Grief Takes Time

Grief Takes Time

More often than not, grief takes much more time than society has been willing to allow.

We need to set our own pace for the journey. It might have seemed to someone looking on from the outside that we are walking in place, or even dragging our feet, for we are not ready to turn our attention to the future. But from inside the experience, we are moving as quickly as we can, covering enormous segments of land with a rapidity that used all our energy. Only I can know how much time I need to make each leg of the journey.

Only you can know how much time you need. Other people expect us to get "over it" in a relatively short time. However the intense reactions of grief may take years to resolve it.

We are all different. Not everyone goes through the identical process, and no one travels at the identical speed.

You have begun your journey. Sometimes it may seem that the road is too difficult and too long. You may be wondering if you will make to. The answer is: You can if you want to. Although that may not be the answer you expected or wanted, it is realistic.

The purpose of a grief process is to enable us to come to terms with our lost hopes and open our eyes to new ones.

Every time we experience a death or a loss, we confront a dragon. We have to choose whether to slay the dragon or  be vanquished by it.

While we can do nothing to change the fact of our loss, we can choose what we are going to do in the circumstances. Loss is inevitable, but recovery is optional.

The real question is: will we allow what has happened to force us into the role of victim, or aid us in becoming victorious? Every time we are willing to allow even the most adverse circumstances to move us deeper into discovering who we are, we slay the dragon.

Your mourning is helping you to come to the place where you can choose life. You are never given a wish without also being given the power to make it true.

Grief can be a challenging experience, but not more powerful than your ability to work your way through your many emotions. No one else knows how you fee.

Do not let anyone try to squeeze you into their expectations of what grief should be like. Express your grief in a way that is right for you.

No doubt you wish you could be over the pain and the hurt of your loss. You wish that you could just finish this grief process and move on. But you may have to work for it, however.

Robin's Mill

Robin's Mill

All the pictures have been taken by Elena.

Roblin's Mill 1842. Original location: Ameliasburg, Ontario (Prince Edward County).

The original timbers, flooring and machinery were salvaged and moved to Black Creek Pioneer Village in 1964.

Roblin's Mill was built in 1842 by Owen Roblin, the grandson of a United Empire Loyalist. When purchased by the Metro Toronto and Region Conservation Authority, the mill was scheduled for demolition.

When the Mill was moved to Black Creek Pioneer Village it was established that the original 1848 wheel measuring 30 ft. in diameter was not necessary to achieve the same results. Today, Roblin's Mill is the only operating stone mill in Toronto.

Tools used to make and repair carriages, wheels and various other agriculture tools.

A log cabin in the Black Creek village, near the Robin's Mill.

From that small beginning the museum has grown to over 50,000 artifacts, acquired from thousands of donors.

Rose Blacksmith Shop c. 1855 Original Location: Nobleton, Ontario. The Blacksmith was considerd one of the most essential tradesmen in an early community.

Saddler and Harness Maker.

Named for Thomas Blackwood, a highly respected Freemason in the community at that time, the Masonic Lodge was used regularly throughout the 1870's. In 1900 the building was moved back from the street In 1983 it was dismantled and brought to BCPV for restoration.

Be a part of this unique historical village located in North Toronto.

House of Wheels,

Working shop, our pioneers used to work in this ambiance.

Tinsmith Shop and Masonic Lodge was built circa 1850. A joint project between the Freemasons of Ontario and The Metropolitan Toronto and Region Conservation Authority, the restored building was opened to the public in 1984.

Mother Goddess of the World

Mother Goddess of the World

By Kim Stanley Robinson

Kathmandu is a funny city. When you first arrive there from the West, it seems like the most ramshackle and unsanitary place imaginable the buildings are poorly constructed of old brick, and there are weed patches growing out of the roofs; the hotel rooms are bare pits; all the food you can find tastes like cardboard, and often makes you sick; and there are sewage heaps here and there in the mud streets, where dogs and cows are scavenging. It really seems primitive.

Then you go out for a month or two in the mountains, or a trek or a climb. And when you return to Kathmandu, the place is utterly transformed. The only likely explanation is that while you were gone they took the city away and replaced it with one that looks the same on the outside, but is completely different in substance. The accommodations are luxurious beyond belief; the food is superb; the people look prosperous, and their city seems a marvel of architectural sophistication. Kathmandu! What a metropolis.

So it seemed to Fred and me, as we checked into my home away from home, the Hotel Star. As I set on the floor under the waist-high tap of steaming hot water that emerged from my shower, I found myself giggling in mindless rapture, and from the next room I could hear Freds bellowing the old 50s rocker, “Going to Katmandu.”

Mother Goddess of the World. Photo : Elena

An hour later, hair wet, faces chopped up. Skin all prune-shriveled, we met Arnold out in the street and walked through the Thamel evening. “We look like coatracks!” Freds observed. Out city clothes were hanging on us. Freds and I had each lost about twenty pounds, Arnold about thirty. And it wasn`t just fat, either. Everything wastes away at altitude. « We`d better get to the Old Vienna and put some of it back on. »

A started salivating at the very thought of it.

So we went to the Old Vienna Inn, and relaxed in the warm steamy atmosphere of the Austro-Hungarian Empire. After big servings of goulash, schnitzel Parisienne, and apple strudel with whipped cream, we sat back sated. Sensory overload. Even Arnold was looking up a little. He had been quite through the meal, but then again we all had, being busy.

We ordered a bottle of rakshi, which is a potent local beverage of indeterminate origin. When it came we began drinking.

The Temporary King

The Temporary King

By Paul J. McAuley

Here and there mud had been daubed in crude symbols: the traces of bears. I pointed them out.

“They live in the rooms underneath. No one knows how far it all extends. They say it underlies all of the mountain.” It was cold in there, and I hugged my shoulders as I peered into the flickering shadows of the spiral ramp. “The bears can be dangerous. They speak a kind of American, but it isn`t much like ours.”

“Our ancestors, Christ. Why did they trouble to alter bears? They were crazy, Clary, you know? They did so much damage to the world at one time that they spent most of their energies afterward putting it back together, changing animals to make them more intelligent, raising extinct species from dust. What do you think he bears are guarding down there?”

“It was all looted age ago. Come on, Gil, please.” I thought that I could hear something moving far below, in the darkness. After a moment he shrugged and turned to follow me out into the sunlight.

I sat in the shade of a little aspen that canted out from the remains of a wall, and watched Florey prowl the ruins. The sunlight sank to my bones, and I closed my eyes. After a while Florey sat beside me. His white chest, the single crease in his flat belly. His black hair tangled about his white face.

The Temporary King. Photo : Elena

“It is true,” I asked, “about the people in the old days growing animals? »

“Surely. Plants, too. Greater Brazil may have invented the phase graffle, but it’s way behind the old biology. That was all lost in the war, like a lot of things. On Elysium we lost Earth, you know.”

« What’s a phase graffle? »

« It keeps a ship together in phase space. A sort of keel into reality, you understand? Otherwise the entropic gradient would spatter it all over the universe.”

I sighed. “I wish I knew more.”

“It’s a big universe outside this forest. You’re better off here, really you are.” His silver eyes flashed in the sunlight. His knees leaned negligently against my thigh.

Perpetuity Blues

Perpetuity Blues

Neal Barrett, Jr

The first thing she noticed was things had changed in the year she’d been away. Instead of the ’72 Ford, there was a late mode Buick with a boat hitch on the back. Poking out of the garage was a Ranger fishing boat, an 18-footer with a big Merc outboard on the stern.

“You better be dead or dying,” said Maggie.

The living room looked like Sears and Western Auto had explodes. There was a brand new Sony and a VCR, and hit tapes like Gymnasts in Chains. The kitchen was a wildlife preserve. Maggie stood at the door but wouldn’t go in. Things moved around under plates. There were cartons of Hershey bars and chips. Canned Danish hams and foreign mustards, All over the house there were things still in boxes. Uncle Ned had dug tunnels through empty bottles and dirty books. There were new Hawaiian shirts. Hush Puppies in several different styles. A man appeared in one of the tunnels.

“I’m Dr. Kraft, I guess you’re Maggie.”

“Is he really dying? What’s wrong with him?”

“Take your pick. The man’s got everything. A person can’t live like that and expect their organs to behave. »

Perpetuity Blues. Photo : Elena

Maggie went upstairs. Uncle Ned looked dead already. There were green oxygen tanks and plastic tubes.

“I’m real glad you came. This is nice.”

“Uncle Ned, where’d you get all this stuff?”

“That all you got to say? You don’t want to hear how I am?”

“I can see how you are.”

“You’re entitled to bad feelings. I deserve whatever you want to dish out. I want to settle things up before I go to damnation and meet your aunt. Your father had an employee stock plan at Montgomery Wards. Left your mother well off and that woman was too cheap to spend it. We got the money when she died and you came to us. We sort of took these little vacations. Nothing big.”