- This topic has 22 replies, 5 voices, and was last updated 4 years, 11 months ago by
.
-
Hi Patricia,
Yes, I did go back as my kids were in the Quaker School. But, like the train analogy, there were other stations. We moved to the north of our town, so we naturally went more to a closer church. Then when I went back, all I could do was remember godmother/mentor/aunt. To make it worse, they spread her ashes at the Meeting House! So it’s more like visiting a gravesite to me ~ to remember her, not worship. It also represented a phase of my life, my 20’s and early 30’s. So I totally get the feeling!!
The tenants of Quakerism we carry inside us, anyway. My mom also was brought up by the Friends. Grandpapa was an Elder. Family history ~ after moving from PA, they found this Meeting House wasn’t Gwynedd (what is?) so Mom worshipped in her own way.
I recommend A Quaker Book of Wisdom if you can get a copy.
OK, Big SNIFF!! (I miss that woman!) Yes, and cry too, that helps!!
Thank you for understanding and your insightful words and prayers. Sometimes it does feel like they are around, or at least should be around. Everything that is natural and beautiful reminds me of Rook right now. Like now I’m thinking (uh-oh), “This is the same sky, the sun, the moon, the clouds, the forest, the lake (etc.) I gazed at in awe with you, and now you are part of that.” Even so, it doesn’t stop me from missing him and wishing he were here to meditate and walk with me in nature. It’s like I’m resisting enjoying nature because I have to do it without him next to me. Or it’s because I don’t want to enjoy nature without him. I can’t, or I don’t want to, or maybe it’s all just part of the grieving process. I think, it took me a long time for the grieving to lessen for our other dog who died over a year ago, and it will be less painful or less frequent tears over time, but it sure is hard when I’m in the sadness.
Last night I was sleeping in my husband’s arms, and when I moved slightly, he suddenly woke up and thought I was Rook, that Rook was laying on his arm. That’s when it started all over again, even though it was kind of nice that it seemed so real to him and it felt warm and comforting to him. He and Rook had an especially strong deep bond. I am sure there was a deep sense of yearning or disappointment that it wasn’t real, that he couldn’t really hold him.
I also had a dream that I was cooking scrambled eggs and asked Rook if he wanted some eggs, and then I saw him and said is that you, want some eggs (one of his favorite), and as he sat there looking at me, I called to him “come”, but he didn’t come, and I called and motioned for him to “come” again, but he disappeared and I woke up, I think. I don’t know if it was imagination or a “visit”, but I was initially disturbed and disappointed that it was not real and I couldn’t hold him. In a way, though, it kind of makes me smile, because he sure liked scrambled eggs!
So, it is still hard, it sometimes feels like the waves are getting worse instead of less. Then when it’s less painful, I feel afraid that I’m going to forget the wonderful feeling of being in his presence. Then I think I make myself bring the sad wave on again. Hard to explain, but if any of you have ever grieved deeply before, I wonder if you know what I mean.
Patricia
P.S. I just read and reread the messages from all who have replied above, and it does help me gain a better perspective. Thanks!
Here’s an update about where I am in the grieving process…I did make a difficult decision to adopt a dog from the Humane Society where I’ve been volunteering at since our German sherpherd dog Rook died. It was hard because we are still mourning, and it is still very painful sometimes, and moreso for my husband. Even so, it seemed unbearable without the presence of a dog, I had an opportunity to rescue a dog I had particular interest in, and I wanted to use the skills I had acquired over the years as pack leader to our two dogs Rook and Cirrus (collie) to help another.
Rook is almost always on my mind and in my heart as we go for walks, especially because where we go, like in certain spots at the park, I remember being there sharing special moments with him. I sometimes whisper to him, and Cirrus, explaining to them we are not replacing them with this new dog, to please show her how to be, and welcome her to the pack. I ask them to let us feel the presence of their spiritual essences all around us and in us, and comfort us when we feel the pain of missing them. Even if they cannot hear me, it does help me somehow.
The good news is that recently I made myself finally walk alone in a special forested park by the water that I used to walk Rook and shared special moments together, carrying a coat he used to wear that still had some of his hair on it. I let myself feel what I felt, let the tears flow when they did, and talked to him when I wanted to say something to him. I stopped at a special beautiful spot and once the pain subsided and tears stopped, I let myself take in the surroundings with my senses, and once again I could feel the warmth of the sun, the summer breeze, hear the rustling of the leaves from the canopy of trees, see the light of sunset on the trees, and hear the gentle waves crashing below. And just as this has happened before while being out with Rook, everything around me appeared bigger and clearer, and I could really feel the moment.
I know that I can meditate without his form being next to me. I now know it is possible. It does not stop me from missing him, but I was glad that I found it in myself again. Perhaps his presence will always be in me. I tell him, you are peace and joy.
Patricia
Though I run this site, it is not mine. It's ours. It's not about me. It's about us. Your stories and your wisdom are just as meaningful as mine. 