The Ashes Project

The boy in me doesn’t want to die

My stuble chin gets thicker,

More sharp and rugged.

I am free, says the boy in me

I am wise says the mind of me

Having a thought of time

on a weekend night with friends

Thinking about you and your feelings

Whereas before, the thought of having

a “thought” of another I wasn’t with in that moment,

was an untold, unlearned story

How can I grow into a more physically

Aged and evolved Man,

Maintaining the gentleness of the boy.

Its at a ripe new state of living

A state in which I can feel my

Feelings, hear my thoughts,

Begin to change my experience in a moment.

Feeling more deeply connected with the individual

parts of my body allows me the awareness

Of my experience outside of my mind

I begin to tie the shoes that begin my day.

I seek for certain days over the other,

Certain moments of a single day over the other.

- Tom Hilgardner 

www.tomhilgardner.com

Thank you for creating a forum where people can come and share their stories and may help each other to heal. Reading your story, and seeing your photos, I could see the world through your loss. I have not yet had to deal with such a close loss ( the day I do I will be a mess), but I have tried my best to help my friends and family deal, and sometimes when you haven’t been there yourself, its difficult to know what to do or what to say or what NOT to say, I felt very helpless at times.  This is a wonderful place where people can connect and know they are not alone in what they are feeling, and that their behavior is acceptable.  I will share this with as many people possible. Thank you Anne.

-m

“Our world is created by our thoughts as well as the choices and decisions we make. Sometimes those thoughts, choices and decisions are not in alignment with the reality we would like to create for ourselves and that doesn’t mean we are a ‘bad person’. Instead of creating labels, let us acknowledge that we have made a choice which led us to a place we either don’t like or are not comfortable with; forgive ourselves and let it go with the awareness that next time the situation arises we will be better equipped to make a decision that supports the path we have chosen. Always let your inner self be your guide. Each and everyone one of us has the opportunity to make choices every single moment which will either bring us closer to our Higher Being or take us away. We must take the responsibility of liberating ourselves from old labels and beliefs which no longer 
support our growth and path. You are not good and You are not bad, you are learning, exploring, progressing. You are simply and especially..You.”

- Written by Daisy Alvarez of I.N.S.P.I.R.E.D on Facebook

Dear Anne,

I wonder whether the time it takes to recover has any direct correlation to age at the time of the loss.  My mother died when i was three (see “Vision”) and my father when i was 14 (see this essay about the particular variety of prosperity that’s given to us when things fall apart).  It feels like there was barely a “normal” with which to begin, so everything that has happened since those very early years has been an unfolding of the new and undiscovered, whether in the depths of the ocean or on the brighter shores that more and more often show their expanses.  By the time i reached 50, i had enough experiences of stability and joy to realize, surprisingly, that my own life might continue beyond the span of my parents’ and that regardless of whether or not it did, the whole adventure had been given to me – it is a gift – and with that gift i want with all my heart to give to others. 

I would like to say exactly what went into the making of this gift of life, this gift of survival, but in truth it has been a meticulous and fine melding of so many influences – friends, walks, poems, song, dance, reestablishing family, self-expression, emerging vocation, perennial wisdom, dedicated teachers – that such a response would be years in the writing.  Your photos may be a more appropriate way to capture much in a small space.

If, when i was first orphaned, i could have stumbled upon a resource of such depth and heart as your website conveys, it would have made a tremendous difference to know that i was not alone in the roller-coaster ride of emotions.  Thank you for the courage that it took to share profoundly from your personal journey.

With kindest wishes for your journey and the journey of each who visits here,
Patricia Campbell Carlson

Dear Anne,

Thank you for sharing your story of loss and grief following the passing of your dad. It takes so much courage to be vulnerable about this kind of suffering, and how difficult it is to keep going in the midst of confusion and pain. Today, and every day, many people experience devastating events—like the family of our coworker who lost her life this weekend, and the many people whose lives have been shattered because of the bombings in Boston.

Right now, I am struggling just to process the events of today. I am heartbroken thinking about the runners who were finishing a marathon one minute, and lying on the ground–their bodies torn apart–the next. How unspeakably terrible. How mind-numbingly cruel. 

The journey to healing will be a long one for the survivors and their families—physically, emotionally, and otherwise. But as hard as that journey will be and as difficult as this is to imagine right now, good can come out of seemingly senseless pain, and suffering can make people stronger and bring people closer to each other in ways that they might never expect.

I say this because of my own experience of loss. At the age of twelve, I was diagnosed with bone cancer. At fourteen, I lost my leg to the disease and became an amputee—the Friday after September 11. As a kid, I was not a marathoner by any means, but I loved to run and play sports. Even more, I loved my independence, self-sufficiency, and my sense that the future was full of promise for me. When all of these things were taken away, and I saw my parents’ already-tense marriage crumbling under the stress caused by my illness, I began to doubt whether there was anything left in life worth living for.

The darkness into which I was plunged made me ask fundamental questions about meaning and existence that I had never before had to ask. The darkness was also the beginning of a road that would ultimately lead me to God and the discovery of his life-changing love for me—a love that would give me the strength to confront and deal with my fears, my frustrations, my crippling self-consciousness, and the brokenness of my relationships with my parents and other people.

Fast forward many years, and I am now a very different person from the teenage girl I once was. The experience of having cancer, losing my leg, and almost losing my family was traumatizing. But it was an experience that ultimately gave me so much more than it took away. It gave me perspective on what matters most. It gave me appreciation for the miracle of life and the other human beings who are around me. And it led me to the one Person who had the power to heal me and my parents from the inside out and teach us the full meaning of grace, forgiveness, hope, and unconditional love.

No two people’s journeys are the same, and I am always amazed by the stories of other people who have experienced tragedy and courageously persevered. When we share our stories with each other, we share in each other’s humanity. Thank you Anne for creating this community for sharing and healing.

With love,

Li  

I have fond memories of my grandfather in childhood: he was a child at heart himself, and we always had a blast playing together.  When I moved away at the age of 7, he used to send me audio tapes complete with music intros and beautifully composed “letters."  It breaks my heart that I almost never responded and we rarely spoke on the phone, because when you’re 8, you’re "too busy” to talk to your grandparents.  Nonetheless, he always had a place in my heart; I’m sure he knew that. 

The next time I saw him was when I was 14 years old.  It was an accidental encounter.  I was visiting my grandmother, and somehow, didn’t find it odd that he no longer lived with her.  My grandfather had a problem with alcohol, and, after things started disappearing from their apartment after get-togethers with his drinking buddies, my family decided it would be best if he lived on his own.  Looking back, I seem to remember my grandfather in a drunk state, but he was never a mean or violent drunk.  He was happy and placid.  As a child, I didn’t understand the depth of his problem with alcohol addiction.  On that summer afternoon when I was stopping at my grandmother’s house in her absence to get some of my belongings, I found my grandfather there.  I could smell the reek of alcohol on his whole body, and he approached me wanting to give me a sloppy kiss.  Something in his movements gave me a weird feeling, and I quickly made an excuse about having to go.  That would be the final time I saw my grandfather.  He died in my grandmother’s arms 5 years later. 

In that time and for quite some time after his death, I never asked about him.  In my memory, he was etched as “that creepy, sloppy, smelly drunk."  It wasn’t until many years later, looking back on the last memory I have of him, that I realized that in his drunken state - a state he could no longer control - all he wanted was to make a connection with his only beloved granddaughter whom he hadn’t seen in almost a decade, and who was his special buddy in those beautiful, innocent childhood years.  It brings tears to my eyes to this day, to imagine the heartbreak that I must have caused him on that day, running out like that, the impression that it left him with for his remaining years, and, if he was capable of it, that memory flashing through his mind just before he died, if thinking about family is what goes through one’s mind on death’s doorstep. I only hope his drunken state dulled the pain. It hurts me that for so many years after his death, I was under the impression that he didn’t deserve to be grieved over for his "indiscretion."  My family asked why I never talked about him or seemed to grieve, but I kept my story a secret, ashamed.  I’m so embarrassed at the thought that I must have caused his departed soul so much agony in the time that I held that perception - that he never got a chance to correct my inaccurate assumption and we never had a chance to bond again or to say goodbye. I hope that, if souls still live on, that he is happy and at peace, and he feels the other end of that connection that I have resumed feeling for him.

I guess it’s easier to grieve the loss of a loved one when you’ve already grieved over the fact that you live far apart, you almost never see each other, or speak.  In some ways, you can fool your heart into believing they’re "still here,” just a phone call away, if you choose to make it.  Perhaps that’s taught me a big lesson in grieving.  I like to believe that they are “still here,” through the way they touched peoples’ lives in their time here; through memories, impressions, lessons they’ve taught you that you can pass down to your children and your children’s children.  And, metaphysically speaking, they really are “still here,” literally, IN YOU, and will continue to be here, so long as you have children of your own and they do the same.  It is in your power to ensure that they “live on,” especially if you remind your children of their legacy.  Facing it in that way, taking the power into my own hands, has made grieving much easier.

Dear Anne,  I have no story to tell, but when that time happens the first thing I will do is reach out to this incredibly touching and potentially healing web site that you have created!! Right now after my first reviewing of the “Ashesproject"  I am almost numb. My heart seems to have slowed down but I can feel stronger than normal beating. Anne, I feel so blessed and greatfull to know you. Thank you for your example of courage and fortitude to allow truth to be revealed through you. 

Dear Anne,

The same weekend I was in Milwaukee for Anne’s father’s memorial service, I found out my dad had terminal lung cancer, he was given 6 months. It was not real until it was real. In the end, he was in and out of a “conscience” state and at one point when it was just the two of us alone he started saying, “What will be, will be”. I knew I should remember those words, I knew it was something he wanted me to hear. He passed away Oct 22nd, 2011.  Two months later, my mother was diagnosed with very late stages of pancreatic cancer. She was given three weeks.  My mom had the strength of 10,000 women and would not, did not, lay down to rest until her final hours.  Feb. 20th, 2012.  Although I had time to say goodbye to her, it was just still so unexpected.  And then I remembered my father’s words, “What will be, will be”….Not that I’m SO young, but at 33, I found myself without parents in a matter of four months. That feeling is overwhelming.  Where do I go for the holiday’s?  Who do I call to find out what’s going on with everyone in the family?  Who do I call when I’m sick? And knowing that if I ever have children, they will never know my parents. And again, I remember, “What will be will be”.  At the same time I was grieving for my parents, I discovered my husband of 3 ½ years, was having an affair.   The worst has happened, the only place for me  to move is forward. "What will be, will be". 

Or maybe he was just singing to me :)

My father passed away in May 2003 from lung cancer. Although he had never smoked a day in his life his physical time here expired after a short 48 years. Before passing on my father shared these words:

“The one trip that everyone must take is the one no one plans for; death”

Luckily, my father realized this before it was too late. He planned how he would come back and communicate with me and how I would now it was him. I am so grateful for his forsight because I know that my father is very much still present in my life.

Our physical time here is limited, but our impact can be limitless….make each day matter.

Porsha