The G Spot!

>> Wednesday, January 27, 2016

         It's been so long since I've had sex I don't even know if I a G spot anymore.  Sooo....

Lets talk a little about grief.   It's a fickle thing, grief.  


"Grief is a multifaceted response to loss, particularly to the loss of someone or something that has died, to which a bond or affection was formed. Although conventionally focused on the emotional response to loss, it also has physical, cognitive, behavioral, social, and philosophical dimensions. While the terms are often used interchangeably, bereavement refers to the state of loss, and grief is the reaction to loss."  Wikipedia

What causes grief?  How should we react?  What's the recovery time? Will Vodka cure it?
Questions that we have NO standard Answer for because everyone is different. Obviously.

Grief is a natural response to loss.

We are told the five stages are:
  1. denial
  2. anger
  3. bargaining
  4. depression
  5. acceptance

Come to find out I didn't react as I expect a proper lady should after the sudden death of her husband.
Basically I was pissed!  Pissed that he left me with four kids and a mortgage, pissed that after 3 years of keeping him stable I had failed him.  (more on that another time)  
Most of all... Pissed I was now left to face this life on my own. Pissed. Pissed. Pissed.                        

I skipped right over denial, tripped, stumbled, and flipped ass over tea kettle into anger. 

To put someone that is grieving in a box and expect them to behave a certain way would be a mistake, even if you've been there done that.   Can I get an AMEN?    Some how I'd put myself into that box and insisted on putting on a brave-face with my chin up and a stiff upper lip.  Needless to say I failed badly.   Surprised?

I'd even shock myself at times with my unexpected reactions to life while on the grief train.  
For example when it came time to make the funeral arrangements.  The lovely funeral home directer, Mary explained to me that I was allowed 22 characters on my husband grave marker.
Being that he was Veteran he was to be buried in an National Memorial cemetery, I was allowed only 22 additional characters on his marker.

Mary asked, "What would you like it to read?"
My reaction... "Will Fucking Asshole fit?"
Mary didn't even bat an eye at my hysterical out burst, she just pick up her pencil and wrote out 'fucking asshole', counted the letters and said calmly...  
"Yes, 'fucking asshole' is 15 spaces, that would fit."
Bless her heart.

There is no right or wrong....there is just one foot in front of the other.  
           
                                                     And hugs.  Hugs are nice.








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