I love Ralph Stanley! In fact, I love old-time music. I guess it harkens me back to my Appalachian and, before that, Scotch/Irish roots. These sounds definitely touch something in my soul. Sometimes they make me want to shout (kick my heels up and shout), dance, sometimes cry.
A sweet internet friend sent me a link to this video. I hope it uplifts you as much on this fine Sunday as it did me. And if you need some more uplifting, visit the Spriritual Sunday blog for links to more hymns, prayers, and words of faith.
My flu is hanging on, especially the congestion and coughing. But the fever seems to have broken. I haven't had a temp since yesterday morning. Phillip and I ordered a pizza last night and watched part of the Georgia game. I had to come back to bed before the game was over; but Phillip reported to me later that the Dawgs had prevailed to beat South Carolina 41-37. Bama and Auburn both won their games yesterday too. A good day for the SEC.
At the suggestion of my friend Judy C., I'm reading Joan Didion's The Year of Magical Thinking. It's an account of Didion's coming to grips with the loss of her husband John Dunne. There are parts of the book I can relate to, and parts that I can't--John died suddenly at the dinner table; Vann died in bed after a long illness. But here's an excerpt that I could have written myself.
After discussing her mourning periods following the deaths of her father and mother, Didion writes, "Grief is different. Grief has no distance. Grief comes in waves, paroxysms, sudden apprehensions that weaken the knees and blind the eyes and obliterate the dailiness of life."
I've felt those waves countless times during the past 11 days. They're physical things, not just in the mind or even just in the heart. The first one would have taken me to my knees had there not been a person on each side of me to hold me. I don't even remember who those two people were.
It was shortly after the nurse told us Vann was gone. Maybe 5, 10 minutes later, maybe longer. I felt this gathering inside me and then a strong surge or whoosh that went up and out, and carried some of me with it. I know that's when Vann truly left this life. He came through me to do it, taking a part of me, leaving a part of himself. I felt him go--then I felt the grief. The white-cold wave of sickness that took the strength from my muscles, the thoughts from my brain. I remember saying, "He just left," and someone on each side of me holding me up.
The grief waves have continued, not as frequent, most not as strong as the first. I'm sure Amy and Phillip and Andy, all Vann's family and his many close friends, have had their own waves the past days. It's our bodies shedding the sickness of grief. I think there are "drugs" that can help us through this sickness: prayer, friendship, loving memories. And laughter. It really is true, people: Laughter is one of the best medicines going. And it doesn't matter whether your health plan covers it or not. It's free, a gift from God to his children.
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On 09/13/2009, Gayle said ...
Absolutely beautiful...my dad played the banjo, so I light up any time I hear one.
You describe the waves of grief perfectly. I still get hit with an occasional, unexpected rogue wave...just ride with the tide and go with the flow...or let go and let God.
Thanks for sharing this music today.
On 09/13/2009, Valerie said ...
Wishing you solace from your grief on this Spiritual Sunday.
Valerie
On 09/13/2009, Ramey Channell said ...
I've avoided comparing your experience to mine, I for some reason feel I shouldn't. Mine was such a long time ago, and I think many people believed it was something I should "just get over." I don't know if there would be any help for you in recounting my experiences. But it seems like sharing is a thing that people do so much more nowadays. But a few things you've said are much like what I felt. I know that when Jimmy died, it left a hybrid person here. Half of me died and half of Jimmy died, and half of me was still here and half of Jimmy was still here. I tried to tell people that.
I have hoped because Vann didn't go so suddenly, you may have in some small way been prepared. My experience was like suddenly being underneath a huge crushing bolder, and no way to escape. I lost the ability to talk sometimes, it came and went (Ken Cornwell couldn't talk when he and I were together) It was an actual physical thing, just a total inability to make a sound.
So, aside from many lurid details I could recount, I just want to say don't push yourself. It takes time and it's a strange and unknown process.
Your Sister Trois
On 09/13/2009, Joanne said ...
A long life means getting and losing, getting and losing. We are never really prepared. Sometimes we think we couldn't live through another loss. But we go on, because, as you both have said, the ones we think of as lost are still with us.
Your Sister Una
On 09/13/2009, Sally said ...
Thank you for this good reminder to appreciate life. Have a happy spiritual Sunday.
On 09/13/2009, Clif said ...
Thank you for sharing this. You gave us a lot to think about and digest. Have a great week.
On 09/13/2009, Marie said ...
"One day at a time sweet Jesus
That's all I'm asking from you.
Just give me [her] the strength
To do everyday what I have [she has] to do."
I love this song....and it's my prayer for you.
On 09/13/2009, Lavender Dreams said ...
Have strong faith sure helps us all through the sad and hard times. God bless you today and every day!
On 09/13/2009, kim said ...
Just want to say hi. I've been checking in on you. My thoughts are with you.
Big hugs!
On 09/13/2009, Debra Spincic said ...
I don't doubt for a minute your account of Vann's passing. Soulmates are the first ones to know.
I continue to think of you daily.
Sending love,
Debra
On 09/13/2009, Trudy Neill of Windemere Farm said ...
Dear Susan,
I seldom share this past part of my life, but I want you to know I feel it important. Way back in 1972 when I was a wee lass and new to the ways of the world...I experienced such rounds of death of close family members it was unreal. First my sister committed suicide, then shortly after my mother died of a brain tumor and three months later, my sweet father had a massive stroke and died. I lost my grandfather and two uncles as well and to top it all off, I lost a baby. This was in a SIX MONTH time period. There came a time when I had no more tears to shed. I was a young nurse of only about 5 years at that time and was working in a hospital. I truly believe the only thing that got me thru it was my nursing, I volunteered and took as many shifts in med/surg and ICU as I could. I helped close the eyes of many who died and comforted their families and looked for God's help thru that to get into me. It worked. That terrible time helped make me who I am today. I miss each one of them as much today as I did then. But I smile when I believe they are just thru the veil and will be waiting for me soon. May you find that same peace in what ever you believe...and know that I continue to hold you in prayer. Much love,
Trudy
On 09/13/2009, Ginger said ...
I'm so sorry to hear about your loss. I'm sure with all that you have been through your body is tired, it's no wonder you have a fever and not feeling well. I pray that the Lord will be with you in the days, months, and years to come.
God Bless,
Ginger
On 09/13/2009, Kai said ...
There's NO doubt in my mind that Vann passed through you on his way to crossing over. I believe he was sharing the last bit of his earthly being with you & letting you take just a touch of the heavenly part. You will ALWAYS feel him, Susan. I STILL feel my grandfather, 49 YEARS after he crossed over. People think I am insane when I say that, but I'm as sure of his presence as I am of my own image in the mirror. He's always there when I NEED him to be, and Vann will forever be there for you, too!
On 09/13/2009, Pokey said ...
Well, you have me crying with you again! Ups and downs, I know. *sigh*
The music video is great, I have a kindred spirit here with you!I was raised in the military, and we moved all over, all the time. But, my Daddy grew up in the Appalachian Mountains in Virginia, near the Cumberland Gap and Big Stone Gap.
When we had leave, we would go there. I spent roughly two years of my life in segments of time, growing on a tobacco farm and going to school where the kids would crowd around to hear how fast I talked! It was so funny to me.
The music was different there, and was sang and played in church meetings that deeply affected my life. To this day, put acountry fiddle or a mandolin in the song, and you've put a smile on my face... God bless your day, Susan! pokey
On 09/13/2009, Charlotte said ...
Thank you for sharing your old time music with us. It brought a smile to my face. I'm glad you're feeling better. Those flu bugs can be pretty mean. Thank you for sharing your laughter and your grief. I know you are looking forward to the day you will be reunited with Vann and other loved ones. This is such a blessed hope.
Blessings,
Charlotte
On 09/13/2009, julie Size said ...
I am so very sorry to hear of the news about Vann's passing. I loved reading and catching up on all of your posts ...but grieve for you. I am sure you are just trying to re-teach yourself how to breathe after it all. My prayers are with you.
On 09/13/2009, Nancy said ...
Oh how I love old time music...and it has nothing to do with my age, I have loved it since I was a small child. Especially the gospel old time music. Thanks so much for sharing this with us. I have to comment on your comment about grief coming in 'waves'. I think that is the best comparison I have ever found. I have not suffered the loss of my spouse so I can only try to imagine the depth of your grief. But when I lost my father in 1998, we were very close. My mom had lost her battle with breast cancer in 1976 just 3 years older than I am now. My dad became my rock through the trials and sorrows of a daughter addicted to prescription drugs when my husband who had always been my pillar of strength and still is, could not talk about our daughters problem. It was an invisible enemy that he had no idea how to fight. So when the day finally came that I found the courage (after much prayer) to actually turn my daughter in to the hospital she was working at (I'll leave the details of the quantity of things I found truly by accident in her room) it was my father that I went to, torn, tattered, filled with guilt and broken hearted both for the problem she had and the action I had taken. I didn't know what dad would say I just knew I had to tell someone that very minute. He led me to the porch of the home that held all my childhood memories and sat me down, then sitting down beside me he put his arms around me, pulled me to him and crying along with me said "Jo, I've always been proud of you, but never more proud than I am this very moment. You have proven yourself a loving caring parent and taken the hardest step any parent can take. My heart is full to bursting and remember, God is in charge of this and it will be as he sees fit." I will never forget those words nor the comfort I felt in his arms, and the love I felt from his heart. Six months later I was called to the hospital and he was already gone when I got there. The wave that washed over me then almost took me with it. My daughter was not yet rehabilitated and my rock and security blanket was gone (At least that was what I I thought, because at that time I was sadly and mistakenly angry with God for not letting me tell my father goodbye). That passed quickly of course. But the waves of grief that would hit were exactly that. A wave that washes over you, then rolls and tumbles you about until you don't know which way is up. You feel as though your hands cannot find anything to grip and your feet can't reach the ground, you feel like you are drowning in grief...then suddenly the Lord takes your hand and your feet are on solid ground again, you fill your lungs with fresh oxygen, your heart is filled with Gods love and the love that you are surrounded by from friend and family and the sun is shining on your face again. You know the next wave will come, but it won't last as long, or overwhelm you as badly as the one before. Then one day, instead of waves tumbling you about, you are just walking down the beach of life with the gentle waves of memories combined with a subtle grief licking at your feet. God is still by your side, holding your hand and filling you with the beauty of the life that still goes on around you and within you and you realize 'it is well with your soul'. God Bless and Keep you Susan. You are in my prayers.
On 09/13/2009, Sandi said ...
Awesome, Susan. Thanks so much for sharing that video. I, too, love the music of Ralph Stanley and the Clinch Mountain Boys. I enjoy singing the old hymns acapella and know that somewhere the gift comes from .........my Scotch/Irish heritage! Always wondered what our nationality was and my grandpa always said "Heinz 57" and then ten years ago through family connections we received the death certificate for our great, great, great grandparents who were born in Ireland and Scotland. A friend told me he always knew there must be some Irish in me because he could "hear" it in my voice. I have developed a program that combines the old hymns with the stories of my old quilts and love to share with others. It developed after my grandmother passed away and now it's a way for me to honor and remember the women -my mother, grandmas, aunts, etc - who taught me to quilt and my dad who encouraged it all. Take care of yourself and take it slow. Grief has it's highs and lows but it's obvious that you have many friends and family to be there for you.
On 09/13/2009, Linda said ...
My roots were singing with Ralph and his group. Love that music. Thank you for sharing it. And thank you for sharing your experience of Vann's leaving. We know so little of leave taking. It is still a great mystery. But this we do know, that Jesus is there waiting for us.
My thoughts and prayers are with you, dear lady. Rest well.
On 09/14/2009, Sylvia said ...
Susan, not a day goes by that I don't think of you and pray for you. I am Sylvia who messaged you on Facebook. It is no wonder you got sick. Your body just let go. Be well my friend and be strong knowing your precious love is with you every single moment. God Bless!! Gentle hugs for your fibromyalgia, I have that too. ((((((((HUGS))))))))
On 09/14/2009, Denise said ...
Thank you so much for sharing this precious post.
On 09/14/2009, Lallee said ...
Susan, I hope you continue writing. I'm sure you are expressing grief for the many, and you do it very well. I could easily see a book or something published in your future. I always say if Jesus stood at Lazarus' tomb and wept even though He knew what was coming next, then we are encouraged to grieve well too. Death is an enemy even though it loses in the end.
Two more books on grieving that come to mind are A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser, and Turn My Mourning into Dancing by Henri Nouwen.
Hugs,
Lallee
On 09/14/2009, monica said ...
oh Susan... I have you in my prayers.
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