#I have no pride nor shame rn

[jvcmk]

@14dayswithyou I come here to ask for Rendacted to be my boyfriend with marriage in mind, btw. I got the boys here to help me with the serenade.

[haiq-trash]

Here i am getting involved AGAIN in fandom discourse.

I see a lot of "Stolas only hinted about liking Blitzø for his body!".

Narrative wise its obvious theres more between the two. Maybe not DIRECTLY from Stolas nor as obvious as for example Blitzøs feelings. But Stolas literally put his status, image and marriage on the line for Blitzø. As well as letting him borrow the book Blitzø needs for I.M.P

Stolas also saves Blitzø and the rest of I.M.P from the FBI compound n looses his SHIT. I can understand why someone would say tht the writers should have eased into Stolas feelings more and I can see why some would think it was just suddenly THROWN at their faces but i think given the two characters we are dealing with and how we ALL obviously knew the writers intentions and where the narratives been leading us up to its ni shock tht this episode was romantic angst for the two. These two characters are FUCKED UP.

Blitzø has a huge inferiority [probably stemming from trauma] as well as scared of being "chained" to one person and fear of abandonment. Hes also a imp, the "lowest" class in hell. Throughout the series we see that imps are treated less than.

Meanwhile Stolas is in a loveless(?) Marriage which he probably stays in because he LOVES Octavia. From the first ep we KNOW he would do ANYTHING for her. Hes a clumsy dotting out of touch father so ofc the question arises to us the audience of WHY he would put tht at risk by having a affair w/ a IMP none the less. Unless? He has strong feelings for Blitzø when his daughter asks him about Blitzø hes mute because maybe at the time he cant or doesnt rlly KNOW what him and Blitzø are. Maybe something about Blitzø when they first met attracted him enough to risk it and slowly Stolas developed feelings for Blitzø. But hiw is he suppose to be move OBVIOUS tht he want something more?

Blitzø has been showed to also be cold and think of fucking Stolas as a "job", so how can Stolas a member of high society in hell pit his heart, marriage and status on the lije for a IMP that seems to think tht just fucking him is a chore/job. Obvi, we know as thw audience that its just Blitzøs commitment and attachment issues but Stolas doesnt.

I think a turning point for them both was episode 6. In which Blitzø finally came in terms that he feels something for Stolas but as its obvious in the narrative he still SUPPRESSES IT.

An for Stolas I think that episode help "scare" him into realizing the hold Blitzø has on his emotions (aka iconic Stolas loosing his shit and defending I.M.P scene).

This episode (ep 7) was Stolas turning point in a way. He has to see the ramifications of his cheating by loosing his family as well as the social stigma that he has to face for loosing it all for Blitzø. He has to take into consideration why he did it for and towards the end of the night when he ask Blitzø for quality time or cuddeling its both him making the statement to himself (as well as awkwardly hinting to Blitzø) that he wants something more w/him, a relationship.

But heres the crutch! Blitzø and Stolas are highly prideful and care about their image. Blitzø because of his inferiority complex, self hate and Stolas because hes held to a standard of being above it all as high nobility in hell.

Being together with Blitzø(and Blitzø) being with Stolas would hurt BOTH their prides. Blitzø would think (an probably would) be seen as just a imp who slept his way to the top (think striker ep where he shows shame almost) and Stolas would be shamed for loosing it all for an imp (aka halloween episode w/Asmo).

They both need to deal with their issues before even talk to one another about WANTING more between their arrangement. Because rn their both accident hurting each others invicible wounds but there's HOPE, Stolas doesn't blow up but is GENTLE with Blitzø and Blitzø is TRYING to be gentle part (aka his now right now instead of the usual fuck off) .

Either way i feel bad for both of em because their just broken messy ppl trying to love and have something healthy like Millie and Moxy (their relationship foil) but they have to deal with their own baggage BOTH if they ever want a CHANCE at that.

[kaitosimp]

Ok hear me out.

Kaito is Aromatic/ace sexual

Basically a Kaito who has never felt romantically attracted to anyone before nor has ever had any real interest in doing anything with anyone.

At first this might seem a little... self indulgent I suppose but hear me out dude..

The most blunt and thing everyone always points to with other stuff with how ambiguous it is that he loved Maki back after she confesses to him.

He’s odd with his wording and personally even if Kaimaki is one of my favorite ships EVER I’m not sure he loved her back.

More set in stone prof of this is how people go on and on about Kaito being oblivious to his friends obvious feelings for him.. that he’s being blind and stupid but I really don’t think that’s the case.

I personally think Kaito has such a lack of understanding for romantic feelings in general.

Of course he wouldn’t jump to the conclusion of them liking him if he himself as never felt those emotions before.

It wouldn’t register in his brain that anyone has any kid of crush on him and so.. it flys past his head without registering to him properly.

So it’s less him being obvious and more such emotions being directed at him not crossing his mind..

I think this lack of understanding can also explain why he’s so affectionate both physically and with words to his friends.

I don’t think Kaito is trying to be romantic or hint at any crush when he acts like that.

It just seems like he’s being Kaito.

Showing he cares about his friends,

He doesn’t see himself being romantic he’s not trying to.. and doesn’t understand why anyone would would see him being that because once again he hasn’t really felt attracted to anyone.

Also in the game there are several moments where he is obviously misunderstanding about others being attracted to each other or just how that works in general.

Like thinking Maki and Shuichi like each other, not getting Tenko’s attraction to Himiko, ETC.

It just seems like he’s really just NOT understanding.

And like he’s acting like he does to cover this fact up.

Expanding on this I think it could very well explain his issues on so called manliness and what he thinks a man should be.

Because of Kaito’s upbringing was by his grandparents.

People with an older mind set, they definitely influenced this older thinking matters on him.

Including how a man should very well have girlfriends date.. have romantic interests in females..

But.. Kaito doesn’t feel that very important thing and so doubles down on everything else they have told him and desperately pretend he does understand how that kind of things feels like.

That of course he’s been attracted to people!!

(He has not)

The poor guy probably thinks somethings wrong with him, that he’s broken, having no idea what he’s going through is actually a very normal thing.

And even if he was told: ‘hey your probably aromantic buddy’

I 100% believe he would be incredibly miserable.

Because Kaito doesn’t want that!

He wants to feel attraction!

He wants to love other people and make them happy!

But he just can’t... no made how hard he tries.

He would not be happy with the new label at all, but be very bitter about it.

Kaito was waiting for ‘the one’ that everyone always talks about so he could finally feel that spark.. but turns out ‘the one’ will probably never come.

It would make him more sad, upset and miserable than I can fully express.

(I also think he would deny this and try getting into a relationship anyway to force himself to feel something but continue to feel nothing and accidentally trap himself in a relationship he doesn’t feel the same way in when the other person is hopelessly in love with him and he doesn’t want to break it off to avoid hurting them. (This can work with any of the characters really but esepally Maki and Shuichi))

He wouldn’t be prideful of it at all and I personally can’t blame him.

It’s a lot different from being gay or bi..

Kaito almost wishes he was, at least then he could feel something.

Anyway ya!

I have more reasons why I think Kaito is those sexuality’s (mostly ace because I didn’t mention that much) but I don’t want to make this longer than I already have.

It’s a shame no one else seems to see it because I think it’s a real possibility despite being very self indulgent regarding my out very frustrating sexuality.

Aro/ace Kaito supremacy!!!

Oh woah before I talk about the actual ask, can I just say that that drawing is so dang cute and amazing, I LOVE IT!!! 😭😭💜 Even if Shuichi and Maki are crying in the back asdfghjkl poor sidekicks but hEY, Y'ALL BETTER ACCEPT AND SUPPORT THE SPACEMAN RN

I think your reasons and thinking for Kaito being aro/ace are hella valid and make a lot of sense!! Even if it's not something I hc it truly makes sense and it would explain certain aspects of his behavior when it comes to romantic-ish things and him being utterly clueless about this kind of stuff 😩

And also, that stuff about him being sad and frustrated and miserable at finding out he's aro/ace made me sad 😭😭😭 I very much agree, if Kaito were to be told that he'd probably be so miserable and he'd probs think it had to be wrong, he'd be in denial, he'd refuse to accept it, he'd think he was weird and like you said, maybe he would try forcing himself into a relationship just to try and prove himself wrong/prove he was "normal" but it'd just make it all so much worse 😔 It was probs drilled into his head, like it is to a lot of ppl, that he had to settle down at some point with a partner (a girl in his case) and marry her and have kids and all that shit, so the fact he doesn't feel attraction or romantic feelings for anyone while having those ideas in his head would make him think he had a problem and was disappointing his grandparents/the ppl around him who had high expectations for him and that everyone would think he was weird for being like that and it'd just- it'd take such a toll on him and he'd need lotsa time to be able to accept himself and understand there's absolutely nothing wrong with him and that his friends wouldn't think any less of him 😔💜

And what you said is true that I don't rlly see much of this (I've literally only come across oNE fic of Kaito being ace) and it's the first time I see anything about him being aromantic, I think it could be a possibility indeed!! Again, even if I don't personally hc it, it makes a lot of sense and it could explain a lot of his behavior regarding this type of stuff 👀 And even if you consider it's self indulgent there's absolutely nothing wrong with that!!! This is very valid and nobody can say anything about it 🌚🤚🏽💞

[timclymer]

Testimony of a Suicide Survivor

I am a suicide survivor. I am also a Christian. This article explains how anyone, but especially people of faith, can survive or help others to survive the tragedy of a suicidal death of a family member or close friend.

My father committed suicide with an overdose of prescription medicine taken in conjunction with alcohol. Alcohol is a depressant that exacerbates suicidal tendencies in those who are prone to such self-destructive acts. I was 16 years old at the time. I was wrongly ashamed of my father’s suicide for most of my life. In fact, that feeling of shame is one of the great regrets of my life. With the combination of drugs and alcohol my dad might not have even intended to take his life. It could have been an accident. Their was no suicide note. He had no previous declaration of intent to commit suicide. The answer to that mystery we will never know. Still, officially his death certificate declared it a suicide.

If someone asked how my father died, I would say that he died of a heart attack. That is the response my mother repeatedly instructed me to say. The manner in which my father died was not about him in her mind. Rather, it was about us. My mother was concerned about what others would think of us if they knew my dad had committed suicide. Perhaps, she thought, they would blame us. They might suggest that we drive him to it. They might suggest that we failed to appropriately respond to his suicidal tendencies. In short, my mother worried that they might blame us for my father’s suicide.

Thoughts of if only we had done or said this or that constantly crept in to our minds. It was an emotionally destructive self-imposed guilt trip. Guilt can cripple. When guilty is unjustified it is especially damaging.

The Christian approach to guilt, real and imagined, is in recognition and confession of sin, and faith in the love, goodness, and power of God – “casting one’s cares upon him,” not – in no way– upon the probability of one’s own, or the suicide’s, lack of, or diminished-under-the-circumstances (mental illness), guilt. To cope with suicide one must dump their guilt. It does not belong in the grieving process. Grief is plenty enough to cope with without the burden of unnecessary and undeserved guilt.

Even in cases where no guilt is present the conscience will find occasion for and evidence to accuse. It’s a struggle I call the blame game. The blame game is a method of coping by blaming someone else for the suicidal death that torments you. Sometimes you blame another relative. Sometimes you blame the person who committed the suicide. Often it’s a combination thereof. This venting of anger on someone else tends to provide some measure of relief in the short term. It does not work in the long term. Blaming anyone for suicide is wrong most of the time. Where metal illness is the culprit, nobody and nothing except the mental illness itself is to blame. The sooner people come to terms with this truth the sooner they’ll be on the path to recovery.

Most people are ignorant about suicide. That is why they often shy away from family members or friends who are struggling with suitcase. It is wrong to be accused of or by the suicidal death of a family member or friend. It is cruel to desert those who are suffering. Feeling uncomfortable with suicide is never an excuse for rejecting those who struggle with this most tragic of deaths. Ask yourself, would you desert them if the person died of a heart attack or cancer? How can you desert them if their loved one died from suicidal mental illness?

Mental illness can kill just like cancer and heart disease. In suicide, most often it is the mental illness that kills, not the person. A mentally stable person does not react to angry words or events by killing themselves. Only mentally and emotionally sick people do that. That is why their response to anger or any other stimuli is irrational and ellogical. If they were healthy it is illegally their response would be suicide.

Depression affects your mental and emotional state of mind but it has a biological origin. Depression can be triggered by anger and resentment which have physiological effects. While the anger can elicit an emotional response, it is the biological mental illness (depression) that is the culprit. People get angry everyday but they do not kill themselves because they are mentally healthy. Here, you bought not blame or exculpate the person who committed suicide. This brings us to the mercy of God. He knows all, He is just and He is merciful. Take comfort in Gods mercy. Also take comfort in understanding that with few exceptions suicide is faultless and blameless.

Some 20 years after my fathers death I had to cope with multiple suicide attempts by my brother. It was scary and emotionally draining. My brother is still living – thank God. However, he had a lot of close calls. More than once death was knocking at his door. The family was notified to get to the hospital quickly. Doctors suspected my brother would survive his latest suicide attempt. After every attempt he would be grateful for his life. He would also feel incredible guilt for the fear and heartache his suicide attempts brought on his family. Then he would get depressed and regress. Eventfully, like a vicious cycle, he’d attempt it again and again.

My brother is a Viet Nam veteran. Like so many vets who endured that conflict, he suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). He is designated as a service connected 100% disabled veteran. Depression is a consequence of PTSD. Fortunately my brother came to terms with his mental illness and thought treatment. I have no doubt that treatment, medication, and prayer are what saved his life. It has allowed him to live a mostly productive life despite he still struggles with his illness. Treatment, medication, and prayer are the difference between my brother and our father. Our dad had none of these and, of course, he died.

A little over 20 years after my father’s death I had to deal with the suicidal death of the 14-year-old son of very close and dear friends. It was shocking and traumatic. Losing ones child unexpectedly is about the worst heartache one can ever endure. To lose that child as a result of suicide is far worse; it is indeed grief to the extreme.

There were warning signs, but they were not aware to his parents. He experienced slight personality and behavioral changes that were more observable at school and with his friends, especially his girlfriend, then at home. That’s why it’s important to communicate in the family setting. Depression is often difficult to see if you are not looking for it. School officials and friends either did not know the warning signs or they disregarded them. Families can not rely on others to inform them.

Symptoms of depression or suicidal feelings may include a change in eating or sleeping habits, withdrawal from friends and family, giving away valuable possessions, rebellious behavior, running away, drug and alcohol abuse, unexplained obsessions, decline in the quality of work or school work , and marked personality changes. It is important that parents, teachers, counselors, and pastors know and recognize these signs. It could save someone’s life.

Everything seemed normal that evening. Nothing seemed different or peculiar. It was a pleasant evening until his mother heard the gun shot that would be the beginning of grief on a huge scale. This would be compounded by the prevalent reasons why. It would have been accompanied by the expected guilt and blame which his family did not deserve to feel. It was not their fault. Nor was it his fault. His mental illness killed him as surely as cancer takes its victims if left untreated. But a parent can not seek treatment or medication for their child unless they know that the child is sick.

It was difficult to go through this ordeal with them. I honestly sentenced their pain and shared their grief. Still, it was important to be there for them. It cemented our friendship and even took it to a new level. That is something to remember if you know someone who is trying to survive suicide. Be there for them. It’s the right thing to do. It’s the Christian thing to do. Do not just offer help and wait for a call that never comes. Insist on sharing their grief. If nothing else be there to sit with them, hold them, listen to them, or just silently occupy space with them. They will gain a measure of comfort just from your presence. They will know you are genuinely there for them if the grief becomes too much for them to bear alone.

Our most recent loss was the suicidal death of my niece. This was especially difficult to cope with. My mother is not very stable and I already explained my brother’s history. This was his daughter, his first-born. Worrying about how grief would impact them while dealing with my own grief was a monumental emotional undertaking. It took the saying be strong for them to a new level.

I watched my niece grow up in to a gem of a woman. She was as pure as the driven snow. She was devout in her Christian faith. She was a registered nurse who took pride in providing for the health care of others. She served her country honorably as a commissioner officer in the US Air Force. She was only in her early thirties but she was very sick. She was mentally ill.

My niece was bipolar. She had the most severe form of obsessive-compulsive disorder that her psychiatrists had ever seen. She also suffered from schizophrenic episodes and severe clinical depression. As an RN she understood her condition. She wanted to live but she did not know how to with so much mental anguish. Nobody could help her. No medications sufficed. As a woman of faith she struggled desperately and prayed continuously, on her knees, for hours at a time.

She had several suicide attempts that failed. It was destined that she would succeed at some point. When people are that sick they are unable to reason. They can not think clearly or rationalize effectively. All they do is suffer. It’s not surprising that they are focused on placing an end to that suffering. Mental illness can be very deadly.

It’s important to understand that healthy people do not kill themselves. A person who is depressed does not think like a typical person who feels good. They live in the here and now. Depression keeps them from looking forward to a better time. They can not comprehend positive thinking. Sometimes they do not even realize that they are sick much like my dad and our friend’s son. Sometimes they are very much aware of their mental illness like my brother and my niece. They seek help and struggle as best they can but sometimes nothing works for them. Not medication, not therapy; absolutely nothing helps them. These are the most severely afflicted with suicidal mental illness. My niece was one of these. They will continue to attempt suicide until they succeed. You can not help them. You can not save them. All you can do is pray for them.

It is disturbing when some so called experts say that suicide is preventable. It suggests that everyone who ever committed suicide could have been saved. While it is true that suicide is often preventable it is like wise true that sometimes it not. Suggesting other can lead to endless suffering and needless guilt by suicide survivors. The reality is that in sever cases of metal illness nothing short of divine intervention can save a suicidal person.

Remember, nobody who commits suicide asked for their depression. They would do anything to rid themselves of it. Being depressed is not the result of life choices any more than catching a cold is. Some people get it, and some do not. Such is life.

It is hard to imagine suicide being a sin in these clinically depressed people. One can not offend God by involuntarily contracting an illness, regardless of what the sickness may be. If suicide in such a circumstance constituted sin, then it would be sinful to catch the flu or die of pneumonia. It is comforting to know that most mainstream religions understand and share this perspective, especially Christian denominations. The Catholic church of my faith was once notorious about guilty associated with suicide. It taught that the commission of suicide was a mortal sin. This explains why my mother is still living a lie about her husband’s death. However, the Catholic Church has since clarified their position on the issue of suicide. The Catechism of the Catholic Church plainly states, “We should not despairs of the eternal salvation of persons who take their own lives …” (2282-83).

This does not mean that suicide is never sinful. If someone is of sound mind and premeditatedly acts to kill himself / herself for the purpose of punishment or harming another, that would be a sin. If they avoid deserved punishment by the state for a criminal conviction by committing suicide that is arguably a sin. Anyone who commits a suicidal act with malice aforethought for evil purposes is at grave risk of mortal sin. That is tantamount to murder, which is a crystal clear violation of Gods commandment: “Thou shall not kill.”

If a person, because of mental illness, certainly believes with their heart and soul that dying will somehow end the suffering and anguish of others, regardless of how wrong they may be, who could suspect that it is nonetheless a selfless act in the eyes of God. Remember, “No greater love has a man than to give his life for another.”

Some people who commit suicide exhibit intense courage in the undertaking. Consider the soldier who deliberately throws himself on a hand grenade or a land mine to save the lives of his comrades. Did he knowingly kill himself (ie, commit suicide)? Yes, of course he did. Was it also a courageous and self-less act of courage? Absolutely! It was courageous and selfless. We correctly label this soldier a hero. People who commit suicide are not rewards as some suggest. Jesus serves as a perfect example of one who suffered immensely and sacrificed his very life for the salvation of others. Sometimes we do need reminding.

Depression is usually a treatable disease. Most people who are depressed do not commit suicide or even attempt it. But they are more vulnerable to the risk of suicidal thoughts and they and their family members should be aware of this. Most people, who suffer from mental illness, without it is extreme, will benefit from therapy, medication, or a combination of these. In the case of depression medication very often can permit these people to live completely normal and happy lives. The key is first to recognize the problem and then obtain treatment as soon as possible.

Some people are more prone to suicide than others. They should be particularly alert to the warning signs of depression. Suicide tends to run in families. My family is living proof of this. Suicide most often results from brain disorders such as clinical depression, anxiety disorders, bipolar illness, schizophrenia, and severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. All of these brain disorders have a genetic component that, if left untreated or mistreated, can result in suicide. The risks of suicide increase considering the longer a person goes without treatment. That is why it is dangerous for a depressed person to avoid treatment for fear that he or she might be labeled as being crazy. We are living in modern times. We are way beyond such foolishness; at least weought to be.

If you suffer from depression do not take a chance – get help. If your child is depressed, get your child help and do it quickly. Do this even in the face of resistance. You just might be saving their lives.

It is estimated that mental illness is the cause of 95% of all suicides. The # 1 cause of suicide is untreated depression. Ninety-five percent of all suicides are the direct result of the aforementioned brain disorders. According to the National Mental Health Association the teen suicide rate has risen an astonishing 200% in the last 40 years. That is a rate three times what it was in 1960. Suicide is the 3rd leading cause of death for 15 – 24 year-olds. About five thousand 15 – 24 year-olds kill themselves every year. These are alarming figures.

In conclusion, it is important to point out that maintaining your faith will increase your rate of recovery from the tragedy of suicide. Do not pray less. Instead pray more. Your faith will be your greatest source of comfort. Do not be mad at God. God did not betray you by letting your loved one die. He understands the pain of death. He endured it with the sacrificial death of his only begotten son for your sake and everyone else’s. Jesus understands the pain of death. Remember how He wept for Lazarus. Remember how he suffered in His own blameless death. Remember how His blessed mother Mary died when He died. Remember the painful deaths of His Apostles.

Remember, everyone dies of something; it’s preordained. We can not escape death, at least not in this worldly life. Your loved one just happened to die of mental illness that ruled in suicide. Even in this worldly death we still remain spiritually linked. You have not lost your loved ones. You have merely postpones being in their company until such time as God calls you home. He will do that plenty soon enough so do not try to rush the process. Remember it’s about His will, not yours.

If ever you have to end being a suicide survivor take comfort in knowing that you can survive even though the anguish of your loss may at first seem to be insurmountable. Everyone must go through a grieving process when a loved one dies. The grief associated with the suicidal death of a loved one is manifestly more difficult to cope with than other types of death. But, it is also similar in that it will likewise end. You do not needarily get over your loss; that void is always there. However, you do learn to cope and deal with it. Your pain will go away. You will come to understand that your loved one remains with you in spirit and you with him or her. You will laugh again. You will experience love and joy. You will obtain peace of mind even though you’ll always have the sorrow associated with loss. But we feel sorry when we lose our youth and vitality too. That does not mean that we stay miserable because of it.

Definitely grieve, but also let go. Get professional, spiritual, or other help if you need it. Accept the fate that you are dealt just as Jesus and his blessed mother accepted the fate of the Holy sacrifice at Calvary. Jesus, while suffering the pains of crucifixion asked of his heavenly father, “Why hast thou forsaken me.” Even the Son of man asked why. He also said “Thy will be done.” Our Lord in faith accepted his fate and in so doing taught us to do the same. We do not have to know and understand everything. In faith we must just believe, as Jesus did, that God understands and knows what is best. He will take care of things, perfectly. Accept, as Jesus did, the fate you are dealt no matter how much it hurts at the time. After all, you can not change it and you are not responsible for it.

Understand the difference between holding on to a memory and clinging to a soul. Release the soul from your mind so that your loved one can be with our Lord where he or she will prepare a place for you when your time comes. You will be together again and the next time it will be for all eternity. That will be a joyful eternity with God almighty. Trust in God and maintain your faith. God will make it right. You will survive.

Copyright: Ed Coet

Source by Ed Coet

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/testimony-of-a-suicide-survivor/ via Home Solutions on WordPress from Home Solutions FOREV https://homesolutionsforev.tumblr.com/post/185780686270 via Tim Clymer on Wordpress

[homesolutionsforev]

Testimony of a Suicide Survivor

I am a suicide survivor. I am also a Christian. This article explains how anyone, but especially people of faith, can survive or help others to survive the tragedy of a suicidal death of a family member or close friend.

My father committed suicide with an overdose of prescription medicine taken in conjunction with alcohol. Alcohol is a depressant that exacerbates suicidal tendencies in those who are prone to such self-destructive acts. I was 16 years old at the time. I was wrongly ashamed of my father's suicide for most of my life. In fact, that feeling of shame is one of the great regrets of my life. With the combination of drugs and alcohol my dad might not have even intended to take his life. It could have been an accident. Their was no suicide note. He had no previous declaration of intent to commit suicide. The answer to that mystery we will never know. Still, officially his death certificate declared it a suicide.

If someone asked how my father died, I would say that he died of a heart attack. That is the response my mother repeatedly instructed me to say. The manner in which my father died was not about him in her mind. Rather, it was about us. My mother was concerned about what others would think of us if they knew my dad had committed suicide. Perhaps, she thought, they would blame us. They might suggest that we drive him to it. They might suggest that we failed to appropriately respond to his suicidal tendencies. In short, my mother worried that they might blame us for my father's suicide.

Thoughts of if only we had done or said this or that constantly crept in to our minds. It was an emotionally destructive self-imposed guilt trip. Guilt can cripple. When guilty is unjustified it is especially damaging.

The Christian approach to guilt, real and imagined, is in recognition and confession of sin, and faith in the love, goodness, and power of God – "casting one's cares upon him," not – in no way– upon the probability of one's own, or the suicide's, lack of, or diminished-under-the-circumstances (mental illness), guilt. To cope with suicide one must dump their guilt. It does not belong in the grieving process. Grief is plenty enough to cope with without the burden of unnecessary and undeserved guilt.

Even in cases where no guilt is present the conscience will find occasion for and evidence to accuse. It's a struggle I call the blame game. The blame game is a method of coping by blaming someone else for the suicidal death that torments you. Sometimes you blame another relative. Sometimes you blame the person who committed the suicide. Often it's a combination thereof. This venting of anger on someone else tends to provide some measure of relief in the short term. It does not work in the long term. Blaming anyone for suicide is wrong most of the time. Where metal illness is the culprit, nobody and nothing except the mental illness itself is to blame. The sooner people come to terms with this truth the sooner they'll be on the path to recovery.

Most people are ignorant about suicide. That is why they often shy away from family members or friends who are struggling with suitcase. It is wrong to be accused of or by the suicidal death of a family member or friend. It is cruel to desert those who are suffering. Feeling uncomfortable with suicide is never an excuse for rejecting those who struggle with this most tragic of deaths. Ask yourself, would you desert them if the person died of a heart attack or cancer? How can you desert them if their loved one died from suicidal mental illness?

Mental illness can kill just like cancer and heart disease. In suicide, most often it is the mental illness that kills, not the person. A mentally stable person does not react to angry words or events by killing themselves. Only mentally and emotionally sick people do that. That is why their response to anger or any other stimuli is irrational and ellogical. If they were healthy it is illegally their response would be suicide.

Depression affects your mental and emotional state of mind but it has a biological origin. Depression can be triggered by anger and resentment which have physiological effects. While the anger can elicit an emotional response, it is the biological mental illness (depression) that is the culprit. People get angry everyday but they do not kill themselves because they are mentally healthy. Here, you bought not blame or exculpate the person who committed suicide. This brings us to the mercy of God. He knows all, He is just and He is merciful. Take comfort in Gods mercy. Also take comfort in understanding that with few exceptions suicide is faultless and blameless.

Some 20 years after my fathers death I had to cope with multiple suicide attempts by my brother. It was scary and emotionally draining. My brother is still living – thank God. However, he had a lot of close calls. More than once death was knocking at his door. The family was notified to get to the hospital quickly. Doctors suspected my brother would survive his latest suicide attempt. After every attempt he would be grateful for his life. He would also feel incredible guilt for the fear and heartache his suicide attempts brought on his family. Then he would get depressed and regress. Eventfully, like a vicious cycle, he'd attempt it again and again.

My brother is a Viet Nam veteran. Like so many vets who endured that conflict, he suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). He is designated as a service connected 100% disabled veteran. Depression is a consequence of PTSD. Fortunately my brother came to terms with his mental illness and thought treatment. I have no doubt that treatment, medication, and prayer are what saved his life. It has allowed him to live a mostly productive life despite he still struggles with his illness. Treatment, medication, and prayer are the difference between my brother and our father. Our dad had none of these and, of course, he died.

A little over 20 years after my father's death I had to deal with the suicidal death of the 14-year-old son of very close and dear friends. It was shocking and traumatic. Losing ones child unexpectedly is about the worst heartache one can ever endure. To lose that child as a result of suicide is far worse; it is indeed grief to the extreme.

There were warning signs, but they were not aware to his parents. He experienced slight personality and behavioral changes that were more observable at school and with his friends, especially his girlfriend, then at home. That's why it's important to communicate in the family setting. Depression is often difficult to see if you are not looking for it. School officials and friends either did not know the warning signs or they disregarded them. Families can not rely on others to inform them.

Symptoms of depression or suicidal feelings may include a change in eating or sleeping habits, withdrawal from friends and family, giving away valuable possessions, rebellious behavior, running away, drug and alcohol abuse, unexplained obsessions, decline in the quality of work or school work , and marked personality changes. It is important that parents, teachers, counselors, and pastors know and recognize these signs. It could save someone's life.

Everything seemed normal that evening. Nothing seemed different or peculiar. It was a pleasant evening until his mother heard the gun shot that would be the beginning of grief on a huge scale. This would be compounded by the prevalent reasons why. It would have been accompanied by the expected guilt and blame which his family did not deserve to feel. It was not their fault. Nor was it his fault. His mental illness killed him as surely as cancer takes its victims if left untreated. But a parent can not seek treatment or medication for their child unless they know that the child is sick.

It was difficult to go through this ordeal with them. I honestly sentenced their pain and shared their grief. Still, it was important to be there for them. It cemented our friendship and even took it to a new level. That is something to remember if you know someone who is trying to survive suicide. Be there for them. It's the right thing to do. It's the Christian thing to do. Do not just offer help and wait for a call that never comes. Insist on sharing their grief. If nothing else be there to sit with them, hold them, listen to them, or just silently occupy space with them. They will gain a measure of comfort just from your presence. They will know you are genuinely there for them if the grief becomes too much for them to bear alone.

Our most recent loss was the suicidal death of my niece. This was especially difficult to cope with. My mother is not very stable and I already explained my brother's history. This was his daughter, his first-born. Worrying about how grief would impact them while dealing with my own grief was a monumental emotional undertaking. It took the saying be strong for them to a new level.

I watched my niece grow up in to a gem of a woman. She was as pure as the driven snow. She was devout in her Christian faith. She was a registered nurse who took pride in providing for the health care of others. She served her country honorably as a commissioner officer in the US Air Force. She was only in her early thirties but she was very sick. She was mentally ill.

My niece was bipolar. She had the most severe form of obsessive-compulsive disorder that her psychiatrists had ever seen. She also suffered from schizophrenic episodes and severe clinical depression. As an RN she understood her condition. She wanted to live but she did not know how to with so much mental anguish. Nobody could help her. No medications sufficed. As a woman of faith she struggled desperately and prayed continuously, on her knees, for hours at a time.

She had several suicide attempts that failed. It was destined that she would succeed at some point. When people are that sick they are unable to reason. They can not think clearly or rationalize effectively. All they do is suffer. It's not surprising that they are focused on placing an end to that suffering. Mental illness can be very deadly.

It's important to understand that healthy people do not kill themselves. A person who is depressed does not think like a typical person who feels good. They live in the here and now. Depression keeps them from looking forward to a better time. They can not comprehend positive thinking. Sometimes they do not even realize that they are sick much like my dad and our friend's son. Sometimes they are very much aware of their mental illness like my brother and my niece. They seek help and struggle as best they can but sometimes nothing works for them. Not medication, not therapy; absolutely nothing helps them. These are the most severely afflicted with suicidal mental illness. My niece was one of these. They will continue to attempt suicide until they succeed. You can not help them. You can not save them. All you can do is pray for them.

It is disturbing when some so called experts say that suicide is preventable. It suggests that everyone who ever committed suicide could have been saved. While it is true that suicide is often preventable it is like wise true that sometimes it not. Suggesting other can lead to endless suffering and needless guilt by suicide survivors. The reality is that in sever cases of metal illness nothing short of divine intervention can save a suicidal person.

Remember, nobody who commits suicide asked for their depression. They would do anything to rid themselves of it. Being depressed is not the result of life choices any more than catching a cold is. Some people get it, and some do not. Such is life.

It is hard to imagine suicide being a sin in these clinically depressed people. One can not offend God by involuntarily contracting an illness, regardless of what the sickness may be. If suicide in such a circumstance constituted sin, then it would be sinful to catch the flu or die of pneumonia. It is comforting to know that most mainstream religions understand and share this perspective, especially Christian denominations. The Catholic church of my faith was once notorious about guilty associated with suicide. It taught that the commission of suicide was a mortal sin. This explains why my mother is still living a lie about her husband's death. However, the Catholic Church has since clarified their position on the issue of suicide. The Catechism of the Catholic Church plainly states, "We should not despairs of the eternal salvation of persons who take their own lives …" (2282-83).

This does not mean that suicide is never sinful. If someone is of sound mind and premeditatedly acts to kill himself / herself for the purpose of punishment or harming another, that would be a sin. If they avoid deserved punishment by the state for a criminal conviction by committing suicide that is arguably a sin. Anyone who commits a suicidal act with malice aforethought for evil purposes is at grave risk of mortal sin. That is tantamount to murder, which is a crystal clear violation of Gods commandment: "Thou shall not kill."

If a person, because of mental illness, certainly believes with their heart and soul that dying will somehow end the suffering and anguish of others, regardless of how wrong they may be, who could suspect that it is nonetheless a selfless act in the eyes of God. Remember, "No greater love has a man than to give his life for another."

Some people who commit suicide exhibit intense courage in the undertaking. Consider the soldier who deliberately throws himself on a hand grenade or a land mine to save the lives of his comrades. Did he knowingly kill himself (ie, commit suicide)? Yes, of course he did. Was it also a courageous and self-less act of courage? Absolutely! It was courageous and selfless. We correctly label this soldier a hero. People who commit suicide are not rewards as some suggest. Jesus serves as a perfect example of one who suffered immensely and sacrificed his very life for the salvation of others. Sometimes we do need reminding.

Depression is usually a treatable disease. Most people who are depressed do not commit suicide or even attempt it. But they are more vulnerable to the risk of suicidal thoughts and they and their family members should be aware of this. Most people, who suffer from mental illness, without it is extreme, will benefit from therapy, medication, or a combination of these. In the case of depression medication very often can permit these people to live completely normal and happy lives. The key is first to recognize the problem and then obtain treatment as soon as possible.

Some people are more prone to suicide than others. They should be particularly alert to the warning signs of depression. Suicide tends to run in families. My family is living proof of this. Suicide most often results from brain disorders such as clinical depression, anxiety disorders, bipolar illness, schizophrenia, and severe obsessive-compulsive disorder. All of these brain disorders have a genetic component that, if left untreated or mistreated, can result in suicide. The risks of suicide increase considering the longer a person goes without treatment. That is why it is dangerous for a depressed person to avoid treatment for fear that he or she might be labeled as being crazy. We are living in modern times. We are way beyond such foolishness; at least weought to be.

If you suffer from depression do not take a chance – get help. If your child is depressed, get your child help and do it quickly. Do this even in the face of resistance. You just might be saving their lives.

It is estimated that mental illness is the cause of 95% of all suicides. The # 1 cause of suicide is untreated depression. Ninety-five percent of all suicides are the direct result of the aforementioned brain disorders. According to the National Mental Health Association the teen suicide rate has risen an astonishing 200% in the last 40 years. That is a rate three times what it was in 1960. Suicide is the 3rd leading cause of death for 15 – 24 year-olds. About five thousand 15 – 24 year-olds kill themselves every year. These are alarming figures.

In conclusion, it is important to point out that maintaining your faith will increase your rate of recovery from the tragedy of suicide. Do not pray less. Instead pray more. Your faith will be your greatest source of comfort. Do not be mad at God. God did not betray you by letting your loved one die. He understands the pain of death. He endured it with the sacrificial death of his only begotten son for your sake and everyone else's. Jesus understands the pain of death. Remember how He wept for Lazarus. Remember how he suffered in His own blameless death. Remember how His blessed mother Mary died when He died. Remember the painful deaths of His Apostles.

Remember, everyone dies of something; it's preordained. We can not escape death, at least not in this worldly life. Your loved one just happened to die of mental illness that ruled in suicide. Even in this worldly death we still remain spiritually linked. You have not lost your loved ones. You have merely postpones being in their company until such time as God calls you home. He will do that plenty soon enough so do not try to rush the process. Remember it's about His will, not yours.

If ever you have to end being a suicide survivor take comfort in knowing that you can survive even though the anguish of your loss may at first seem to be insurmountable. Everyone must go through a grieving process when a loved one dies. The grief associated with the suicidal death of a loved one is manifestly more difficult to cope with than other types of death. But, it is also similar in that it will likewise end. You do not needarily get over your loss; that void is always there. However, you do learn to cope and deal with it. Your pain will go away. You will come to understand that your loved one remains with you in spirit and you with him or her. You will laugh again. You will experience love and joy. You will obtain peace of mind even though you'll always have the sorrow associated with loss. But we feel sorry when we lose our youth and vitality too. That does not mean that we stay miserable because of it.

Definitely grieve, but also let go. Get professional, spiritual, or other help if you need it. Accept the fate that you are dealt just as Jesus and his blessed mother accepted the fate of the Holy sacrifice at Calvary. Jesus, while suffering the pains of crucifixion asked of his heavenly father, "Why hast thou forsaken me." Even the Son of man asked why. He also said "Thy will be done." Our Lord in faith accepted his fate and in so doing taught us to do the same. We do not have to know and understand everything. In faith we must just believe, as Jesus did, that God understands and knows what is best. He will take care of things, perfectly. Accept, as Jesus did, the fate you are dealt no matter how much it hurts at the time. After all, you can not change it and you are not responsible for it.

Understand the difference between holding on to a memory and clinging to a soul. Release the soul from your mind so that your loved one can be with our Lord where he or she will prepare a place for you when your time comes. You will be together again and the next time it will be for all eternity. That will be a joyful eternity with God almighty. Trust in God and maintain your faith. God will make it right. You will survive.

Copyright: Ed Coet

Source by Ed Coet

from Home Solutions Forev https://homesolutionsforev.com/testimony-of-a-suicide-survivor/ via Home Solutions on WordPress

[wendyimmiller]

Gardening For Health – Part II

So long ago that I can’t remember when, I gave up on the idea of having any real pride in myself. It wasn’t what anyone would call a decision. No momentous occasion or anything. I just don’t really know that pride ever mattered that much to me. If I had any left, whatever there was was finished off by four years at a Jesuit college. Because, in case you don’t know this, Jesuits exist to convince young minds that one’s trajectory through life is subject to so many random social, physical, mental, and economic rolls of the dice that one’s own accomplishments are just a small part of a very large equation. That said, I do my best, take advantage of the good breaks and shake off the bad, and, more recently, try to live a good enough life. So when and if I take my own pride into consideration these days, it’s less about something good I’ve done and more about something stupid I hopefully didn’t. “Hey y’all, look at me” kinds of things. Yeah, my pride is mostly focused on keeping those to a bare minimum.

That being said, I must share my proudest moment ever. It happened two years ago, and I was on drugs. Morphine, to be exact. I was just coming around following surgery and hazily listening to a conversation between the nurse and my wife. At some point the nurse happened to mention that my urine had good color. My urine had good color! Lord have mercy, I almost burst! Too far gone to speak, I simply basked in the moment like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon filled to floating with enormous, joyful lightness. Even now, soberly aware of the ridiculousness of it, I can still feel a little pulse of that joy. Such was just one of countless anomalous moments—sometimes surreal, usually all too real—that I went through while “surviving” c-c-cancer.

A cancer diagnosis launches you on an imagination-fueled, internet-misinformed, emotional and intellectual odyssey, even as your body suddenly becomes a whack-a-mole game for doctors and technicians. The word “survive’ is accurate. Really nails it. Because whether you make it don’t, surviving the process is about all you really manage.  Everyone says great upbeat stuff like, “You’ve got this”, or, “You’ll kick butt!” but all you really do is what you’re told. You go to appointments. Lots of appointments. You take drugs. You do treatments. Go in for tests. Wait and wait and wait on results. Have surgery. You never really feel like you’re in control or doing anything to impose your will on the situation. At least I didn’t. Never had that LeBron James taking over the game for a win moment. Sure, I prayed, remembering every time I did all those friends and family I’ve prayed for that never got better. Some people try to become their own experts. I didn’t bother. Nor did I have any faith in miracle diets, exercises, meditations, trinkets, powders, or crystals. Nope. I just hit my marks, relied on 21st century medical science, and hoped for the best possible outcome.

Longwood.

Oh, and I checked my dignity at the door. Big time. Prostate cancer requires this, in my opinion, more than most cancers. Doctors, nurses, interns, students, spouses, cleaning crews, paid spectators, preschool classes, all parading through and crowding around in small exam rooms while probing things are going in and other things are coming out. I found myself here, my clothes over there, people taking fluids, handing them off, and sometimes ducking them as they fly across the room. The worst was when I was wearing a hospital gown that simply wouldn’t stay tied shut and had a mile or two of corridor to cover between different exams with three waiting rooms, a news crew, a gift shop, and a cafeteria along the way. Eventually, I was so devoid of dignity that–and this is true–I crafted a euphoric group text to my wife, mother, and sisters that I had finally had my first poop since surgery.

I should probably tell you now that I had a very treatable form of prostate cancer. The surgery was successful. No radiation. No chemo. They tell me I have less than a 1% chance of dealing with it again. I was and am extremely fortunate and very grateful. I’m almost embarrassed to call myself a “survivor”, knowing that so many others have gone through so much worse. Still, I’ve got to say the process did take over nine months. Six months of that fell into what my sister, the hospice administrator/RN, calls the “information void”. This translates as “the imagination run amok period.”  So when the doctor says it could possibly be cancer but probably isn’t, the mind fills in the gray area with, “Oh God, it’s cancer.” When he says, “You have cancer, but you’ll be fine,” that means, “Start planning your funeral.” When the technician refuses to venture an opinion on a CT scan, deferring to the doctor who will eventually read it, the only possible explanation is that they’re thinking, “I don’t get paid enough to tell people this kind of crap.” Six months of this! And my mind never wearied of tumbling like a gymnast through all the permutations. But, eventually, it all got sorted out. I went in, had a prostatectomy twofered with three open hernia repairs, experienced the world’s proudest urine-related moment, and then I went home to keep on keeping on, using as a role model any dog’s total mood transformation following a cone-of-shame removal.

All of my follow up test results since have been good, and I’m grateful that my situation had a great outcome.  I’m well aware that it isn’t always so. My youngest sister died of cancer when she was 25 years old. Cancer has been all around me my entire life, and it has almost always meant that bad news gets worse. During my six or so months of information void, a friend was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died. During the hours and hours of time I sat sagging in waiting rooms and hospitals, I tried very hard not to overly notice others with situations far, far worse than mine.

Throughout the process my garden was a crutch. Before an important appointment or after a bad one, you would sure as hell find me walking around and finding distraction or comfort or hope and sometimes God in my little scratches of design—favorite plants gathered in the sunlight, sprouting from the good, rich earth.  My family and friends were wonderful, and their love and support was a given, but my garden was where I could go to be alone, to process, and to pull it all back together. And I wondered, while I kept my eyes dutifully aimed at my phone in dismal waiting rooms, if these other patients had gardens or some other green spaces into which they could get their heads out of prognoses and patient plans and into a place that allowed them to feel the planet and gather perspective?

A green roof at Mercy Hospital West in Cincinnati. Many rooms look out onto this.

The room where I spent five days on morphine, consisted of four walls, a bed, a TV, an IV stand, and a myriad of discarded Jell-O cups. That was about it. Since then, I’ve toured a few newer hospitals that were built so every room looks out onto some form of nature, whether it be a woods, a green roof, or gardens. I think this is great, and I believe the research which suggests that such investment pays off with better outcomes, quicker recoveries, and even fewer pain meds. I believe that with every fiber in my being.

The Great Rift Valley in Kenya, on the road into Nairobi.

Great works of art can take your breath away, and make you feel, think, or even just stare without words to utter. Buildings soar and amaze. Cathedrals inspire. The works of Shakespeare have stood as pinnacles of literature for five centuries. Any of the world’s religions can guide, console, and offer hope. And all of that is good stuff. Important stuff. But I recently stood on a cliff overlooking the Rift Valley in Kenya and looked out over the very cradle of mankind, and it still looks every bit the part. Horizon to horizon of primitive, verdant wonder. Wild. Big. Beautiful. Primordial. I get goosebumps just remembering. I can’t imagine I ever won’t. For it is from that ground that we as a species came. Those savannas, the sights and smells, are still in our DNA. Everybody should stand there once. Everybody should feel that feeling. To share in what we all share. And as a gardener I couldn’t help but to think that the Garden of Eden, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the great early gardens of Islam, the Temple gardens of China and Japan, Versailles, Longwood, Sissinghurst, my garden, your garden are the human spirit’s attempt to momentarily capture that lightning in a bottle. To remind us of home. To fill our hearts. Feed our bodies. Warm our souls. Allow us to grow even as we’re dying.

Versailles.

Gardening For Health – Part II originally appeared on Garden Rant on July 18, 2018.

from Gardening http://www.gardenrant.com/2018/07/gardening-for-health-part-ii.html via http://www.rssmix.com/

[athertonjc]

Gardening For Health – Part II

So long ago that I can’t remember when, I gave up on the idea of having any real pride in myself. It wasn’t what anyone would call a decision. No momentous occasion or anything. I just don’t really know that pride ever mattered that much to me. If I had any left, whatever there was was finished off by four years at a Jesuit college. Because, in case you don’t know this, Jesuits exist to convince young minds that one’s trajectory through life is subject to so many random social, physical, mental, and economic rolls of the dice that one’s own accomplishments are just a small part of a very large equation. That said, I do my best, take advantage of the good breaks and shake off the bad, and, more recently, try to live a good enough life. So when and if I take my own pride into consideration these days, it’s less about something good I’ve done and more about something stupid I hopefully didn’t. “Hey y’all, look at me” kinds of things. Yeah, my pride is mostly focused on keeping those to a bare minimum.

That being said, I must share my proudest moment ever. It happened two years ago, and I was on drugs. Morphine, to be exact. I was just coming around following surgery and hazily listening to a conversation between the nurse and my wife. At some point the nurse happened to mention that my urine had good color. My urine had good color! Lord have mercy, I almost burst! Too far gone to speak, I simply basked in the moment like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon filled to floating with enormous, joyful lightness. Even now, soberly aware of the ridiculousness of it, I can still feel a little pulse of that joy. Such was just one of countless anomalous moments—sometimes surreal, usually all too real—that I went through while “surviving” c-c-cancer.

A cancer diagnosis launches you on an imagination-fueled, internet-misinformed, emotional and intellectual odyssey, even as your body suddenly becomes a whack-a-mole game for doctors and technicians. The word “survive’ is accurate. Really nails it. Because whether you make it or don’t, surviving the process is about all you really manage.  Everyone says great upbeat stuff like, “You’ve got this”, or, “You’ll kick butt!” but all you really do is what you’re told. You go to appointments. Lots of appointments. You take drugs. You do treatments. Go in for tests. Wait and wait and wait on results. Have surgery. You never really feel like you’re in control or doing anything to impose your will on the situation. At least I didn’t. Never had that LeBron James taking over the game for a win moment. Sure, I prayed, remembering every time I did all those friends and family I’ve prayed for that never got better. Some people try to become their own experts. I didn’t bother. Nor did I have any faith in miracle diets, exercises, meditations, trinkets, powders, or crystals. Nope. I just hit my marks, relied on 21st century medical science, and hoped for the best possible outcome.

Longwood.

Oh, and I checked my dignity at the door. Big time. Prostate cancer requires this, in my opinion, more than most cancers. Doctors, nurses, interns, students, spouses, cleaning crews, paid spectators, preschool classes, all parading through and crowding around in small exam rooms while probing things are going in and other things are coming out. I found myself here, my clothes over there, people taking fluids, handing them off, and sometimes ducking them as they fly across the room. The worst was when I was wearing a hospital gown that simply wouldn’t stay tied shut and had a mile or two of corridor to cover between different exams with three waiting rooms, a news crew, a gift shop, and a cafeteria along the way. Eventually, I was so devoid of dignity that–and this is true–I crafted a euphoric group text to my wife, mother, and sisters that I had finally had my first poop since surgery.

I should probably tell you now that I had a very treatable form of prostate cancer. The surgery was successful. No radiation. No chemo. They tell me I have less than a 1% chance of dealing with it again. I was and am extremely fortunate and very grateful. I’m almost embarrassed to call myself a “survivor”, knowing that so many others have gone through so much worse. Still, I’ve got to say the process did take over nine months. Six months of that fell into what my sister, the hospice administrator/RN, calls the “information void”. This translates as “the imagination run amok period.”  So when the doctor says it could possibly be cancer but probably isn’t, the mind fills in the gray area with, “Oh God, it’s cancer.” When he says, “You have cancer, but you’ll be fine,” that means, “Start planning your funeral.” When the technician refuses to venture an opinion on a CT scan, deferring to the doctor who will eventually read it, the only possible explanation is that they’re thinking, “I don’t get paid enough to tell people this kind of crap.” Six months of this! And my mind never wearied of tumbling like a gymnast through all the permutations. But, eventually, it all got sorted out. I went in, had a prostatectomy twofered with three open hernia repairs, experienced the world’s proudest urine-related moment, and then I went home to keep on keeping on, using as a role model any dog’s total mood transformation following a cone-of-shame removal.

All of my follow up test results since have been good, and I’m grateful that my situation had a great outcome.  I’m well aware that it isn’t always so. My youngest sister died of cancer when she was 25 years old. Cancer has been all around me my entire life, and it has almost always meant that bad news gets worse. During my six or so months of information void, a friend was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died. During the hours and hours of time I sat sagging in waiting rooms and hospitals, I tried very hard not to overly notice others with situations far, far worse than mine.

Throughout the process my garden was a crutch. Before an important appointment or after a bad one, you would sure as hell find me walking around and finding distraction or comfort or hope and sometimes God in my little scratches of design—favorite plants gathered in the sunlight, sprouting from the good, rich earth.  My family and friends were wonderful, and their love and support was a given, but my garden was where I could go to be alone, to process, and to pull it all back together. And I wondered, while I kept my eyes dutifully aimed at my phone in dismal waiting rooms, if these other patients had gardens or some other green spaces into which they could get their heads out of prognoses and patient plans and into a place that allowed them to feel the planet and gather perspective?

A green roof at Mercy Hospital West in Cincinnati. Many rooms look out onto this.

The room where I spent five days on morphine, consisted of four walls, a bed, a TV, an IV stand, and a myriad of discarded Jell-O cups. That was about it. Since then, I’ve toured a few newer hospitals that were built so every room looks out onto some form of nature, whether it be a woods, a green roof, or gardens. I think this is great, and I believe the research which suggests that such investment pays off with better outcomes, quicker recoveries, and even fewer pain meds. I believe that with every fiber in my being.

The Great Rift Valley in Kenya, on the road into Nairobi.

Great works of art can take your breath away, and make you feel, think, or even just stare without words to utter. Buildings soar and amaze. Cathedrals inspire. The works of Shakespeare have stood as pinnacles of literature for five centuries. Any of the world’s religions can guide, console, and offer hope. And all of that is good stuff. Important stuff. But I recently stood on a cliff overlooking the Rift Valley in Kenya and looked out over the very cradle of mankind, and it still looks every bit the part. Horizon to horizon of primitive, verdant wonder. Wild. Big. Beautiful. Primordial. I get goosebumps just remembering. I can’t imagine I ever won’t. For it is from that ground that we as a species came. Those savannas, the sights and smells, are still in our DNA. Everybody should stand there once. Everybody should feel that feeling. To share in what we all share. And as a gardener I couldn’t help but to think that the Garden of Eden, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the great early gardens of Islam, the Temple gardens of China and Japan, Versailles, Longwood, Sissinghurst, my garden, your garden are the human spirit’s attempt to momentarily capture that lightning in a bottle. To remind us of home. To fill our hearts. Feed our bodies. Warm our souls. Allow us to grow even as we’re dying.

Versailles.

Gardening For Health – Part II originally appeared on Garden Rant on July 18, 2018.

from Garden Rant http://www.gardenrant.com/2018/07/gardening-for-health-part-ii.html

[turfandlawncare]

Gardening For Health – Part II

So long ago that I can’t remember when, I gave up on the idea of having any real pride in myself. It wasn’t what anyone would call a decision. No momentous occasion or anything. I just don’t really know that pride ever mattered that much to me. If I had any left, whatever there was was finished off by four years at a Jesuit college. Because, in case you don’t know this, Jesuits exist to convince young minds that one’s trajectory through life is subject to so many random social, physical, mental, and economic rolls of the dice that one’s own accomplishments are just a small part of a very large equation. That said, I do my best, take advantage of the good breaks and shake off the bad, and, more recently, try to live a good enough life. So when and if I take my own pride into consideration these days, it’s less about something good I’ve done and more about something stupid I hopefully didn’t. “Hey y’all, look at me” kinds of things. Yeah, my pride is mostly focused on keeping those to a bare minimum.

That being said, I must share my proudest moment ever. It happened two years ago, and I was on drugs. Morphine, to be exact. I was just coming around following surgery and hazily listening to a conversation between the nurse and my wife. At some point the nurse happened to mention that my urine had good color. My urine had good color! Lord have mercy, I almost burst! Too far gone to speak, I simply basked in the moment like a Macy’s Thanksgiving Day balloon filled to floating with enormous, joyful lightness. Even now, soberly aware of the ridiculousness of it, I can still feel a little pulse of that joy. Such was just one of countless anomalous moments—sometimes surreal, usually all too real—that I went through while “surviving” c-c-cancer.

A cancer diagnosis launches you on an imagination-fueled, internet-misinformed, emotional and intellectual odyssey, even as your body suddenly becomes a whack-a-mole game for doctors and technicians. The word “survive’ is accurate. Really nails it. Because whether you make it or don’t, surviving the process is about all you really manage.  Everyone says great upbeat stuff like, “You’ve got this”, or, “You’ll kick butt!” but all you really do is what you’re told. You go to appointments. Lots of appointments. You take drugs. You do treatments. Go in for tests. Wait and wait and wait on results. Have surgery. You never really feel like you’re in control or doing anything to impose your will on the situation. At least I didn’t. Never had that LeBron James taking over the game for a win moment. Sure, I prayed, remembering every time I did all those friends and family I’ve prayed for that never got better. Some people try to become their own experts. I didn’t bother. Nor did I have any faith in miracle diets, exercises, meditations, trinkets, powders, or crystals. Nope. I just hit my marks, relied on 21st century medical science, and hoped for the best possible outcome.

Longwood.

Oh, and I checked my dignity at the door. Big time. Prostate cancer requires this, in my opinion, more than most cancers. Doctors, nurses, interns, students, spouses, cleaning crews, paid spectators, preschool classes, all parading through and crowding around in small exam rooms while probing things are going in and other things are coming out. I found myself here, my clothes over there, people taking fluids, handing them off, and sometimes ducking them as they fly across the room. The worst was when I was wearing a hospital gown that simply wouldn’t stay tied shut and had a mile or two of corridor to cover between different exams with three waiting rooms, a news crew, a gift shop, and a cafeteria along the way. Eventually, I was so devoid of dignity that–and this is true–I crafted a euphoric group text to my wife, mother, and sisters that I had finally had my first poop since surgery.

I should probably tell you now that I had a very treatable form of prostate cancer. The surgery was successful. No radiation. No chemo. They tell me I have less than a 1% chance of dealing with it again. I was and am extremely fortunate and very grateful. I’m almost embarrassed to call myself a “survivor”, knowing that so many others have gone through so much worse. Still, I’ve got to say the process did take over nine months. Six months of that fell into what my sister, the hospice administrator/RN, calls the “information void”. This translates as “the imagination run amok period.”  So when the doctor says it could possibly be cancer but probably isn’t, the mind fills in the gray area with, “Oh God, it’s cancer.” When he says, “You have cancer, but you’ll be fine,” that means, “Start planning your funeral.” When the technician refuses to venture an opinion on a CT scan, deferring to the doctor who will eventually read it, the only possible explanation is that they’re thinking, “I don’t get paid enough to tell people this kind of crap.” Six months of this! And my mind never wearied of tumbling like a gymnast through all the permutations. But, eventually, it all got sorted out. I went in, had a prostatectomy twofered with three open hernia repairs, experienced the world’s proudest urine-related moment, and then I went home to keep on keeping on, using as a role model any dog’s total mood transformation following a cone-of-shame removal.

All of my follow up test results since have been good, and I’m grateful that my situation had a great outcome.  I’m well aware that it isn’t always so. My youngest sister died of cancer when she was 25 years old. Cancer has been all around me my entire life, and it has almost always meant that bad news gets worse. During my six or so months of information void, a friend was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and died. During the hours and hours of time I sat sagging in waiting rooms and hospitals, I tried very hard not to overly notice others with situations far, far worse than mine.

Throughout the process my garden was a crutch. Before an important appointment or after a bad one, you would sure as hell find me walking around and finding distraction or comfort or hope and sometimes God in my little scratches of design—favorite plants gathered in the sunlight, sprouting from the good, rich earth.  My family and friends were wonderful, and their love and support was a given, but my garden was where I could go to be alone, to process, and to pull it all back together. And I wondered, while I kept my eyes dutifully aimed at my phone in dismal waiting rooms, if these other patients had gardens or some other green spaces into which they could get their heads out of prognoses and patient plans and into a place that allowed them to feel the planet and gather perspective?

A green roof at Mercy Hospital West in Cincinnati. Many rooms look out onto this.

The room where I spent five days on morphine, consisted of four walls, a bed, a TV, an IV stand, and a myriad of discarded Jell-O cups. That was about it. Since then, I’ve toured a few newer hospitals that were built so every room looks out onto some form of nature, whether it be a woods, a green roof, or gardens. I think this is great, and I believe the research which suggests that such investment pays off with better outcomes, quicker recoveries, and even fewer pain meds. I believe that with every fiber in my being.

The Great Rift Valley in Kenya, on the road into Nairobi.

Great works of art can take your breath away, and make you feel, think, or even just stare without words to utter. Buildings soar and amaze. Cathedrals inspire. The works of Shakespeare have stood as pinnacles of literature for five centuries. Any of the world’s religions can guide, console, and offer hope. And all of that is good stuff. Important stuff. But I recently stood on a cliff overlooking the Rift Valley in Kenya and looked out over the very cradle of mankind, and it still looks every bit the part. Horizon to horizon of primitive, verdant wonder. Wild. Big. Beautiful. Primordial. I get goosebumps just remembering. I can’t imagine I ever won’t. For it is from that ground that we as a species came. Those savannas, the sights and smells, are still in our DNA. Everybody should stand there once. Everybody should feel that feeling. To share in what we all share. And as a gardener I couldn’t help but to think that the Garden of Eden, the Hanging Gardens of Babylon, the great early gardens of Islam, the Temple gardens of China and Japan, Versailles, Longwood, Sissinghurst, my garden, your garden are the human spirit’s attempt to momentarily capture that lightning in a bottle. To remind us of home. To fill our hearts. Feed our bodies. Warm our souls. Allow us to grow even as we’re dying.

Versailles.

Gardening For Health – Part II originally appeared on Garden Rant on July 18, 2018.

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