15 years ago my best friend died after a car hit her. She was on her way to school, probably walking while dreaming about her future. About the things she wanted to do, the day coming up. Off course, I don’t know this. But I knew her. I know she lived her life everyday, without fear. She had just had her 16th birthday, one week before she died. Almost an adult, but with so many years in front of her.
People say that often the best people die first. I know this is a cliche, and that sometimes we forget the negative after someone dies. But I know the reality of what we experienced together. How she made me laugh about anything. Forgetting the people around us, making me feel so happy. I remember her smile, her wisdom beyond her years.
I never forgot her. I also couldn’t stop the pain of feeling torn in two. The tears that never stopped, the funeral where I sang for her. Where I went to the front of the church to tell her how much she meant to me. The way I couldn’t cope with others smiling, laughing together. How dark the world got, my nightmares.
Today she is still there. The guilt over me surviving when she didn’t. And her voice, telling me not to be stupid. That she wants me to live life to the fullest. That I owe her to experience the things I couldn’t.
I will never forget you. And I’m glad. I’m glad for every second we spent together.
In the book well known practitioners recount the most memorable case histories of their illustrious careers. Engaging and surprising stories of human behavior are dramatically and often humorously portrayed. Each chapter gives a behind-the-scenes look at how therapists work with clients whose problems and behaviors aren’t found in standard psychology textbooks. The book also shows how these eminent therapists often cure these apparently intractable problems and learn something about themselves in the process. I was especially moved By Robert A. Neimeyer`s case history “Reconstructing the Jigsaw Puzzle of a Meter Man`s Memory”, and wanted to learn more about this fascinating therapist. I found this interview, where he talks about grief. What follow is the interview, and a description of him and his thoughts about grief.
Even though grief and grieving are a natural aspect of life, it can be overwhelming physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. Robert A. Neimeyer, Ph.D. has dedicated his life to the field of thanatology through his extensive research on the topics of death, grief, loss, and suicide intervention.
Dr. Neimeyer is a professor and director of psychotherapy research in the Department of Psychology at the University of Memphis, where he also maintains an active clinical practice. Additionally, he is the editor of two respected international journals, Death Studies and the Journal of Constructivist Psychology. He has published 24 books and over 300 articles and book chapters. The Art of Longing, a book of contemporary poetry is his latest creative endeavor.
This interview is the first segment in a two part interview. In this introduction, Dr. Neimeyer portrays how grief rocks the foundation of our world and how through a newer model of grief therapy called “Meaning Reconstruction”, we can explore and integrate our loss into our life. Meaning Reconstruction is a process of healing grief through the telling and re-telling of our life stories; seeking new meanings to re-affirm and re-build our life in a world without our loved one. Dr. Neimeyer is advancing this model of grief in his research, counseling practice and life’s work.
In the second segment of the interview Dr. Neimeyer explains a deeper understanding of meaning reconstruction grief theory and shares more of his personal and professional insights. The second segment concludes with a reading of his poem entitled, The Art of Longing.
The man in an inspiration for therapists and clients who need to find meaning in their work and life.
Three days ago I bought a audiobook about the Manson murders, which I hadn`t heard about before (or in that case, forgot). Finding updated and shocking news about him right after, feels like a coincidence too much. “Dating a sociopath” also inspired me by “coincidence” a month ago, when I wrote about finally finding my own reflection in the mirror (Read the sound of 300 heartbeats for the beginning of the saga. If you need the password, email me at forfreepsychology@gmail.com).
Charles Manson with Star, who says they are to marry. But Manson says, “That’s a bunch of garbage. You know that, man. That’s trash. We’re just playing that for public consumption.”
Serial killer Charles Manson is to marry his 25-year-old girlfriend behind bars, she has claimed.
“I’ll tell you straight up, Charlie and I are going to get married,” she told Rolling Stone magazine. ”When that will be, we don’t know. But I take it very seriously. Charlie is my husband. Charlie told me to tell you this. We haven’t told anybody about that.
MANSONDIRECT.COM / POLARIS
Star said in Rolling Stone magazine,”I’ll tell you straight up, Charlie and I are going to get married.”
“People can think I’m crazy. But they don’t know. This is what’s right for me. This is what I was born for,” she told the magazine. The pair have been in a relationship since “Star” was 19.
Manson has been incarcerated for 44 years since the cult leader was convicted of the murders of actress Sharon Tate and Leno and Rosemary LaBianco.
WALLY FONG/ASSOCIATED PRESS
Four young women members of the Charles Manson “family” kneel on the sidewalk outside the Los Angeles at Hall of Justice, March 29, 1971 with their heads shaved. They’ve kept a vigil at the building through the trial in which Manson and three other women were convicted of slaying actress Sharon Tate and six others. Left to right: Cathy Gillies, Kitty Lutesinger, Sandy Good, Brenda McCann.
Manson, who has been married twice before, denied the claim of marriage.
Susan Atkins, Patricia Krenwinkel, Leslie Van Houten, as they return to court late on March 29 , 1971, to hear the penalty phase ending a nine month trial for the Tate – LaBianca murders of August 1969.
“That’s a bunch of garbage. You know that, man. That’s trash. We’re just playing that for public consumption,” he told Rolling Stone. He also revealed that he was bisexual.
Manson said: “Sex to me is like going to the toilet. Whether it’s a girl or not, it doesn’t matter.”
AP
These file pictures show the five victims slain the night of Aug. 9, 1969, at the Benedict Canyon Estate of Roman Polanski. From left, Voityck Frykowski, Sharon Tate, Stephen Parent, Jay Sebring, and Abigail Folger.
AP
Charles Manson is seen in Corcoran, Calif., where he is in prison. He has repeatedly been denied parole.
This video is her campaign as he has been wronged by the media so she thinks. Don’t be too hard on this one. As this is about seeing the mask of illusion. I think what is going on here, is that she has read all of the bad things about Manson, and she cannot see
Psychopaths are compulsive pathological liars
They appear very normal
Can appear very sane
Can be charismatic, fun and charming
They seem like a ‘nice guy’
They tell you what they want you to hear
They mirror you
Are good at playing victim
Will display moral outrage
This video is Star saying how the media is wrong about Manson. That he isn’t really like this…..it is an extreme example of sociopath delusion that many victims face, and the struggle between what is real and what is not
Humans. One moment they`re there, in the next, gone. Traces from yesterday`s laughter still lingers in the air as storms and typhoons sweep over the last giggles. When the wind calms down, silence speaks and leave its marks in the sand. This time, at least 10.001 possible laughs blew away, and serious, cold stones will be raised instead. No-one wants to see their grayish, terrifying message. They remind us of our grief by it sober, cold surface. The hard granite knows no compromise; The only option left is for us to fall on our knees, letting our anguish out. Our tears fills baskets, but it`s still not enough. No tears can take away the pain. We plant flowers as a token of our love and we try to go on with our lives, even when we’re broken.
<We look at gravestones all the time, and we manage. We’ll have to manage, for their sake
This Weeks Writing Challenge asked writers to say how they leave their traces. The challenge showed a picture of flowers lying on a 150 year old grave.
This prompt brought a whirlwind of thoughts alive. They came washing over me like a typhoon washes over the shores. Left behind is havoc, both outside and inside people’s worlds. I think about the tiny graves that must be dug out, by hands feeling numb. I think: I want to remember this. I want to look every typhoon in the eye so I see it’s prey. Never letting myself waver. We have to face storms coming our way and use our remaining energy to remember them.
On the other side of the world an estimated 9.8 million people have had their lives and homes devastated by the super-typhoon Haiyan that hit the Philippines on Friday. Heartbreaking stories and pictures are being broadcast of the destruction inflicted by the storm (by hletters).
In USA, another storm blew away happiness and joy. A girl with a huge heart left us, leaving behind a boyfriend who loved her and many friends who truly appreciated her. She lived a life filled with strife, but also beauty. She preferred to stay outdoors, as near nature as possible. But nature craved her back the same way hungry waters craved thousands back in the Philippines.
Her death is silent. The world is not turned towards her as they’re understandably turned towards the Asians. But I do wish to leave a mark on her grave, too. I do hope I can lay my trace on her grave by writing this to show that a beautiful flower has died.
I hope, dear Nico, that I’ll always remember you. And I do hope, there’ll always be flowers on your grave.
Nicole passed away on October 21, 2013. I don’t have the energy to write much at this time. She is all I think about. We were together for 14 years. I have embedded a video Nicole created about her and I. I have also posted some photos of her. Also included are a few links of some of our videos, writings, photography, etc. I love and miss her more than I could ever explain in words.
Heaven. Is that where you are? Or are you floating across the universe, like your thoughts once were?
My words are silent. My compassion needs a hug. My tears need somewhere to fall.
She`s gone.
Niko is gone. Only her words linger on:
Engaging with the aspects of the world that are conducive to an evolution of synergy with the environment [whatever that environment may be] through music, video, writing, and photography. Spreading the seeds of consciousness and positive living seen through a lens of deep philosophy, deep ecology, poetry, creative writing, photography, artwork, and motion picture. Spreading the seeds of positivity, love, peace, spirituality, natural energy, the idea that we are all Ones within One trying to get by in this life with as little damage as possible to the self and others, the unmasking of the ego so that we can embark upon the next phase of human/technological evolution.
For should we not all be willing believers that the sky is not the limit, but limitless and boundless and that all human relationships can be the same? We are all children of the universe, the time has come that we act like it.
I am diagnosed and live with SchizoAffective Disorder and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder; however, I try not to let these leash the weirdo within. I try to use my diagnoses to further unleash my weirdness.
Loss. Heart-wrenching pain lurching in every corner. Memories that haunt us, tears that fill oceans. Such is the pain of loosing someone you love, and there is no other way than let them come: The feelings, the memories and the pain. The pain is just a proof of our ability to love, a proof that we can do everything for anyone, if we decide to. The hurt has meaning, and no-one can take that away from us.
The following post is from tersia burger: Vic’s final journey. Vic was the precious daughter of the author of the post, and the blog is about the lifelong battle she had.
It will probably be tough to read the post, but sometimes we just need to feel the pain, ourselves.
For a long time after Vic had breathed her last breath I lay next to her. I touched her face and hugged her close to me. Something I could not do in life as I may have fractured a bone or two. Everybody left me alone with Vic. I was so grateful for that precious time with my angel child.
I washed Vic and dressed her in her favourite pyjamas. It was so difficult trying to dress her limp body. Although I knew it did not matter anymore I was scared I would hurt her. Years of conditioning I suppose. I was shocked to see that a large part of her body had already discoloured. Her right hand shoulder, her back and the top of her legs were black and blue. When I washed her little body at 7am that morning, a mere 3.5 hours earlier, only her little toes had started discolouring… Her back was still so warm from the fever that had racked her body. Her hands, feet and face were cold to the touch.
I brushed her beautiful hair.
Then I realised that the boys could not come home until Vic had been “removed”. I phoned Siza to pronounce Vic and the undertakers and requested that they send their people to come and fetch my child. I lay with her for a further 30 minutes. I held her tight and cried for her. I just wanted to die.
Siza, the angel of mercy arrived…. She was so matter of fact about Vic’s passing. She put cotton wool in my child’s mouth because Vic’s jaw had relaxed! I wish I never saw that!
Just before 1pm the undertakers arrived. I was torn. I did not want her to go but I could see that her beautiful soul had left her body. It was no longer my beautiful baby girl who lay in that bed. In death Vic looked like a stranger… yet I felt that if Vic left that room she would forever be gone. Strange…..
The undertakers walked into Vic’s room. They were so smartly dressed in dark suits, white shirts and red ties.
They hugged me and said “When you are ready… We can wait”.
I remember thinking “I look so ugly when I cry. These strangers can see me cry!”. I nodded and they wheeled in a gurney type “bed”.
They meticulously folded up the outer cover to reveal a plastic sheet. They lowered the gurney to the same level as Vic’s bed and took her from my arms…
Someone said “Be careful. She breaks bones easily…”
They lay Vic on this horrible plastic sheet and covered her in it. I wanted to die. I still want to die just thinking of it. My beautiful baby girl, who only deserved Egyptian cotton, wrapped in hard plastic!! They quickly replaced the cover and zipped it close. I think my sobs were driving them mad.
Vic looked so tiny on that darn gurney! Tiny and dead!!
Minutes after one my baby girl left home for the last time. Never again would she grace us with her presence. Never again would she shuffle down the passage, never again would we hear her laughter or her cries of pain.
Vic left home – forever.
All love to the family of friends of Vic. Sometimes the best people leave first. Angels cannot stay on earth too long.
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