't fly, it's like i'm paralyzed by it. i'd like to be my old self again, but i'm still trying to find it (all too well)

1989: lantern burning, flickered in the night for only you, but you were still gone; in losing grip, on sinking ships, you showed up just in time (this love)

also (i know i've cheated three times now): the water filled my lungs, i screamed so loud, but no one heard a thing. rain came pouring down, when i was drowning, that's when i could finally breathe (clean)

reputation: all my flowers grew back as thorns, windows boarded up after the storm, he built a fire just to keep me warm (call it what you want)

lover: i wake in the night, i pace like a ghost, the room is on fire, invisible smoke, and all of my heroes die all alone, help me hold on to you (the archer)

folklore: HOW does one choose a favorite lyric off of folklore?! help! i'm listing more for this, i have to!

i'm still a believer, but i don't know why. i've never been a natural, all i do is try, try, try (mirrorball)

to live for the hope of it all (august)

love you to the moon and to saturn, passed down like folk songs, the love lasts so long (seven)

i'm a fire, and i'll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade ocean wave blues come, all these people think love's for show, but i would die for you in secret (peace)

chains around my demons, wool to brave the seasons. one single thread of gold tied me to you (invisible string)

they told me all of my cages were mental ... i was so ahead of the curve, the curve became a sphere, fell behind on my classmates, and i ended up here (this is me trying)

what should be over burrowed under my skin in heart-stopping waves of hurt ... my calamitous love and insurmountable grief (the lakes)

evermore: when i was shipwrecked, i thought of you, in the cracks of light, i dreamed of you. it was real enough to get me through (evermore)

i'd meet you where the spirit meets the bones in a faith-forgotten land (ivy)

now you hang from my lips like the gardens of babylon, with your boots beneath my bed, forever is the sweetest con (cowboy like me)

conclusively i have no self-restraint 😌💖✨🎶

#is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me? #me holding myself back from listing ten different lyrics from red then losing it with folklore #it's funny because breathe is not my favorite fearless song but it probably hits the hardest for reasons #honorable mention to the bridge from dress and 'i once believed love would be burning red but it's golden' from daylight #both frequently make me tear up #blueecp #liv 💜 #letterbox #taylor swift

[souleater]

i'm so sorry to hear about your friend's dad. my dad passed away a few years ago, so i can somewhat understand and maybe give my 2 cents, if you were needing any advice on where to go from here.

i think the most important thing to remember is that grief does not look the same on everyone. people will exhibit behaviors that seem completely uncharacteristic for someone who just lost a loved one, but it is usually apart of their grieving process all the same.

when my dad died, i was in such a state of shock that i didn't even process it until a year had passed. during that year, i didn't cry once and i subconsciously refused to let myself even acknowledge my dad's passing. to others, it looked like i was coping extremely well and carrying on as normal, but in reality i was incredibly on edge and trying to distract myself 24/7.

i say this because there isn't a manual on how to "grieve properly" or what exactly to expect from someone who is grieving, because that is something only time will tell. the best thing my friends did for me was just making sure i was still functioning. even when i kept insisting i was fine (and i genuinely believed i was), they made sure to check in, ask if i've eaten, if i've been taking care of myself (showering, for example), or just forcing me to hang out with them (i always dreaded this, but by the end of the night i was always in higher spirits). it might be the case that your friend will be on autopilot and won't always be aware of what they need. the best thing you can do is be there and check in with her, make sure she's taking care of herself.

but also, be kind to yourself as well. he may not have been your dad, but he was also someone that was in your life for a very long time, and you're allowed to let yourself grieve that relationship as well. everything i recommended to do to help your friend, make sure you're following the same advice with yourself. grief is kind of like waves in the ocean. at first, you feel like you're drowning. and honestly, it never stops hurting, but over time, you learn how to keep yourself afloat and it becomes easier to wait them out. i hope this was at least a little bit helpful, and i'm so sorry for both your losses. <3

thank you so much honestly the sweetest ask i’ve ever gotten this really means a lot 💗 i’ll try my best for the both of us

[clonsolis-blog]

Someone on reddit wrote the following heartfelt plea

online.

"My friend just died. I don't know what to do." A lot of people responded. Then there's one old guy's incredible comment that stood out from the rest that might just change the way we approach life and death: "Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that l've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's mv two cents "I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter" I don't want it to be something that iust passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged. and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life.

Scars are only ugly to people who can't see. "As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all vou can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and vou hang on for a while. Mavbe it's some phvsical thing. Mavbe it's a happ memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive. "In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give vou time to catch vour breath. All vou can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe. vou can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything..and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves. there is life. "Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming. for the most part. and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage. but vou'll come out "Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow vou don't reallv want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks "

[psycakepie]

"Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

Take care, sending you many hugs :)"

-u/GSnow

leaving this here, just in case.

[unashamedly-enthusiastic]

Gsnow on grief

Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

#Grief #good things happen in this world #excellent life advice #Death #Long post #Reddit #tw death

[kursed-arcana]

Ride Your Wave Review

Have you ever felt like you're lost in this world? Like you don't know what you want for your life? Like you aren't good at anything?

Have you ever list someone? A family member? A pet? A lover?

If you have Ride Your Wave may be the movie for you. It can be hard to keep your head above water. To not be dragged down by your screw ups or losses. But we have to keep trying. To find what we're good at or passionate about. To move on from our losses. This is the story of Hinako, a girl who has to overcome these things and ride her next wave into a better tomorrow. While she is on her own journey and it is the central point of the movie, the other cast members all have to move on with her.

Kawamura has to stop chasing his best friend's memory and be himself. Youko has to learn own her feelings and uncovers her dream is to honor the person she lost by brining their dream to life. Minato spent his whole life trying to and failing and trying again until he succeeded in his goals. He wants to honor the person who saved him by saving others.

The film uses powerful imagery centered around surfing and marine life such as sea turtles. The theme reflected predominantly through the recuring song of the movie, Brand New Story. I encourage you to pay attention to the lyrics of the song and to look up the translation. It's a beautiful song with a powerful message. The song itself is used as a magic spell of sorts to summon Minato to Hinako. It's a special song for them that played in key moments of their history.

The animation is also fantastic. The water and surfing imagery is gorgeous. While this is foremost a character story, surfing is an important device in showcasing the characters. And water is a central component to this, to fire fighting and of course for Hinako to summon Minato.

Hinako is struggling to keep her head above water, both figuratively and literally. While the water and waves are representative of life's struggles and drowning in depression, Hinako also literally leaps into the water, submerging herself multiple times to be with Minato. But she can never hold on to him or physically feel his presence. And she can only hold her breath for so long before she has to come up for air. Rather symbolic for her struggle with her grief.

It is not until she learns of her childhood connection to Minato that she is able to begin moving on and uncovers her true purpose in life. This discovery leads to her finally unlocking his phone, symbolizes her finally unlocking her path forward. The movie climaxes with her sacrificing her connection to Minato in order to save a life. In that moment she is finally able to be true to herself and move on from her loss. She rides that wave all the way back to the ground and forward into her new life.

But even when she can no longer see Minato he will be there for her. Represented by her receiving one final message from him as the movie ends.

This movie has a powerful message and it may be able to reach you if your lost. Open your heart to the possibilities and ride your next wave into a new chapter.

Here's the my anime list link to my review lol. Sorry for any typos. I've been crying my eyes out since watching it lol

#ride your wave #anime #anime review #reviews #movie review #kimi to nami ni noretara #surfing #depression #pearls of wisdom #anime recommendation #anime rec list #lost in life #what's your dream #words of wisdom #anime movie #loss #grief #keep your head up #inspiration #inspiring

[plague-doctor-daddy]

How do you cure grief bc I've lost so many people but lately the recent terrorist attack in Christchurch has hurt more than anything since it's just down south from where I live and family live there :(

“…for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out. Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.” - u/GSnow

I hope you and your family are doing alright and that everyone is safe. I can’t imagine what all of you and those affected by the attack must be going through. And remember, love, you’ll manage and will be alright

#actual advice #asks #anon

[thebatsintheebelfry]

CONCRETE INTO THE FOUNDATIONS

I've got a lot of stuff to write and post this morning, but first I've decided to reduce my Tumblr accounts to just one, this one.

As I was going through all three of my Tumblr accounts I saw just one post that I wanted to keep. The Instagram post it came from has long since gone and as I will delete the tumblr account it resides upon, I've decided to make it a new post here. This is the only surviving photo of me and my good friend Chris. He passed away about four years ago on a hike for charity. I miss him greatly.

When I learned of his passing I was a tattoo apprentice in a shop in downtown Taipei. I was in the middle of setting up my equipment to do some tattoo practice. As I read the text message his wife has sent me tears began streaming down my face and my body began to shake. I had to put my tools aside and sit down. After some time I tried to tidy everything away but I couldn't remember where anything was supposed to go or how to dismantle them. My mind was blank with grief and the tears wouldn't stop.

I don't really cry. As a boy I built a wall around my emotions to cope with the world around me. I didn't even cry at my granddad's funeral while everyone in the pews around me wept. People asked if I was okay and I replied I was fine. My friends and family would often remark how calm, even cold I was. I had the longest of fuses and the most explosive of tempers, but most things didn't faze or bother me emotionally. Chris' death was the first time as an adult that I remember crying like that. I bawled.

In my young adult years as some wayward vagabond, Chris was a kind of irregular constant in my life. He'd pop every so often into Tokyo, Seoul, and Taipei and he almost always had time for me. This dopey little tumbleweed of a fart had somehow become a friend to the dean of St Martins. He was far more than that though. Far far more.

He was an amazing man: a wonderful and devoted husband to his wife, a lovely and doting father to his kids, a talented and widely exhibited artist, the dean of several art schools and the head and chair of art school organizations across the world, the chair of a charity committed to environmental change... the list is longer than I know. He would never boast of it, but I know he counted Ryuichi Sakamoto, Ian McEwan, Jarvis Cocker as personal friends and collaborators. He often met with the mayors of cities and leaders of countries to start art initiatives, adjudicate prestigious art prizes, and build upon his tireless work for charity. He made and exhibited his unique artwork in places all over the world, from the MoCa in Taipei to icebergs in the Antarctic.

So how in the bloody hell would this man, an amazing man of limitless generosity, virtue, and integrity, how and more importantly why would he have time for me.

As someone from a broken home and with estranged and strained relations with what family I have, I've gravitated towards men who could function as a father figure. Men who can help guide and ground me, offer sage counsel and meaningful advice. Truly good men are rare. Chris was one of them and while he couldn't assume a father-like figure then, he does now.

So it isn't an accident that it's on this very morning I have stumbled upon his presence again. This juncture in my life is the most critical I've ever been at. Daily I have been treading precariously close to the cliffs’ edge, yearning for a fall into the swirling abyss below and be done with the misery I have inflicted upon myself and the person I love the most in the world. Chris would never have been where I am now. He understood why a life is worth living. And Fawn made that purpose clear to me. She forced me to realise and now I don't think I could ever be standing on a bridge again, wanting to succumb to the beckoning asphalt below. Not because I don't want it, I do. I think about drowning in those waves on a daily basis. But I promised Fawn I wouldn't. As she said: I owe it to her. I owe it myself. I owe it to help people with what I have been given. And she's right, as damn hard as it is to admit, she is right.

I am already en route to being the man I need to be. This morning, Chris' memory has poured concrete into the foundations. I need to keep building and reinforcing this structure, even when the battering storms threaten to bring it down around my ears again.

Fawn is my family and my best friend and I will never stop loving her. I pray that one day we will be together again for I know she is the one for me. I want nothing more than to be her wonderful and devoted husband, a doting father to our kids. She is the most beautiful person I have ever encountered, full of love and integrity and passion and virtue. I know we are supposed to be together, I truly do. But whatever she decides to do I will support her because I know things don't always go the way they ought.

Chris must have seen something in me, as Fawn most definitely does. I owe it to them both to make them proud and I will not fail them.

///

2017 - original post

A couple of days ago I learnt that a good friend of mine passed away. I first met the then dean of St. Martins when I was working on my graduation artwork in 2007. I had hired an industrial floor sander and was stripping back decades of paint and resin to reveal the floorboards below. One day Chris suddenly poked his head around the door of my studio and asked:

"Will you be sanding much longer? It's just that I've got an important meeting tomorrow and there's dust falling from the ceiling onto my desk."

"Ah crap, I'll make sure I'm all finished by the end of the day."

That was the anecdote I used to re-introduce myself when I saw him at a symposium in Tokyo a year later. We grabbed some food, had a few beers, and so started an unlikely friendship that spanned four countries and ten years. Chris was a wonderful, kind, and intelligent man who not only helped those around him, but he was also committed to increasing public awareness about climate change. Despite being incredibly busy with all of his endeavours, he still somehow managed to make time to catch up whenever he was in town. Chris helped me a great deal, going above and beyond anything I deserved. I will miss you. ps. I nicked your idea of wearing only black t-shirts

[thingsifindwonderful]

On Grief

Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.

As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

- https://www.reddit.com/r/Assistance/comments/hax0t/comment/c1u0rx2?st=JOL7J8WG&sh=12b87a79

#grief #love #death