We Mourn With You, Flamengo and our Brasilian Readers

It is with sadness that we mourn with you, Flamengo, in both the lost of property and in the lives of so many players lives. May God give you all peace and understanding in this terrible loss and my all of their souls rest in peace, both now and forever more.

Grief Process Takes Time

Many switches are flipped on and off,day in and day out. In the course of a year, reflecting back, one certainly hopes that all the right ones have been turned on or off for this one little individual relay that plays its part in the portion of the universe that we all live. It goes without saying that technology has made life better (for the most part) and it has helped to make work easier (sometimes). For the most part, I try my darnest to enjoy nature, love my family (including my cat) and live out the rest of my life trying to correct all the little short falls that have caused me to stumble. In short, I still want to leave this world better than it was when I arrived.

I still like (in a humorous way) to push a few buttons just to see the reaction. I did that  a couple of the last trips to the cardiologist (sometimes, you have to set the stage first). It must have worked. Not only did I find out he was human,too, but that he had a bit of humor as well. The biggest surprise was that he is a BIG Notre Dame fan and alumni. It was an experiment. It went well. It was a switch that was flipped and helped me as a person in a small way. Sometimes in life, we have to flip our own switch if we expect to make progress. Forward progress is essential Sometimes, as well, forward progress can also be painful and cause us to grieve.

I just read an essay about pain and grief. Although, my agreement with the entire essay isn't in line with the author from start to finish. On the whole, the author made some very good points. The points that he failed to make or from my view  somewhat missed the mark is inexperience in his career. In time, he will either make the points or modify his viewpoints like a jet's contrail in the sky making course adjustments on its route. I can deal with that and not disagree to a point that it starts an argument (like some I have meet along this life's journey).

My photography has been a grief switch for me. I flip it when I have periods of heavy grief about the loss of my son. Heavy grief is when you cry out in pain (why?) (Why did this happen?) Sometimes those creep back into my thoughts. I flip the switch and go to Light Grief Mode. That's how grief should be dealt with. It should be memories of all the fun things,happy things,humorous things that were celebrated.

One example that I rewind and replay a lot is a beautiful October morning in New England. It was a fall when the  fall colors were at their best in many, many years. It was a grief trip that was made to help my mother-in-law through the grieving process in the loss of my father-in-law  a couple of months prior. My son was 5. We loved the Ogunquit rocky shores with waves from the North Atlantic battering those rocks after many many miles of travel. My son would burst into laughter when one of the rocks was smashed by a wave and it sprayed water up and over the rocks in an array of artful beauty in the morning sunlight. The car was packed and my son and I stood on the bluff above the waves looking down at the rocks while the women did a double check that everything had been packed and that nothing was being left behind.

 My son wanted to go down to the beach level below and  put his hand in the ocean one last time. I took him down the sandy wooden stairs from the cottage to beach level. He was so happy. After splashing his hands in the soft beach waves for a few minutes I looked up just in time to see about a three foot wave rolling toward the beach a bit faster than the others. Soon, I realized that this wave would require me picking up my son and lifting him about the wave line on the beach. The wave grew and grew. With my son in my arms, I quickly backed up and ducked behind a rock that was about 8 to 10 feet high at sea level. The thinking was that a few water sprays would be quicker to dry out than being totally wet.

The wave had been misjudged. The wave hit another rock from a slightly different angle.It sent a heavy spray of water at such an angle, it doused my son and myself to a point that complete changes of cloths would be a must topside. I remember the cold shock of the water hitting us both. I remember my son shaking from the shock of it and then looking at me for reassurance that we had both gotten wet and it was fine and okay, but most of all funny, as he broke out in a laugh that I can still hear in my head today. That is the kind of grief that helps one heal, although, the pain never fully goes away.

There is no rushing the grief process. Every one has their own speed in which they heal. Don't worry that a year has come and gone and you are  still grieving. It's been a dozen plus years for me. I'm still grieving. It's a better understanding today. Sure, I was angry at first. Most everyone is. Striking out is a part of the process also. Coming on down the line eventually comes acceptance. That's a hard one to deal with. Guilt comes into play and even drives a rekindle of the anger sometimes. Working your way though it will bring a resolution eventually. I wrote a poem to my son. It was a part of the acceptance. It got published several years ago.

Looking back to that morning again and again, I seldom see the unpacking of the car, getting dry cloths and delaying the start of our homeward-bound journey. It's the laughs that are recalled most clearly.It's that extra little time in a moment of time that was captured for a reason at that moment, unrevealed. It all fits into an image that was inscribed on my brain for a reason. That reason lights up every time I flip the switch and  it brings peace and comfort and love in never-ending quantem theory little packets of energy and light.

Today, I look for images that "speak out to me" in some way that continues to push the grieving process forward with a lesser degree of pain. Sometimes, I just pass on the shot.even putting the camera down and wrap the memory of the shot around my heart. I've heard many  more angles singing on those days for some reason. I leave that switch alone.

The dedication of the new Budah temple

Stacks of Beauty