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Magazine
Excerpts - Feb ~ Mar 2006 |
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The
Butterfly
A symbol of hope, a symbol of new life
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The
butterfly lays a tiny dewdrop of an egg on a juicy
milkweed leaf. Inside the egg is her baby. When
the baby hatches, however, she is not a beautiful
butterfly like her mother. She is a caterpillar,
who eats and chews on the milkweed leaf for two
weeks.
The caterpillar’s skin doesn’t grow
with her, so she has to take it off.
She spins a little thread, clings to it, puffs air
under her skin until it splits. She stretches and
twists until she emerges, dressed in a new and larger
skin. She eats, grows and changes her skin three
times. |
We
might be tempted to help release the butterfly from
her cocoon. It is human nature to want to assist,
but if we do, she will fall to the ground and die;
the struggle to free herself strengthens her wings
enough to survive and fly.
Grief is certainly like this process. We feel ugly,
we change, we hide, we sometimes spin a cocoon around
ourselves and we struggle. Like the butterfly, we
need to free ourselves. It takes a long time.
There is a difference, however; others may help
us as we struggle. We need not do it all alone as
the butterfly does, but the ultimate responsibility
is ours. We have to grieve, hurt, cry, be angry
and struggle to free ourselves from the cocoon of
grief. And one day, we do emerge – a beautiful
butterfly, a stronger person, a more
compassionate person, a more understanding person.
Eunice Brown
TCF, Ottawa Valley, Canada
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VALENTINE’S
DAY
A
Valentine To All My Compassionate Friends
We who have had our hearts so badly broken know
each other.
We have lost a child, grandchild, a sister or
a brother.
It matters not if we’ve seen each other’s
faces,
we share mending hearts full of achy places.
At first our hearts feel shredded and torn,
we might even wish that we’d never been
born.
We don’t understand how our lives went
so wrong.
Everyone tells us they’re so glad that
we’re strong.
All we know is that we hurt to the core,
because a child dearly loved is with us no more.
With time, patience and understanding we begin
to heal.
We begin to accept what is and life starts to
seem real.
Each time we tell our tale, each hug we receive,
puts a band-aid on the hurting spots and gives
us reason to believe,
that we will feel joy again, that life does
go on.
Though we’re never quite the same since
our child is gone.
Compassionate Friends teach us ways we can cope,
until we can live again and face life with hope.
So to TCF members, whether we’ve met or
not,
thank you for the band-aids on the bruised,
healing spot.
I Love You All.
Kathy Hahn
TCF / Lower Bucks, PA
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A
NOTE TO THE NEWLY BEREAVED
(and a reminder to the rest of
us)
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The first months and years after
bereavement can be terrifying. It seems as if
the pain stays at a monotonous peak; it seems
as if one’s mind will be lost at any moment.
And although most of us ‘get better’
after the first terror, we usually do not realize
that, until we look back years later.
When we think about it, this state
of affairs is almost ‘reasonable’.
After such an overwhelmingly traumatic experience,
we can fall – as it were – to the
end of the world.
Coming back from there is bound to be slow,
beyond our imagination and fraught with reversals.
So far, no one has found a method to avoid this
painful journey back.
But perhaps it will help to know you have already
begun to travel.
You will find it is a long journey
and desperately hard and you may almost want
to stay where you are. But you will realize
later that the wind of tomorrow is already stretching
your sails and life awaits for you across the
sea. If you only knew …
Sascha
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