Posts Tagged ‘pain’

“Since my earliest childhood a barb of sorrow has lodged in my heart. As long as it stays I am alive, if it is pulled out I shall die.” –Søren Kierkegaard

I received a phone call on my son’s birthday that a lady who had been helping my father during his illness arrived at his apartment and found his walker in the garage and his car gone. She knew this did not bode well because he was not supposed to drive with his poor eyesight, and he had been in terrible pain for a few months. She frantically drove out in her car, weeping and calling out his name as she searched up and down the highways and around the villages. In desperation, she drove to the police and reported him missing. They tracked his phone and found him dead in his car. He had driven to a secluded area and taken a handful of pills, and ended his suffering there alone.

I did not learn until later that various people had been aware that he planned to end his life, and that he had asked them not to tell me because I would try to talk him out of it. He said he did not want to hurt me anymore than I’d already been hurt. He had surgery only a few days before his death, and I am grieved to think his pain might have subsided if he had been encouraged to hold on awhile longer. I have heard that there may have been cancer or other issues that he didn’t reveal, but it doesn’t change the way that I feel.

I had missed my father every day of my entire life from the time I was a little girl. One of my earliest memories of him is when he visited me while a woman waited in a car in the driveway for him. My mother was inside the house and my heart broke for her and for me. That has been the story of my life. There was always a woman keeping me from my father, and I’ve always been jealous of anyone who got to enjoy his company, because I never did. I still love my father and I forgive him for his ways that he could not change.

Over the past few years, he told me he felt many regrets about the pain he inflicted on my mother and sister and me. Visiting Spain was painful, because it let me see the beautiful life that he never would include me in. Someone in Spain recently sent me a message which I had to translate from Spanish, saying that my father had horrific recurring nightmares in the months before he died: He dreamed that the two of you, you and your sister were still little and were crying, screaming, grabbing his pants legs … Begging him not to leave … That he would not abandon you ….He would wake up crying, sweaty, he would sit on the bed and put his hands on his face …. He was very aware of the pain he caused you. It hurts me that I did not know how to transmit it.

I have also learned a few things he said about me, which I had not known before he died. I asked a Spanish lady to place a purple flower in my name at his memorial service. I later saw the photograph of the lovely orchid she offered on my behalf, and saw a note attached which read, “With Love to My Poppy from your Delicate Flower.” The lady explained that my father called me his delicate flower and that he often said that I was amazingly strong and yet very delicate. He told her he respected and admired me. It means so much to know that he felt this way. I still talk with him in my mind and send him text messages, because I miss him terribly. I had hoped to visit him during the holidays, but now my dreams of time with him are shattered.

I will always remember the lady who searched for my father and tried to save him. I felt that I was driving with her and screaming through the car window that day, and I too was crushed with a terrible weight when they found his body.

Please pray for me and my family in this emotional time.

Peace and Grace,
~Olive~

 

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“Since my earliest childhood a barb of sorrow has lodged in my heart. As long as it stays I am alive, if it is pulled out I shall die.”

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I was once asked to say a few words to a high school classroom for troubled teenagers.  I was caught completely unprepared, but I knew exactly what I wanted to say in that short window of time. I was not accustomed to speaking, but I had watched the problems in this class and listened to students, and I perceived the situation pretty clearly.  Some of the students had parents that never cared about their studies or paid them any attention unless they got suspended or went to jail.

So I improvised and made myself vulnerable for their sakes.  I told this group that I came from a painfully difficult background, abandoned by both parents and tossed around to foster homes and orphanages. Some things that were done to me were unthinkable. I told them that after being mistreated for years, I had so much anger in my heart towards the world that I wanted to lash out at everyone in authority.  I became wild and rebellious and lived in the gutters for several years as a teenager.

But one day, the light came on in my head and I knew that I wasn’t hurting anyone but myself.  None of the people who did these things to me cared to begin with, so why should they care now?  I had to make them care, and there was only one way to do that.  I could make something of myself and defeat them for once and for all.

I explained that I am sure many people have terrible stuff going on in their homes. “But why destroy your own life trying to get even or get someone’s attention?” I asked. The best way to get their attention and sweet revenge at the same time is to make something of your life and become better than those who wounded you.

After I had finished speaking, a coach who was sitting in on the class that day stood up and said tearfully.  “Boys and girls, you’ve heard many things in this class over the years, but what you have heard today is more precious than gold and I hope that you take hold of it.”

This is the reason that I have written my own story.  I didn’t write it to seek revenge or hurt someone or invoke pity, or even to get some things off my chest (although that was a nice fringe benefit).  I wrote it to help someone who is in the wilderness of their own life, looking for a pathway out.

I only hope that my story will “fall into the right hands”.

Peace & Grace,

Olive Twist

~♥~

Children sleeping in Mulberry Street (1890) Art.

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As soon as I saw this wounded heart, I knew this message was going to resonate with me, and I was right!  If you’ve been hurt, you should read what this writer has to say about choosing whether to be healed or to remain injured and/or angry.

I just discovered this site today, and I hope you’ll stop in and give this author a blog-warming.  He has a beautiful style and voice.

Peace & Grace,

“Sister Olive”

~♥~

Klarion Kall

Pain is like one the universal experiences in life;not only because of how it impacts us all, but in the fact that we all will experience it.  Particularly, we all have or will experience hurt from betrayal at the hands of a friend whose words have cut us deeply. Being “stabbed in the back”, humiliated and or devastated by someone we know is an all to common phenomenon.  Pain and hurt is a straw we’ll all pull in life, but healing is not guaranteed, you have to choose it.

When the dust has settled, the liar/attacker has fled, and you don’t have to defend yourself anymore, its time to choose healing.  It can almost seem unfair that you can be innocent and injured by lies and deceit and left alone to do all the work of getting yourself back together. I’m not saying its fair, but I know we have to do it.  I’m not going to ignore God’s role in this, but I want to emphasis our…

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I’m not sure what made me think of it just now, but I may as well write it down.

I remember years ago when I attended a Good Friday church service in Oregon, and a doctor came to speak about the medical perspective of Christ’s crucifixion.  He told us that Jesus actually died of a broken heart, not from bleeding from His wounds or excruciating pain or other factors.  Jesus must have been very strong physically.

The scriptures say that when He was pierced in the side by a soldier, blood and water gushed out.  The visiting doctor said that for water to be mixed with his blood in this way, His heart had to have burst already. Otherwise, it would have been only blood that poured out.

People all around me started weeping into tissues and handkerchiefs and I quickly joined in. My heart broke thinking of how we wounded Him with our cruelty and our ignorance and our apathy. It made me feel so ashamed.

Remember those drops of blood on His forehead in Gethsemane?  Those revealed the depth of His pain as He prayed for us in the garden. Even as a child, I understood it and whenever I considered my own pain, I remembered that bloody sweat on His brow. I understood that His sorrow was even greater than mine, and it gave me solace. I knew that His love towards me was beyond the grasp of my understanding.

It still gives me comfort today through all of my personal battles. I pray every day that I don’t break His heart again with my attitudes and actions.

OLIVE TWIST ©2012

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