Subcurrent
02:35
وقتی از دور به صورتش نگاه میکنم همچین چیزی تو مغزم پلی میشه :))
A comment about grief, from u/GSnow on Reddit:
Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
Alright, here goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything...and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them. And other waves will come. And you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.
باز خوبه این استرس و سوگ و بهگایی اول تابستون نشد وگرنه جدی معلوم نبود چه بلایی ممکنه سر خودم بیارم.
❤1
Last week (14th of October) I had to euthanise my older cat, Shoogie.
She had a blood clot, a condition called Saddle Thrombus I think. She likely had an undetected heart disease which caused her heart to form blood clots.
The doctor said the surgery would have about a 10-15 percent chance of being successful, and even if it was, it wouldn't likely be the last time this happens.
I didn't want her to suffer anymore, she was already panting from the pain despite being given morphine, and she was so confused and frustrated, she didn't know what was happening.
But I don't want me or anyone else to remember her as "the cat that died", but remember her as a very charming and loving cat, a sweetheart who loved to be picked up in the morning and would purr in my arms.
She loved to sit close to me during breakfast and have occasional clumps of cream cheese as treats. She also loved eating bread and specially dried Barbari bread, she would even steal some from the table sometimes when we weren't looking. Once she stole a whole pack of mini toasts and ate a few. She even stole three of my pancakes once.
Every morning she would drop at me or my mom's feet and demand pets by putting her paw on her cheek and imitating a petting motion and then looking at us, or just laying flat on the ground and pretending like she was ignoring us but she really wanted pets.
She had the softest meows, and was so kind to my second cat, Shillie. They would get into play fights often but Shoogie was always the one who walked away first, and she loved it when Shillie licked her face.
I remember when I first introduced Shillie to her and after a week or so, Shoogie had accepted her as a new friend. Shillie was still afraid of Shoogie but Shoogie would drop to the ground in front of her and roll on her back and gently paw at Shillie to let her know she was a friend and just wanted to play.
Unlike Shillie, she liked to sleep alone in the living room most of the time, but she would occasionally nap in my room, and she always came to snuggle with me when I sat on the living room couch.
If I didn't get up early enough to feed her in the morning, or if I was too busy on my phone before breakfast, she would sit close to my head and gently boop my nose with her little paw.
Despite being scared in vet visits, she never attacked the doctors and would rarely make a sound.
Whenever I came back home after a long time outside, she would rub herself on my jeans very hard to make sure they smelled like her, and she would sniff and smell the straps of my backpack for several minutes and play with them.
She would sit beside my mom when she was stressed or on the phone on the couch and would snuggle with her and nap. My mom and dad really loved her too.
I loved her so much and it hurt me to make the decision to put her to sleep, but I tried my best to care for her and I know my deep pain is a sign of my deep love, like the two sides of a coin that can't exist without each other.
Thank you if you read this. I will post a few videos and pictures of her.
She had a blood clot, a condition called Saddle Thrombus I think. She likely had an undetected heart disease which caused her heart to form blood clots.
The doctor said the surgery would have about a 10-15 percent chance of being successful, and even if it was, it wouldn't likely be the last time this happens.
I didn't want her to suffer anymore, she was already panting from the pain despite being given morphine, and she was so confused and frustrated, she didn't know what was happening.
But I don't want me or anyone else to remember her as "the cat that died", but remember her as a very charming and loving cat, a sweetheart who loved to be picked up in the morning and would purr in my arms.
She loved to sit close to me during breakfast and have occasional clumps of cream cheese as treats. She also loved eating bread and specially dried Barbari bread, she would even steal some from the table sometimes when we weren't looking. Once she stole a whole pack of mini toasts and ate a few. She even stole three of my pancakes once.
Every morning she would drop at me or my mom's feet and demand pets by putting her paw on her cheek and imitating a petting motion and then looking at us, or just laying flat on the ground and pretending like she was ignoring us but she really wanted pets.
She had the softest meows, and was so kind to my second cat, Shillie. They would get into play fights often but Shoogie was always the one who walked away first, and she loved it when Shillie licked her face.
I remember when I first introduced Shillie to her and after a week or so, Shoogie had accepted her as a new friend. Shillie was still afraid of Shoogie but Shoogie would drop to the ground in front of her and roll on her back and gently paw at Shillie to let her know she was a friend and just wanted to play.
Unlike Shillie, she liked to sleep alone in the living room most of the time, but she would occasionally nap in my room, and she always came to snuggle with me when I sat on the living room couch.
If I didn't get up early enough to feed her in the morning, or if I was too busy on my phone before breakfast, she would sit close to my head and gently boop my nose with her little paw.
Despite being scared in vet visits, she never attacked the doctors and would rarely make a sound.
Whenever I came back home after a long time outside, she would rub herself on my jeans very hard to make sure they smelled like her, and she would sniff and smell the straps of my backpack for several minutes and play with them.
She would sit beside my mom when she was stressed or on the phone on the couch and would snuggle with her and nap. My mom and dad really loved her too.
I loved her so much and it hurt me to make the decision to put her to sleep, but I tried my best to care for her and I know my deep pain is a sign of my deep love, like the two sides of a coin that can't exist without each other.
Thank you if you read this. I will post a few videos and pictures of her.
💔4😢1