Death…

Death1

Tonight I held you,
As I fought back the tears.
And grieved for your family,
That have loved you for years.

You became unwell,
There was nothing to do,
We watched through the window,
And increased your O2.

I called your family,
To see if anyone could attend.
Your family needed to know,
That this was the end.

But this virus is terrifying,
And people are shielding,
How can they be there,
When Covid is so unyielding.

I held your hand,
I wiped your face,
My gloved hand on skin,
As your breathing slows pace.

You’d still smile behind your mask,
And I’d try smile back.
To comfort and reassure you,
Is now my one and only task.

Your family called,
To say their goodbyes,
We stood with the phone,
And listened to their cries.

With tears rolling down our faces,
Into the masks we all wear.
We really wanted to help them,
And show them we care.

We woke you up,
So you could hear their voice.
We described your actions.
We had no other choice.

Their words filled with sorrow,
Their hearts played bare.
They wanted the time,
To show you, they care.

You looked peaceful,
And smiled at their call,
I hope it brought you comfort,
Standing there took my all.

We deal with death,
But not like this,
No family allowed,
To give you one last kiss.

But the next family will need us,
We will need to do the same.
But I hope I gave you good care.
And I will always remember your name.

By Sarah Pirie

HealthTribute to the health workers who have lost their lives fighting Covid-19

War is Evil, War is the Devil…

WarFrom http://komitet.net.ua

War is evil
War is the devil
War is between politicians
War is about religions
War is destruction
War is not construction
War is depression
War is an obsession
War is fighting
War is killing
War is sorrow
War is no tomorrow
War is explosions
War is confusions
War is blood
War brings tears like a flood
War makes you cry
War makes you die
War is death all around
War makes you die on your own ground
War is fire
War is not to admire!
War is creed
War is between your own breed
War is cruel
War cost a lot of fuel
War is amputations
War is mutilations
War last forever
I wonder if it ends in Heaven
War is only release
For those who are killed
It means ‘PEACE’

Славянск, разрушенияFrom http://glavred.info/

Thinking of my dear relatives who got caught in the current civil war in Ukraine: some of them forced to leave their houses and all their belongings to move to a safer part of the country, others – stuck in the war zone, hiding in rural areas as all towns and cities are being shelled and bombed with lots of peaceful civilians (including women and children) killed or mutilated. A beautiful peaceful coal-mining town that was full of smiles and laughter when I was spending my summer holidays there as a child is now in the middle of the war zone full of grief, pain and tears. Still struggling to believe that… 😦

When will those who are still living get some peace? 😦

From http://ria.ru

THE END

Sometimes I just wish, I could run away and hide…

Hiding
From Coach Your Mind

Sometimes I just wish, I could run away and hide.
No matter where I go though, these feelings stay inside.
How can I stay here and live each day a lie,
When all I want to do is close my eyes and die?
I see the pain I cause you, with every tear I shed.
I plead with you now, let me go instead?
I wish I could take you with me, to a happy place,
Whether it exists though, is time for me to face.
Can I ask for your forgiveness? For you to set me free,
It may seem ungrateful, but this life’s not meant for me.
Thank you for all your love, for all the time we shared,
It means the world to me, to know that someone cared.

By Jaclyn

Free
From Set Me Free

* * *

Have you ever had suicidal thoughts? If yes, you’re not alone; many of us have had suicidal thoughts at some point in our lives.

Feeling suicidal is not a character defect, and it doesn’t mean that you are crazy, or weak, or flawed. Lots of people who were experiencing suicidal thoughts have no history of mental illnesses, drugs or alcohol abuse.

Humour

From IZquotes

When I started thinking of ending my life, I simply did not see any purpose in existing on this planet. I did not see any way of fitting in with that curious lot, people, who all ‘herd together, trampling on each other’, as Maxim Gorky once said. I felt it was a mistake for me to be born at the first place and just wanted to disappear with no trace, like if I have never ever been on that planet. 

Photo1From DevianArt

People jumping under the trains were a regular occurrence at that time.  Life was tough and lots of people saw no purpose in keeping that miserable existence going.

One of my friends was a train driver. He told me once how that feels to see someone dying under the train. How hard it is to forget the eyes of that person… That did not seem right thing to me. I felt that it was up to me to decide, what I wanted to do with my life. But what right did I have to make other people’s lives more miserable  by making other people see that and leaving them to deal with the remains on the tracks? Leaving no trace – that was the problem…

FaceFrom Shellshock Serenade

I never talked to anyone about my thoughts. I never indicated to anyone what was going in my mind. I was still laughing, constantly reciting my favorite lines from ‘Cynics’ – the book I liked the most at that time. That laughter and those lines – my closest friend could not stand that anymore and pulled me out of town for a few weeks. The ‘Cynics’ were left behind as well as the lines of its main character who did commit suicide in the last chapter of that book…

Photo2From DevianArt

These were probably the most important two weeks in my life. That was the first time in my life when I realised, that if there is no way, I CAN make my OWN WAY. Looking back, I appreciate a lot those people, who helped me to realise that, who did show me that life was still worth living, who did return me my sense of humour… Looking back, I’m glad that I did not disappear without a trace. I’m glad that I’m still on that planet.

However that experience taught me a lot and gave me a good ‘measure’ for everything in life. Every time I had a hard choice in my life, I was thinking: ‘If I go that way or make that choice, will I want to live on that planet afterwards?’. And if the answer was ‘no’, than that option was off the list. That made my life so much simpler.

Photo3From DevianArt

If you are unable to think of solutions other than ending your life, it is not that other solutions don’t exist, but rather that you are currently unable to see them. The intense emotional pain that you’re experiencing right now can distort your thinking so it becomes harder to see possible solutions to problems, or to connect with those who can offer support. Talk to a trusted friend or relative, talk to your beloved ones. Give them a chance to help. Alternatively, try anonymous hotline.

Hands

If you think a friend or family member is considering suicide, you might be afraid to bring up the subject. But talking openly about suicidal thoughts and feelings can save a life.

Ways to start a conversation about suicide:

  • I have been feeling concerned about you lately.
  • Recently, I have noticed some differences in you and wondered how you are doing.
  • I wanted to check in with you because you haven’t seemed yourself lately.

Questions you can ask:

  • When did you begin feeling like this?
  • Did something happen that made you start feeling this way?
  • How can I best support you right now?

What you can say that helps:

  • You are not alone in this. I’m here for you.
  • You may not believe it now, but the way you’re feeling will change.
  • I may not be able to understand exactly how you feel, but I care about you and want to help.
  • When you want to give up, tell yourself you will hold off for just one more day, hour, minute—whatever you can manage…

HelpFrom How to Help a Suicidal Friend

If someone close to you committed suicide, don’t blame yourself. People tend to think of what they might have done differently to help prevent the suicide. Being deep in grief makes it hard to think clearly, and you may really believe that you could have stopped your loved one’s suicide with lots of “what ifs”: “What if I had taken her straight home?” “What if I’d gone downstairs and checked on him that night?” “What if I had told her I loved her more?””What if…

Grief1Grief

Coming to a place of acceptance (the final stage of grieving) often goes hand in hand with getting a sense of closure on the actual death. Talking with others who knew the person well or even having some kind of a gathering to talk about the person can be quite healing. Laughing and enjoying life again doesn’t mean you’ve forgotten your loved one. In fact, going on with your life is a wonderful way of honoring your loved one’s memory…

Life
From Suicide is Painful

Resources:

THE END

If tomorrow starts without me…

Grief
From ExperienceProject

If tomorrow starts without me,
And I’m not there to see,
If the sun should rise and find your eyes
All filled with tears for me;
I wish so much you wouldn’t cry the way you did today,
While thinking of the many things, we didn’t get to say.
I know how much you love me,
As much as I love you,
And each time that you think of me,
I know you’ll miss me too;
But when tomorrow starts without me,
Please try to understand,
That an angel came and called my name,
And took me by the hand,
And said my place was ready,
In heaven far above,
And that I’d have to leave behind;
All those I dearly love.
But as I turned to walk away,
A tear fell from my eye
For all my life, I’d always thought,
I didn’t want to die.
I had so much to live for, So much left yet to do,
It seemed almost impossible,
That I was leaving you.
I thought of all the yesterdays,
The good ones and the bad,
I thought of all the love we shared,
And all the fun we had.
If I could relive yesterday,
Just even for a while,
I’d say good-bye and kiss you
And maybe see you smile.
But then I fully realized,
That this could never be,
For emptiness and memories,
Would take the place of me.
And when I thought of worldly things,
I might miss come tomorrow,
I thought of you, and when I did,
My heart was filled with sorrow.
But when I walked through heaven’s gates,
I felt so much at home.
When God looked down and smiled at me,
From His great golden throne,
He said, “This is eternity, And all I’ve promised you.”
Today your life on earth is past,
But here life starts anew.
I promise no tomorrow, But today will always last,
And since each day’s the same way,
There’s no longing for the past.
You have been so faithful, So trusting and so true.
Though there were times you did some things,
You knew you shouldn’t do.
But you have been forgiven,
And now at last you’re free.

So won’t you come and take my hand,
And share my life with me?

So when tomorrow starts without me,
Don’t think we’re far apart,

For every time you think of me,
I’m right here, in your heart.

Angel1

From Pinterest

THE END

The politics of chess

ChessboardFrom The Human Cost: “Your Life And The Lives of Those You Love Are Just Pawns On Their Chessboard”

“It’s a funny game, chess. Like a Mandelbrot set, there’s more to it than meets the eye – the more you look at a chess as a game, the more it really gets into your soul…

The World.
The world is, essentially, black and white. Right and wrong. Truth or lie. Do or die. For the pieces that reside in the world of chess experience this stark dichotomy on a daily basis. Their world, such as it is, allows for only restricted movement. They have no real freedoms at all…

The Pieces.
Each of the players in life’s little game has their role, as in real life. From the menial, toilet-bowl washers through to the “do nothing but sit around and look magnificent” top tier of life, all facets of class system are there. As in life, the pieces are more or less defined by what they do. “You’re a doctor? Awesome… settle a bet – is this a boil or a mozzie bite?” – likewise each piece on a chess board is effectively hamstrung, their career chosen at birth and with little chance of respite from the gruelling daily grind…

The Pawn.
It’s a damning indictment on the state of the world when you consider this fact: The most populous piece on the board is also the weakest. Like the serfs and peons of eras gone by, the fact that there are 16 of the so-called ‘little people’ on the world at the beginning of any match should supply some glimmer of hope – the most precious gift in the world – to the pawns. But they are not the sum of their parts. Repressed and homogenous, they simply exist to do the dirty work, and to die quietly with as much dignity as they can muster….

The Rook.
Ahhh… the safety and security of bricks and mortar are the lesson to be learned here. How solid and dependable are the rooks? They occupy and guard the outer edges of the world, keeping the other players safe from invading paws of curious kittens and insurgencies of spilt beverages. But how high is the price of such security?

I’ll tell you – it’s a terrible toll. Severely restricted movement, and a mindset programmed to think in unbending lines…

The Knight.
By immediate comparison comes the Knight, a piece with a wonderfully British outlook atop the chequered arena. It’s movements appear eratic, but are – in fact – carefully thought out in advance, taking into account the dual notions of sense of purpose and unpredictability. They like to give the impression that they might, if pushed, be a rogue state. Their wild nature is characterised by the brumby-like physical representation, which in itself speaks volumes.

But… and there’s always a but… on their own, they are all but useless. Any successful hostile action requires the recipient of violence to be backed, literally, into a corner with all avenues of escape cut off.

And then in rides the cavalry, to take the glory and claim the victory as their own. It’s typical, if you ask me… the horsey set always likes to think of itself as punching well above its social weight. When they’re not prancing about the board of life, you’ll find the Knights playing polo and drinking champagne…

The Bishop.
Imagine a life where you are confined in your thinking to a single shade. Black or white, once you are placed in your initial position, that’s it – you may not ever occupy a square of the other shade. You must only believe in the one thing, forever more, until you are killed or the war is won.

It’s a damning indictment upon life off-board – where religious views are expounded upon at length, but rarely scrutinised and never challenged. As with any belief that is set in stone, it invariably ends in tears – it’s okay to have convictions and a strong set of moral values, but without wriggle room, it’s easy to end up trapped. If you cannot see the other side of an argument, you are doomed to lose.

The other telling point about the Bishops is that they do not move in a straight line – not in the classical sense. They’re sneaky, often arriving unexpectedly from the far side of the world to wreak violence and brutality upon those least expecting it. All of this from a man of the cloth? It’s wrong… but it’s the way of the world….

The Queen.
The Queen is the most honestly representative piece on the board, in terms of power, gender politics and potential capabilities. As a female, the Queen is the sole representative of women. As in the real world, women are horrendously under-represented in the upper echelons of power. This is, of course, coupled with the obvious glass ceiling – the Queen can never become the King, as the King never dies. Add to that the constant threat that one of the pawns may indeed reach the far rank of the board, and suddenly the Queen has another contender for the favours of the King. It’s horrible… and an eerily accurate reflection of the real world…

The King.

Bloated, corpulent and lazy, the King is a figurehead – a lumbering dinosaur whose only relevance to the world at large is to simply be. Without him, all is lost – but his presence serves only to provide purpose to the lives of others, who must live and die to protect him.

On many levels, I’m sure the other pieces have grown to hate the King. The King is little more than a chubby dictator – his whims to be observed, his life sacrosanct…

In conclusion.
It’s obvious to even the most casual observer that chess is indeed a game – one that has its roots in the violence of conquest and its complexities founded in the notion of human interaction. But at the end of the day it is – just like the life and universe it mirrors – just a game. It’s unbalanced and bigoted, often violent and strangely bleak… and that’s the way we seem to like it. “

From The Politics of Chess by Gregor Stronach

THE END 

You may be out of my sight, but you will never be out of my heart…

Memory
From SearchQuotes

“You are out of my sight, but you will never be out of my heart, I may not see your face, but I will always remember your smile, I will never hear your voice again but you will forever whisper in my ear, I never got to say goodbye to you, or tell you how much you really meant to me, one day we will meet at heavens gates and I will be with you again and this time it will be forever.”

Rashida Rowe

THE END

The boy at Christ’s Christmas Party

from “A writer’s Diary”
by Fyodor Dostoevsky
(January 1876)

( Photo by Lena Bu)

      I

In a large city, on Christmas eve in the biting cold, I see a young child, still quite young, six years old, perhaps even less; yet too young to be sent on the street begging, but assuredly destined to be sent in a year or two.

This child awakes one morning in a damp and frosty cellar. He is wrapped in a kind of squalid dressing-gown and is shivering. His breath issues from between his lips in white vapor; he is seated on a trunk; to pass the time he blows the breath from his mouth, and amuses himself in seeing it escape. But he is very hungry. Several times since morning he has drawn near the bed covered with a straw mattress as thin as gauze, where his mother lies sick, her head resting on a bundle of rags instead of a pillow.

How did she come there? She came probably from a strange city and has fallen ill. The proprietress of the miserable lodging was arrested two days ago, and carried to the police station; it is a holiday to-day, and the other tenants have gone out. However, one of them has remained in bed for the last twenty-four hours, stupid with drink, not having waited for the holiday.

From another corner issue the complaints of an old woman of eighty years, laid up with rheumatism. This old woman was formerly a children’s nurse somewhere; now she is dying all alone. She whines, moans, and growls at the little boy, who begins to be afraid to come near the corner where she lies with the death rattle in her throat. He has found something to drink in the hallway, but he has not been able to lay his hand on the smallest crust of bread, and for the tenth time he comes to wake his mother. He finishes by getting frightened in this darkness.

The evening is already late, and no one comes to kindle the fire. He finds, by feeling around, his mother’s face, and is astonished that she no longer moves and that she has become as cold as the wall.

“It is so cold!” he thinks.

He remains some time without moving, his hand resting on the shoulder of the corpse. Then he begins to blow in his fingers to warm them, and, happening to find his little cap on the bed, he looks softly for the door, and issues forth from the underground lodging.

He would have gone out sooner had he not been afraid of the big dog that barks all the day up there on the landing before their neighbor’s door.

Oh! what a city! never before had he seen anything like it. Down yonder from where he came, the nights are much darker. There is only one lamp for the whole street; little low wooden houses, closed with shutters; in the street from the time it grows dark, no one; every one shut up at home: only a crowd of dogs that howl, hundreds, thousands of dogs, that howl and bark all the night. But then, it used to be so warm there! And he got something to eat. Here, ah! how good it would be to have something to eat! What a noise here, what an uproar! What a great light, and what a crowd of people! What horses, and what carriages! And the cold, the cold! The bodies of the tired horses smoke with frost and their burning nostrils puff white clouds; their shoes ring on the pavement through the soft snow. And how every body hustles every body else! “Ah! how I would like to eat a little piece of something. That is what makes my fingers ache so.”

II

A policeman just passes by, and turns his head so as not to see the child.

“Here is another street. Oh! how wide it is! I shall be crushed to death here, I know; how they all shout, how they run, how they roll along! And the light, and the light! And that, what is that? Oh! what a big window pane! And behind the pane, a room, and in the room a tree that goes up to the ceiling; it is the Christmas tree. And what lights under the tree! Such papers of gold, and such apples! And all around dolls and little hobby-horses. There are little children well-dressed, nice, and clean; they are laughing and playing, eating and drinking things. There is a little girl going to dance with the little boy. How pretty she is! And there is music. I can hear it through the glass.”

The child looks, admires, and even laughs. He feels no longer any pain in his fingers or feet. The fingers of his hand have become all red, he cannot bend them any more, and it hurts him to move them. But all at once, he feels that his fingers ache; he begins to cry, and goes away. He perceives through another window another room, and again trees and cakes of all sorts on the table, red almonds and yellow ones. Four beautiful ladies are sitting down, and when any body comes he is given some cake: and the door opens every minute, and many gentlemen enter. The little fellow crept forward, opened the door of a sudden, and went in. Oh! what a noise was made when they saw him, what confusion! Immediately a lady arose, put a kopeck in his hand, and opened herself the street door for him. How frightened he was!

III

The kopeck has fallen from his hands, and rings on the steps of the stairs. He was not able to tighten his little fingers enough to hold the coin. The child went out running, and walked fast, fast. Where was he going? He did not know. And he runs, runs, and blows in his hands. He is troubled. He feels so lonely, so frightened! And suddenly, what is that again! A crowd of people stand there and admire.

“A window! behind the pane, three pretty dolls attired in wee red and yellow dresses, and just exactly as though they were alive! And that little old man sitting down, who seems to play the fiddle. There are two others, too, standing up, who play on tiny violins, keeping time with their heads to the music. They look at each other and their lips move. And they really speak? Only they cannot be heard through the glass.”

And the child first thinks that they are living, and when he comprehends that they are only dolls, he begins to laugh. Never had he seen such dolls before, and he didn’t know that there were any like that! He would like to cry, but those dolls are just too funny!

IV

Suddenly he feels himself seized by the coat. A big rough boy stands near him, who gives him a blow of his fist on the head, snatches his cap, and trips him up.

The child falls. At the same time there is a shout; he remains a moment paralyzed with fear. Then he springs up with a bound and runs, runs, darts under a gateway somewhere and hides himself in a court-yard behind a pile of wood. He cowers and shivers in his fright; he can hardly breathe.

And suddenly he feels quite comfortable. His little hands and feet don’t hurt any more; he is warm, warm as though near a stove, and all his body trembles.

“Ah! I am going asleep! how nice it is to have a sleep! I shall stay a little while and then I will go and see the dolls again,” thought the little fellow, and he smiled at the recollection of the dolls. “They looked just as though they were alive!”

Then he hears his mother’s song. “Mamma, I am going to sleep. Ah! how nice it is here for sleeping!”

“Come to my house, little boy, to see the Christmas tree,” said a soft voice.

He thought at first it was his mother; but no, it was not she.

Then who is calling him? He does not see. But some one stoops over him, and folds him in his arms in the darkness: and he stretches out his hand and–all at once–oh! what light! Oh! what a Christmas tree! No, it is not a Christmas tree; he has never seen the like of it!

Where is he now? All is resplendent, all is radiant, and dolls all around; but no, not dolls, little boys, little girls; only they are very bright. All of them circle round him; they fly. They hug him, they take him and carry him away, and he is flying too. And he sees his mother looking at him and laughing joyfully.

“Mamma! mamma! ah! how nice it is here!” cries her little boy to her.

And again he embraces the children, and would like very much to tell them about the dolls behind the window pane. “Who are you, little girls?” he asks, laughing and fondling them.

It is the Christmas tree at Jesus’s.

At Jesus’s, that day, there is always a Christmas tree for little children that have none themselves.

And he learned that all these little boys and girls were children like himself, who had died like him. Some had died of cold in the baskets abandoned at the doors of the public functionaries of St. Petersburg; others had died out at nurse in the foul hovels of the Tchaukhnas; others of hunger at the dry breasts of their mothers during the famine. All were here now, all little angels now, all with Jesus, and He Himself among them, spreading his hands over them, blessing them and their sinful mothers.

And the mothers of these children are there too, apart, weeping; each recognizes her son or her daughter, and the children fly towards them, embrace them, wipe away the tears with their little hands, and beg them not to weep.

And below on the earth, the concierge in the morning found the wee corpse of the child, who had taken refuge in the courtyard. Stiff and frozen behind the pile of wood it lay.

The mother was found too. She died before him; both are reunited in Heaven in the Lord’s house.

THE END

( Photo by Jesus.loves.you)