Shooting Stars.

by Lori Dwyer on February 6, 2011 · 100 comments


I used to put such effort into making sure this place was not boring. That there were photos and fun and laughter.

This blog, it was my happy place.

Now, it’s my dumping ground.

All I do here is write, purge, vomit all the stuff that’s in my head. For the whole world to see.

I do wonder if it’s a form of self flagellation. Am I putting myself out here, to be cut down?

But I haven’t been. You lot have been nothing but supportive, and I’ll never regret my choice, of putting it out there, of speaking the truth.

Because, if nothing else, this is what I do here.

I speak my truth.

And at the moment, my truth is freaking horrible place to be.

This blog will change, again, eventually. Who knows, it may even return to thinking it’s funny. Certainly, there is enough black humour rolling around in my head at the moment for that to happen.

(I wonder, in my less lucid moments, which particular fucking chain email I ignored for this to happen. And I wonder if I should track it down and forward the bleeping thing on. Just so my house doesn’t burn down or my dog run away or something.)

So, I guess, for now, this blog remains a horrid, confused place, with an About Me page that belongs to a ghost. A place where I spray and spew the horrible things that are in my head.

I hope we’re all OK with that. I am. I have to be.

They tell me, the professionals, the literature, that between four to six weeks after your loved one has passed is the worst for grief. For the pure, unadulterated pain of missing someone. Especially after a suicide. After the shock and anger and disbelief wears off, thaws, that numbness goes away…

You’re left with nothing but raw, bleeding, defrosted pain.

And that’s hard.

Because, by now, people are expecting me to Get On With Life. Start a New Routine.

They don’t seem to understand. I am getting on with life. I am starting a new routine.

I answered about 20 emails yesterday and set up a credit card and a PayPal account. That’s the most I’ve done in a month. Pats on the back all round, I say. You go, girl, bring it on.

No one else seems to feel that way. I have this constant feeling that people think I’m slumping, depressed, deliberately doing nothing and falling further and further.

I just wish they could see that this takes time. That I’m not slumping, I’m growing, and I am doing better and better.

It’s juts that the tiny triumphs, the little changes, are too imperceptible for anyone to see but me.

Boo fucking hoo, Lori. But no one gets how hard this is.

It’s not the grief, even, how many times do I have to say that? It’s the trauma. The trauma is kicking my arse. I now officially have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and truly, I never understood what a totallynasty, unexpected, creeping-up-on-you bitch of a thing that PTSD is.

Tony had it. He was shot, years ago, at close range, in a road rage incident, and had untreated PTSD. I wondered why he jumped every time a fire cracker went off, or a car backfired.

Now I know. Because I am jumpy, on edge. All the time. But it’s worse at night.

PTSD makes you disconnected, you know that? From everything. You have to be. If you connect all day, with everything, it will fry your brain and leave you a sobbing heap.

I’m like a newborn. I become over stimulated easily. Twitter, even, is too much except in small doses. It moves too quickly, there is too much being said. It makes me panic.

I need quiet.

So… if Twitter overstimulates me, can you imagine what the constant company of a one year old and a three year old does? I’m mothering, the best I can. But sometimes I have to leave, to go somewhere quiet. Before my nerves become too jangled. Lest I yell at my babies for things that are not their fault.

This sux. She’s still there, the mother in me. But only able to function in small doses. I have to remind myself to eat, to drink, to shower. If I have to remind myself to do that, how can I possibly remember it for two small people as well?

The mother in me, she’s coming back. But it’s a long, slow process. She’s still there, and still thinks about here children 24 hours a day… but she needs time out, more than before.

I am not the perfect mother. None of us are. And me, especially, not after this.

But Lord knows I am trying.

I have a calendar, in my hallway. And at the end of every day I use a satisfyingly thick black marker to cross off the day as it passes. Another, gone. Another day closer to some kind of healing, some kind of normal, some kind of peace.

It’s difficult, at the moment, being so needy. I don’t like being needy, I prefer to ask for nothing. But the bitch of it, at this point- the dreaded four to six week mark- I need. I need people. My ‘closest’ friends have all gotten back on with their lives. And I get that, it needs to happen. For everyone.

But I’m not asking for them to stop their lives. I’ve never asked that of anyone, aside from my mum. And my best mate, who I remember begging to take a day of work a few weeks ago.

All I’m asking for is for phone calls to be returned. For the help that was offered to be given, without me having to chase or beg for it.

I ask my friends to enter my life for a few hours, so I can talk some of the craziness away before I go to sleep at night, and that’s too difficult.

People don’t know what to say, what to do. I just need them to be here. Enter my world, take some of my burden, for an hour or two. I know, believe me, I know, it’s fucking uncomfortable. I know it’s a horrible place to be. Believe, I know. I live it 24 hours a day. And it’s fucked.

Share some with me, please, close friends, people I trust. Come, hold me while I cry. Watch me while I pace. Listen while I talk and scream and purge what i need to get out.

Why do I have to beg for that, from those closest to me?

Without that extended network, all the emotional burden of me is falling on my mum, and my best mate. Both of them are exhausted, and they need a break.

And so, it hurts, when my closest friends, when those people who were closest to Tony- when I call them, and the don’t respond, when I ask for help and no one can give it to me- that hurts.

But so does everything.

If there was ever a dark night of the soul, my soul, I had it last night. It’s so easy to pretend to want to die. The awful thing about it, the hardest part about it is, I want to live.

Suicide is most definitely not my style.

And after that particular storm had passed- or maybe in the eye of it, I’m never sure these days- I went to my friends house, my best friends house, my Auntie Mickey‘s. She has been by my side since this happened. I rang her, to meet me at the hospital, and she was my angel, my rock, for a solid two weeks.

And, exhausted as she is of me, she took me in last night anyway. And listened to me, while I raved, while I cried.

She is an exceptionally wonderful person, and I am eternally grateful to have her.

And I swam in her pool. And we talked about shooting stars, and how I, at the age of 29, have never seen one.

I push under the water. It’s the most bizarre sensation, with a light on the bottom of the pool, and the blackness above, Your mind tricks you into thinking up is down, that the bottom of the pool is daylight.

Fight the inertia, the disorientation. Watch my breath pop huge, slow bubbles at the surface of the water, bubbles that break up into the night.

And as I rise from the water, I see a star, a tiny one, fall from the sky and disappear i
nto blackness.

A shooting star, just for me.

To let me know.

That everything, all of it- it’s all going to be OK.

For no other reason than it has to be.

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{ 100 comments… read them below or add one }

Ms Kate November 16, 2011 at 7:57 am

I've used a line you say in my post can you please let me know if that's ok, or if I should remove it. I have linked to you.


Stinky February 10, 2011 at 2:53 pm

Haven't read the comments so don't shoot me if I am RepetitionQueen

I wish you were my neighbour and I would give you the biggest hug (not that hugs solve owt) and help with your kiddies, and listen to every 'fucked up' (your words hon) thing you needed to spew. I know this is a COMPLETELY different situation, but I read this post and could have written something scarily similar after a miscarriage (by no means am I comparing the experiences, just the feelings). I totally get the overstimulation you describe and I totally get the not wanting to ask for help thing, despite the well-meaning but vague 'just let me know if there's anything I can do'. I found out the hard way this does not apply at 4am

Hang in there, love, it sounds fucking awful and I want you to know I am thinking of you


Nellie February 9, 2011 at 1:58 am

lori, we all love you. and we wish there was something that we could do. but we are so far away.

but that doesnt seem right. we need to do something.

fellow commenters, how can we help? lori- what do you need? meals? perhaps your mom or aunt or your best friend can give us a list of restaurants in the area and we who are thousands of miles away can buy your family dinner and have it delivered. do you need someone to talk to? i volunteer for skype. perhaps your best friend can start a list of volunteers and make sure people follow through like the commenter above did.
we could find and pay for a laundry service.
we could find and pay for a cleaning service.
times are tough financially all over but there are so many of us… we need to help.

we have to help! come on commenters, what can we do?!? we need to DO something.


Cricky February 8, 2011 at 11:35 am

Sun's busting in through the drapes
I awake as a new day starts
Feeling I am clear in my mind
I'm alive, I'm in love
Feel it in my heart
The day opens up
On the world like a dream
And I start to smile

This thing I have with you
Is not a feeling
A sense it is more
Like a state of mind

Wherever you go I will follow
I just wanna be where you are
Like a shooting star
You shine brightest of them all
Wherever you go I will follow
And it doesn't matter how far
Like a shooting star
You shine brightest of them all

Once I was torn, I was lost
I felt weak until I found you
You hit me with the spark
Of the light in your eyes
Keep me cool and I feel brand new
Like a breath of fresh air
Like a natural high
I lose sense of time

This thing I have with you
Is not a feeling
A sense it is more
Like a state of mind

Wherever you go I will follow
I just wanna be where you are
Like a shooting star
You shine brightest of them all
Wherever you go I will follow
And it doesn't matter how far
Like a shooting star
You shine brightest of them all

Oh, oh, oh, oh, yeah

Love is just like
Flashes of light
Troughout my heart

(Wherever you go I will follow)
(I just wanna be where you are)
I just wanna be where you are
(Like a shooting star)
(You shine brightest of them all)

Wherever you go I will follow
And it doesn't matter how far
Like a shooting star
(You shine) brightest of them all
(Wherever you go I will follow)
(I just wanna be where you are)
Like a shooting star
You shine brightest of them all

-Amy Diamond
"Shooting Star"

Made me think of you


Anonymous February 8, 2011 at 4:18 am

Nobody understands what you are going through if they have not had a similar tragedy in their lives. And those of us who have understand completely. Don’t feel guilty for one minute if you aren’t doing what others want you to do at the pace they expect. Truth is this will take YEARS to come to terms with and you will NEVER get over it. Be at peace with the fact that you need a lot of time and you deserve a lot of time and don’t worry for one second what the rest of the world thinks.

And ask for help and keep asking. I was alone way too much and bad things came VERY close to happening. Depression and PTSD are scary and will get you. 10 years later and I feel more good than bad…..finally more than 50% normal. 10 years! It takes a long, long time to put your life back together when such huge, life altering events are shoved down your throat.

I hope your friends can stick with you. All of mine eventually abandoned me (some after years) and it hurt and I was left to fend for myself. One super sad thing I have learned through my whole ordeal is that you are truly alone in this world and virtually no one will stick by you forever.


Heres a gem February 8, 2011 at 3:11 am

You certainly sound like you are really beginning to work through things. You sound much stronger here. Don't worry about how long it takes. It does take much longer than anyone realizes, it'll probably take longer than you realize. The important thing is to never quit trying to move forward. If you become too comfortable with the inability to move forward you will find yourself stuck, even though you never meant to be. Keep patting yourself on the back for those tiny accomplishments, just keep taking those baby steps! Someday you'll be able to look back and see HOW FAR they took you.


Michelle February 8, 2011 at 1:35 am

Lori Honey it takes time, a lot of time.

It is almost 16 years to the day since I lost my first husband, I am married again have three beautiful children but I still miss my first husband.

Do not let yourself be hurried along by people who think you should be "moving on" or "getting over it". You are doing so well, being so strong.

Big Hugz



JallieDaddy February 7, 2011 at 11:39 pm

Your Mum & your Aunty sound fantastic. It's a shame other friends seem to think you don't need them any more – after only a month!

Unless you've experienced a loss it's probably hard to put yourself in the bereaved person's shoes, I guess.

I remember when my Dad died – & that peacefully & of old age – & how fragile I still was after a month.

We're here x


Liz Boyne February 7, 2011 at 10:56 pm

Baby steps hun, baby steps – I'm so proud of you for setting up the card and PayPal, that in itself is brilliant!


Vicky February 7, 2011 at 10:34 pm

oh honey. my heart hurts so much for you right now. PTSD sucks. big time. hugely. enormously. PTSS (Post Traumatic Stress Syndrome)is what I have… basically just PTSD that goes on…and on… and on… but this isn't about me, this is about you.

Lori, I don't even know where you live, but I'm definately able to be on the end of the phone. While the circumstances are different – the symptoms are the same. The hypervigelence, the disassociation, the hyperstartle response… I get it babe. And unfortunately, its only those who have experience those symptoms that truely get it. I hope that somehow you will find my email address.. via my google account I'm guessing. sending you warmth love light darling girl. xoxo


Anonymous February 7, 2011 at 9:42 pm

The husband of my friend and neighbour died by suicide (he hung himself and there are so many unanswered questions). I don't know what she felt but I know that I wanted to help to listen. But I didn't think that I was close enough to her to have that right. I stayed away for the first few weeks out of respect and then I came around to see her. I felt guilt that I didn't make enough of an effort to see them in those last few months, I felt pain and heartbreak for their children and for her. I felt that our lives were shattered too, that seems selfish because it didn't happen to me, but we are all connected to one another. All of our lives are different because of it.
Your friends are scared, hurt and vulnerable too. They don't know what to say and it hurts them also. But it doesn't mean they don't care. Don't hate them for their fears. They are only human. The pain that you are going through is like the sun, and they just can't look at it for too long because it will burn their eyes and blind them.
This friend left the town and we cannot contact her at all. I still wish I could speak to her to listen to her. I want her to know that we care and that we want her to be happy and that we would give anything for her and her children not to have had this happen.
I care that you are speaking what you feel. We keep in too much. We say we are fine too much. You are not crazy and it is not your fault. It is not your fault. It is not your fault. Remember that.
If nothing else, you are helping me right now. I know that sucks and you would rather not be, you would rather have your husband and your children's father here instead. But thankyou.
PS this is anonymous because I haven't a clue what a url is.


Carly Findlay February 7, 2011 at 8:26 pm

Hi there Lori
I've been reading your blog for a few weeks now. I am so very sorry to read about your husband's suicide. I can't imagine what you're going through.
You write from the heart and if this blog helps you cope, then write away. You are so strong.
I feel for how lonely you are – I hope you get the friendship you need. We don't know each other but email me if you need.


boomerang jane February 7, 2011 at 5:57 pm

I'm too physically far to do much, sorry. Because although I don't know you, I'd love to cook you a meal (even though I'm a bad cook!) take your kids to the park or do some housework (even though I hate it!). Can I send you a book – a funny, lighthearted something something to distract you for a few minutes? A magazine – so you can see what the Kardashians have been up to – 'coz I'm sure you've missed being in the loop (yes, I am kidding-but you have a great sense of humor so I hope it's ok)? What about a set of water colour paints, brushes & a pad of blank white paper so you can paint (art is therapy they say)? Something you wouldn't buy yourself for fear of being frivolous. I'd love to put a package of goodies together. if (and only if) you feel comfortable emailing your address. I promise I won't send food, only something for you. For the time when you can't sleep, or when your brain won't let you focus on algorithms & you need something numbing but loving. Hope to hear from you sweetie. Kylee xx


Jo-Ann February 7, 2011 at 5:47 pm

Hi Lori

I was directed to your Blog only recently from the Bloggess who I have been reading for a while now. So I guess I don't know the "old you' as such. My best friend went through the same hell you are living about 6 years ago…I was the first person she asked the police to contact and I lived 3 houses away..from the moment I ran, bare-foot and panicked up to her house our lives and friendship were never the same. The whole terrible time of loving and supporting her through the following months and now years has been one of the most exhausting yet wonderful things I have ever done for another human – outside of being a mum of course. The terrible need, the pain and fear – midnight calls and picking up the kids because she was just like you are now – PTSD, raw and ragged with nightmares that woke her up screaming every night. Helping her through all the times afterwards,watching her slowly heal and find her beautiful voice again (she is a musician and actor and comedian) giving her the brutal advice she sometimes needed, fucking it up spectacularly myself occasionally cos I'm only human too – its been a rollercoaster. I'm sorry if the ones who said they would help aren't living up to that promise because I know how much you need it right now…I actually took everyones names and made a roster – and forced them all to stick to their bloody promises – so my mate didn't have to beg – I did it for her. If i couldn't be there I bloody well made sure someone was. I hope someone in your life can do that for you now, remind people of the little things they can do that make all the difference. Cook a meal and drop it off so you don't have to be functional every single day, pop in after work for an hour to help with bath time and give you someone to talk to, invite you round, ring you up – check on you all, organise a busy bee to help spring clean or mow the lawn or all the stuff that builds up when all your energy is needed just to get through the day. It will pass. You will find your beautiful voice I know it. My darling friend recently came back from her Eurpoean honeymoon with her handsome wonderful new partner – she is there for her kids everyday and coping with their difficult adolescences, she works and plays in a band and is back on the stand up comedy scene. 6 years ago she stared at me with wild eyes and asked "What am I going to do?" and I held her face between my own shaking hand and said "Get through it. We are going to get through this together" and we did. I helped..but she did it – she got through it and I am so very proud to be her friend. I'm not sure if hearing other stories helps..maybe it doesn't yet..but I think it will in the long run. My love and thoughts go with you – and send me that list of people who promised – I'm not scared to ring em up for you!!


Marianna Annadanna February 7, 2011 at 2:29 pm

Oh, Lori, this is beautiful.

You must be so exhausted. Tired of having to find so much strength. But keep trying. Just take one miserable moment at a time, and maybe those miserable moments will occur a little less often, and then maybe the slightly more pleasant ones will start to fill their places.

Thinking of you and wishing you well *constantly*. And wishing I could do *anything* to help you – to ease even one iota of your trauma.

Sending you LOVE. And STRENGTH.


Curvaceous Queen February 7, 2011 at 1:21 pm

Lori have you not realised yet? YOU ARE the shooting star. You light the way, you fight the darkness and you blaze that trail.

Now it's time for someone else to blaze that trail for you. I hope that those around you can be that shooting star.


Watercolor February 7, 2011 at 1:21 pm



Anonymous February 7, 2011 at 11:40 am

I have been lurking for the past few weeks and this post moved me to say – keep spitting your raw truth. It's the healthiest thing I've seen for a while.

Did you make a wish on that there falling star? :-)

Take Care

Ann Anonx


Janet NZ February 7, 2011 at 10:34 am

I woke in the night weeping for you. Not much help I know, but we're all still here for you. I used to work at a medical centre where they did grief counselling. They used to say that there was an 'average' grieving time – and that it was 1 month – for every year you knew the someone you had lost. Sometimes it is more, sometimes less. All I know is it is far too early to expect too much from yourself. You are doing just great. Sometimes, when it is too hard to take it one day at a time – it is ok to just find the courage to take the next breath. That's all you really need – just the courage to take the next breath.


Andi February 7, 2011 at 9:32 am

Dealing with death is very hard for most people. And given the choice of living their normal lives or facing death head on, too many people choose the former. It doesn't mean they don't care or don't love you, it just means that they don't know how to deal with their fear and grief and have a choice not to.

Pretty much it sucks when you don't have that choice.

So keep reaching out, find the ones who are willing to be there – even if it's just on this blog – and know that you can rant and rave and crack inappropriate jokes to them and that you will get past it all eventually. Not over it, just past this stage of grief and overwhelming trauma.

Many HUGS to you. As too many people have said, I wish I could be there just to hug and listen to you. But I can't. So I'll be hanging here.


Anonymous February 7, 2011 at 8:31 am

You are such a beautiful writer. It has brought me so many tears. I came across your blog by accident. I wish I could do something for you. Thank you so much for writing and sharing your pain. It feels like by writing you are doing something for me. Sending you lots and lots of love and hugs.


Sarah February 7, 2011 at 8:07 am

I would be curled up in a ball sobbing in a corner if I was put in the same position, so I have to say that I think you are doing brilliantly.

I will try to get over more often. I was silly & assumed you had people all around & didn't need me so much, but I will make the effort & I will be there. Ok. Starting Wednesday when we will do that thing we discussed.


Elizabeth February 7, 2011 at 7:37 am

I crossed off days on a calendar after my first husband left me, and I know that is absolutely nothing compared to the grief you're going through, but it was one of the worst things that had ever happened to me, mostly because I was already suicidally depressed even before he left. It took me a long time to be able to take care of myself and I don't know what I would have done without my family and friends. Keep reaching out and letting them know you need them, for as long as it takes. I stayed with both my sisters and spewed nothing but misery for months and months, and even after I was able to start taking care of myself again I still wrote in my journal very angrily, cried every day, spewed misery at people, and crossed off the days for a long time. But it did get better, and it will get better for you too. Keep writing and talking and crying it out, and one of these days you'll feel the misery turn into something that feels more like healing. There's no timetable for that, but I hope it comes quickly for you.


Barbara February 7, 2011 at 7:30 am

It does have to be and it will be ok.

I can't offer you much. Virtual hugs, my thoughts, prayers and love. It's not enough but I hope it helps.



Karen February 7, 2011 at 7:22 am

That post was almost …poetic….beautiful actually. xoxo


WittyUsername February 7, 2011 at 7:20 am

Bloody hell, you know I'm here. I stalk you like a pain in the ass, and use me and abuse me and throw me away like an old chew toy, I don't mind, like the song says " that is what friends are for"!
Ive been a friend for 'like forever, dude', and I'm still hanging in there, lingering like a fart no one owns up to :)
I won't act weird around you, like I told you on the phone, as I was 'weird' already, before all this.
I'm as dependable as your grey cardie, just with better dress sense lol !
…still stalking like a psycho cyber freak….


Kristina Hughes February 7, 2011 at 7:16 am

You have so much to cope with – the tiny things are quite enough and will all add up. And there is no such thing as a perfect mother. It sounds like you're doing the best job that you possibly can – good enough really is good enough as long as it's done with love. I hope you can be as open and truthful with the friends whose support you so need as you are here on your blog – it sounds horribly organised but could you work out a support timetable at the start of each week so that people know well in advance that it's their slot???? xxxx


Kelloggsville February 7, 2011 at 6:44 am

That 'quiet' thing : that's why I wasn't a SAHM. I had to go to work to get away.

First shooting star at 29, is that your sign?

Don't let anyone rush you into a stage or phase. Let today be today, and tomorrow will come and be tomorrow. If you don't learn your new foot steps at your pace and in your time then you won't have the holistic. Be you. Can on-line support be any extra help for you? Especially in the wee hours – timezones may actually have an advantage, if you need an anyone…I can do that. If you need a someone, I hope they respond to/for you xxx


Christie February 7, 2011 at 5:44 am

Echoing so many of the wonderful comments above. Every tiny step is one step closer to that new normal you've written about. You will absolutely get there — in your own time and in your own way — which is how it has to be. Until then I hope you'll keep asking for help and writing here so that we'll know what you need and do our best to offer support, even from many miles away.


Melissa February 7, 2011 at 5:22 am

Oh what a brave post – it's so hard to ask for what you need – we all wish to be so self sufficient and ask for nothing. I imagine most of your friends and family have no idea what you might need from them, and are afraid to say or do the wrong thing and make you feel worse – what a wonderful gift you've given them by telling them exactly what they can do for you, now I just hope they can be brave, too – and be there for you. Hang in there, you amazing girl, you.


Anonymous February 7, 2011 at 4:33 am

A shooting star just for you. How wonderful!
Hang in there dear Lori. You're doing so well.
Sorry to hear that the support is falling away and being left to a few special people. I hope that the others will come to realise that you need their help for much longer than these few weeks.
All I can do, from the other side of the world, is to send love and hugs.xx


ForeverRhonda February 7, 2011 at 4:07 am

Screw anyone who tells you there is a time frame. There is no time frame. And those that think there is can suck it. I'm so sick of other people dictating to someone who is going through something difficult about when they should get over it. Sorry this is a bit of a rant but I'm just so angry for you still.


Teacher Mommy February 7, 2011 at 2:22 am

I read about the Jewish approach to mourning recently, and it makes so much more sense than the Gentile version. There's such an understanding of necessary TIME, and the idea that for certain amounts of time the bereaved should not be allowed to be alone, and for other times that one must be. And there's a sense of being recognized as both separate from and embraced by the community for a true mourning period–an entire year, actually.

I think we need to learn from that.

And we'll keep being here for you, if only in a virtual way.


Steph – StellarMums February 7, 2011 at 1:09 pm

Lori – you are doing so so well, there is no time frame… How do you measure grief (just like how do you measure love). It is hard that the world keeps going (truly bizarre isn't it – how does the world keep going?). The people who keep going with their lives (by accident) need to know you still need them – I salute your strength to write it down for them to see.

I am so glad you saw the star – perhaps that was the after sign you asked Tony to send you, I think it is…

Love, hugs and awe – you are amazing <3


Glen February 7, 2011 at 1:37 am

it does have to be and it will be. Nature has a beautiful habit of keeping us all in check


A Daft Scots Lass February 7, 2011 at 1:18 am

Your blog is your outlet and plenty of people are listening, thinking of you, praying for you…You have loads of energry directed towards you right now. I know that you need someone to be physically there for you but there are stax of people throwing positive karma your way.

Shooting stars are few and far between. If you see them every day you would appreciate them as much. Just think how soopa special it is when you DO see one.


DylMah February 7, 2011 at 12:57 am

There is no time limit for grief, don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Add to it the trauma you and your babies have suffered, I am amazed that you are getting our of bed each day.

You're strength shines through in the honest way you write. While I have only been following your blog for a short period of time, you have changed the way I think about life.

I am so glad you got to see your shooting star, especially after your letter to Tony, maybe this was his sign?

There is a glimmer of light in your post. While your life will never go back to the way it was, I hope that one day, not too far away, you won't have to remind yourself to eat, to shower, to take care of yourself. But these things can not be rushed.

Baby steps.


mellie0105 February 6, 2011 at 10:53 pm

I know I am not the only one sitting here reading your blog, checking you everyday and wishing there was more I could do. I wish I was closer, I would happily come, sit, listen, do dishes, have my kids play with yours, anything that might help in that moment. You have done an amazing thing getting up in the morning, celebrate it. You remember to shower without being reminded, celebrate it. You are growing and are unbelievabley self aware, so you will continue to grow, change and move forward, but nothing will ever leave you entirely, which will make you an even more amazing human being. It is weird that I worry about someone I follow on a blog? :-) Love to all your family Lori.


THE Bird February 7, 2011 at 9:40 am

Lori, it has been 4 weeks & 3 days since your Tony committed suicide.

ONLY 4 WEEKS. That is NO time at all, it is but the blink of an eye, the trail of ONE, lonely, grief stricken tear….

NO-ONE should expect that you be 'getting on' with your life, as per 'normal'.

Make sure Lori, that it is not you who is putting pressure on yourself to 'get over it'…

I think a lot of people dealing with agonising grief, anger & pain will try to put on a strong brave face, because it is a way of blocking their pain, a way of stopping, or a way of numbing the horrible raw gut renching pain that never seems to end, because you just need a rest from the grief & trauma, because you are just so sick of crying…

But, in the long run, all it does is prolong that horrible painful state. If you don't face up to it, if you don't live through it, ride it to its end, your pain will simmer away under the surface of your brave strong face, just shy of your peripheral vision… It will become toxic & will build up, then explode!

I've seen supressed anxiety & stress (In some cases, YEARS later…) make people physically sick, apart from the mental issues, supressed grief can cause heart attacks & strokes, eating disorders, ulcers…The list goes on….

I know this post is a bit dark & very grim, but I think it is important that YOU, Lori, don't think that, you yourself, should be 'getting over' Tonys death already…

Don't worry about what everybody else is thinking, listen to the people who know & love you best & VENT VENT VENT!!!!!!


Beki February 6, 2011 at 10:10 pm

It is nearly 3 years since my life was destroyed by the action of someone else that I had no idea was coming. I still find everyday tasks difficult & am constantly berated for not getting on with it. Put yourself under no pressure – getting through the day is an achievement anything else you should take real pride in.
Time will enable you to come to terms with what has happened, however its passing should not mean you have to be coping or dealing with things more effectively. No one can walk in your shoes, they're yours.
Thank you for your writing & I am inspired by every blog you write – again thank you.


Rebecca February 6, 2011 at 9:47 pm

PTSD is an absolute bitch. I have traits of it and I know how hard it is.

Celebrate the small bits because fuck they are what matters. Just doing those small things.

I read a comment about one day you will forget to cross a day off and its so true. You might go back to crossing them off and then you will forget again to one day you wont cross any off.


Anonymous February 6, 2011 at 9:05 pm

Honestly Lori, I reckon right now getting out of bed once a week is a frakking achievement. People want you to go back to 'normal' (pah! hah! bah!) because then they can pretend that it's all gone away & they don't have to hurt: you represent cold hard reality to them. And that utterly sucks because the only way to deal with pain is to let it in & accept it as a part of you & a part of your life.

And then one day, you'll realise that that part inside you that's pain is growing smaller in comparison to the other parts. Not less important, not less meaningful; but proportionally smaller compared to the good stuff. And the good stuff starts with small tasks & crossing days off calendars & just getting through.

I'm so sorry you've been let down by those around you. Tell us who are too far away to get there how to help Lori. Please, tell us. Because god knows we want to, very much.

Sophie xxx


Christie February 6, 2011 at 8:48 pm

That was a truly beautiful post, Lori, amazing writing. Take your time healing, we wont stop caring. xx


Alienne February 7, 2011 at 7:38 am

4 to 6 weeks? WEEKS?? Anyone who thinks you will anywhere near normal in that period is in cloud cuckoo land – and a cruel cloud cuckoo land at that. You are doing your best and that is all you can do but most people will not have the faintest idea what you are going through. More than 3 years later I still find myself listening for his key in the door on the nights he used to play football. I still find myself thinking, I must tell him that when I get home.

You are quite right about needing to talk. My sisters listened though they could not really understand, but it still helped. I spend hours on the phone to my sister in law who, as his sister, was very badly hit by his suicide. We talked each other sane, I relied on her and another friend who had lost her fiance a few months previously in tragic circumstances. We compared notes on how we felt at various stages as time went on; we compared dreams and we just talked. Some friends will let you down; I lost a few along the way. It depends how hurt you are by being let down.

My children were what kept me going, and what forced me into keeping with the routine- they were older than yours so had to go back to school, and I worked full time so I had to go back too. If you have a play group or a friend you can leave them with to play for an hour or too you can get some time to yourself to shut yourself away and howl if you need to.

Just do what comes naturally to you – we are all different and we all handle grief and trauma differently. There is no normal. There is nothing you 'ought' to be doing at any particular stage.


Jean February 6, 2011 at 8:25 pm

Your blog is open, visceral and deeply important. You are touching many hearts XXX


Watershedd February 6, 2011 at 8:18 pm

I have a dear friend with PTSD. A Vietnam vet. He tells me its a bitch. I probably know others. there are support groups, which I guess your psychologist has advised you of. I've got no idea if its appropriate for you or not, but perhaps talking about the pain with other survivors would be help mange some of your feelings, knowing others understand the pain, if not the specific circumstances.

Lovely shooting star. So special. Small steps, Lori. Well done on getting some of the financials in order. That's a huge achievement. Peace your way. X


Justine February 6, 2011 at 7:55 pm

Lori, what an amazing post. Thank you so much for sharing your journey with us – it's a privilege to read it. And let me tell you, I am truly amazed by every little thing you are achieving right now!!!
I'm here if you need me & plan on popping around soon… So sorry I haven't seen you yet.


x0xJ February 6, 2011 at 7:12 pm

<3 <3 <3
I'm sorry people are letting you down. It hurts me to read this because i know that it too would be my story if i were in your situation.
I know you don't "know" me but if you need a person to talk to i am happy to listen. I think people might ust be worried and not know what to say or do when really all you need is for them to hold your hand and listen.
hopefully a few are reading this and wake up and be there for you more.


Melissa February 6, 2011 at 6:33 pm

Still here, still listening. It's all I've got – but it's yours.

I was diagnosed with PTSD (though my trauma was different to yours) and still struggle with too much happening at once. Believe it or not, I can't even manage messenger conversations. Real time, on a bad day, is too much for me. I like the delay of blogging and email.

I'm at a loss at how anyone expects you to 'get on with it' just yet. I sure as hell don't. I wish I were there, closer to you. I wish we had been closer before so I could offer more now, without it looking like a hangeron, IYKWIM.

One moment at a time, sweet girl. The shooting star gave me goosebumps.


Veronica February 6, 2011 at 6:20 pm


All I've got. xxx


Toushka Lee February 6, 2011 at 5:39 pm

a shooting star!!! there's your sign. that's awesome.
I guess it's just too hard for some people to face the trauma, or maybe they don't know how to help. I don't know. Wish they would just give the help they promised. Wish I could help somehow.


Lyn February 6, 2011 at 5:25 pm

Hi Lori

I'm glad that you see that stuff like setting up bank accounts and getting credit cards are big achievements. Because they are. Every step forward you take (even if it coincides with 15 steps backwards) is something to be proud of. We're all here to celebrate whatever successes you achieve, so keep blogging you have a lot of supporters.

Keep asking for help as frustrating as it can be. The six month mark is even more interesting that the six week mark – most people think that is the time you will be well and truly over it. As if. Your whole world has changed.

Keep marking off those days, and when you do, think of the thing that day that happened that you are most proud of. And then one day you'll find that you forget to mark off the day because, if just a little, it will get brighter.



Amy February 6, 2011 at 5:25 pm

Oh Darling.

I wish that I could ring your doorbell with a cheesecake and a lasagna in my hands and give you a big ol' fat hug.

Please know that we all would if logistics were not an issue.

Still thinking of you and wishing you peace when it is time.

Much love. xx


Gliss February 6, 2011 at 5:24 pm

I have been thinking this for a while and finally got the courage to write it. When my husband walked out and became immediately terrifyingly hostile (not at all the same situation, but it put me in a similar place of paralysis, fear and grief), the children were my salvation. I had not choice but to get up in the morning. I had no choice but to prepare meals. I had to walk through at least the first steps of the day. I had to find a way to support them. They were very young then; I was all they had, and that was a HUGE blessing to me in the first few years. It's easy enough to say "keep putting one foot in front of another," but when a 3 year old need help with a shoe, it's that foot that matters and in dealing with it we become, at least a little bit, part of the world that still works.

Lori, you're doing well, as lousy as it feels. Jut remember that it takes as long as it takes and that there are many, many of us out here who care, even if we're half a world away.


Mel February 6, 2011 at 4:54 pm

Oh, and I meant to say. Everything will be OK. I know how much it probably shits you to hear people say that. Like they know what you're going through. But it will. One day. I promise.


Lynne Piper February 6, 2011 at 4:53 pm

Hi Lori: I am not sure I could even get out of bed in the morning, if I were in your shoes. If you are even recognizing the most miniscule step towards healing at this early date, it is a miracle. I have only had close friends lose close loved ones, but I know that it is such a "process" and a lengthy one at that. Any pressure you feel from people to move on should be like water off a duck's back. I know, easier said than done. Your honest posts about where you are, are quite amazing. God bless you Lori.


Mel February 6, 2011 at 4:52 pm

You don't know me, and I don't know you. But I know how it feels to want people around to share the load. Even if they might not want to. I'd be there if I could.
I hope you find some.


Tenille @ Help!Mum February 6, 2011 at 4:48 pm

It sounds to me like you're making progress xox


Brenda February 6, 2011 at 4:03 pm

It's all gonna be okay, sweetie. You're gonna be okay.xxxx


Langdowns February 6, 2011 at 3:48 pm

Apparently you're supposed to have a mind like a sieve when you go through trauma. Apparently it's to stop you from going crazy or your head exploding or something. Your Reticular Activating System (RAS) only retains enough information in your brain that you can cope with, and the rest goes through this net into the abyss of your brain for a time you might need it later. I reckon it goes into your sub-conscious. Anyway, I guess your RAS is helping you get through this by letting you forget the day-to-day bits and bobs and concentrate on getting through the trauma. Which seems a bit mean. You'd think the RAS would let the bad stuff filter through and let you keep the good stuff. Sigh. I guess you are on a pretty long road right now Lori, but every day you mark your calendar it gets that tiny bit shorter. One baby step at a time …
I'm glad you got your shooting star.
Hang in there.


thepixiechick February 6, 2011 at 3:36 pm

And I love the shooting star…. Another little message xoxoxo


thepixiechick February 6, 2011 at 3:33 pm

I can't believe people expect you to be getting over it… far out, you're only beginning to wrap your head around it. You're barely out of shock, you certainly aren't out of pain, rage, grief, disorientation, disbelief, bewilderment or any of the other myriad of emotions that must be washing over you. But you have come such a long way. Just yesterday I clicked on to one of your older posts, from a month or so ago. I was in tears before the end of the first sentence. The pain was just so fresh, so raw. You are making progress.
I am far away but I can come and visit if you would like that. I guess I just have to get over my shyness and ask. xoxo


Farmers Wifey February 6, 2011 at 3:30 pm

I am so glad you saw a shooting star….just for you and Tony…. I wish I could do something for you..I don't know you personally (yet) but you always wrote lovely things to me…which shows the person you are….


In Real Life February 6, 2011 at 3:27 pm

*HUGS* I think you are doing amazingly well. I can hear through your writing that you are getting stronger. Thinking of you! Kelly


lifeofadoctorswife February 6, 2011 at 3:27 pm

Thinking of you.


Anonymous February 6, 2011 at 3:24 pm

I know what it's like, I never got that help. Every bath done by me, coursework to be done, long nights up with my baby , being left alone with my sobs. My parents heard me crying over him but didn't care. My little one lost her dad, and I lost the man I loved more than anything, but I was expected to get over it, as we had separated . I'm sorry your hurting too x keep holding on x


Sharnanigans February 6, 2011 at 3:15 pm

Lori, that is beautiful. Signs are amazing and are everywhere when we are open to them, I firmly believe that. Kudos to you for asking for help and for what you need.


deardarl February 6, 2011 at 3:11 pm

"All I'm asking for is for phone calls to be returned. For the help that was offered to be given, without me having to chase or beg for it."

… and I still find it truly surprising at the number of people who swore they'd do anything … ANYTHING …anytime … seem not to have time / treat me as an inconvenience for the very few things I ask for help with.
I've rarely asked for the help that was promised.
and yet the calls aren't returned or the help offered is for things that I don't need or want.
… but then that help does come from the most unlikely sources. The people who barely knew us.
…and my true friends. The ones that have been there since day one and stepped it up every day since then. My Mum. My oldest friend.
…and also some of my newest friends … Like the fellow blogger who dropped everything and photo shopped a nice picture of Greg to use on the funeral service program. and other bloggers who I've never met who've been there on facebook and my blog when I've needed to vent.

All I can say is that I now know who I can count on.


april February 6, 2011 at 3:08 pm

ptsd is a bitch.
absolute bitch.
for the people who expect you to be "over" anything – give them some of the pamphlets that tell the truth of it.
thinking of you and glad for shooting stars


Annettewith6 February 6, 2011 at 3:01 pm

I too want to hug you, to listen while you rant and rave, to mother you… I am reminded of a Sinead O'Connor song, 'this is to mother you'…not sure the words are totally appropriate but the feelings are what I am remembering….
I love Andrea's idea of the 3 lists..
It is such early days Lori, no one in their right mind should expect you to be anything but what you are…coping as best you can, mourning deeply, taking tiny steps into your new life. As a mum we do have to be there….but we still need to be mothered by someone and it sounds like your mum and aunty are there for you and I am sure they will continue to be there long after you think you have exhausted them…cos that's what we mums do.
Cyper hugs, prayers and constant loving thoughts…


Dorothy February 6, 2011 at 2:53 pm

Apart from anything else, Lori, you are an incredibly gifted writer. I don't know if you know this, but I thought I'd remind you. Reading your story is like having someone write my own story from two years ago. Your feelings, your thoughts are exactly what was happening to me at that time. My husband didn't die, but he betrayed me by revealing he never really was the person I married. I spent 18 years with a fake, with a hollow manequin. When I learnt the truth, it was worse then if he'd died, because he never was.

I don't know if you want to hear this – but your story is bringing it all back. The lack of support, the awful nights, the numbness, the PTSD, the nightmares, the counselling, the uncotrollable howling in the kitchen while the kids were having a bath. And noone helped. Noone offered, nooone rang, people commented on my blog, but noone was there while I nearly self-destructed.

I wish I could be there for you in person. The pain doesn't stop in two, four, six weeks' time. It continues. I still cry. I still mourn. And still noone helps. Unless I pay them. Paid help is great. Friendship is fleeting.

You are an amazing person – don't stop doing what you're doing.


Ms Styling You February 6, 2011 at 2:36 pm

Beautiful Lori, I remember five weeks after my mum and step dad drowned that someone showed up at my door with a meal for the family (the food deliveries from friends had stopped weeks before). At the time, I seemed to be all alone in my grief (not even my now ex husband cared or asked how I was going) and that single act of kindness and thoughtfulness has stayed with me for 15 years. The grief, the processing doesn't all stop after one week, or five or five years. The mistake I made was not telling others that I was still hurting. I just went back to my life and put on a "brave" face. Except it wasn't brave. It was just stupid. You are the brave one and I salute you. xx


Jen D. February 6, 2011 at 2:31 pm

Lori, I remember a horribly tumultuous and painful time in my life when the highest point of that time period was…

*drum roll*

…that I managed to bleach my kitchen counter top. Once.

So seriously, you GO with your phone calls and dealing with banks and being the mama you can be. The baby steps are the most important, because they are the first.

*big hug*


Carla February 6, 2011 at 2:23 pm

I've found you through Being Me, so I'm not a long term follower by any means. I just wanted to comment on what you said about only being able to function in small doses and needing to remind yourself about taking care of yourself. I'm the same, and I have nothing happening in my life. A lifesaver for me is an online task management programme. I have my entire life in there – from brushing teeth in the morning, through to have lunch, get kids bathed and relax before bed – lots and lots of little tasks which most people have no trouble with but which somehow escape me. For me ticking each little box as complete is a mini triumph throughout the day.

You deserve to celebrate the mini triumphs – the emails, the credit card, the Paypal account – they are special even if those around you cant see that. Do celebrate those even if it is just ticking a box.

(And if you want the name of the site I use, feel free to email me… its a freebie so I'm not promoting anything for money etc.)


Doodah February 6, 2011 at 2:22 pm

Stop making me cry! I know when I lost my dad, all I wanted to do was let out a gut-wrenching scream – you know one that starts in your belly and works its way out your mouth, I never found a place where I could do it (without scaring the shit out of nearby people!)

Anyway, I want you to know that you've helped me today…should any of my friends go through anything like what you're going through, I'll know what to do. I won't abandon them after the first couple of weeks and I'll be there for them, to do whatever it is they need for as long as it takes.
Thanks Lori


Being Me February 6, 2011 at 2:19 pm

Riveting reading. The pool metaphor in particular. But all of it. I know that moment you had when you looked up and saw. I can relate so much. About 6 weeks after my daughter died I remember looking up at the stars that made the sky look endless. And I knew, like you, that it was going to be ok. Even if only because it had to be.

Love to you. My offers of being here to listen anytime are not made lightly either. Here for you, even if only by email xx whatever you need, whenever you want to.


Andrea February 6, 2011 at 2:17 pm

I know how 'over stimulation' can be almost painful when there is no mental space to take in any more info/emotion/anything. It can make your skin hurt..I know the feeling but it is sure hard to explain.

If we lived in the same town, I'd come mow the lawn, wash the dishes, entertain your sprogs. be in the background…give you some quiet space but with life ticking away in the background.(funny how the blogospher makes none of us feel like strangers)

I'm wondering if there is some kind of support group that can help with that sort of stuff…
just to keep slowly plodding at least until the steps start to feel lighter. Your counsellor might know of something??

As for the daily grind..I have an idea…might be crap, but trying to think of practical ways to help…and no skin off my nose if this is a crap idea for you…you just take what works for you!

Maybe you could make three lists on big sheets of paper, stick them on the wall, and when stuff comes along, just mentally check which list it should go to, and deal with accordingly.

the lists:
– who gives a shit or 'can't deal with this now (the bills and stuff that can wait)

– kind of have to this now or sometime soon (disconnection bills, babies nappies, shopping etc, basic cleaning,washing etc.)

-what i need to do for me to get through this/ I actually really want/need to do this (lie on the floor/talk about whatever/zone out/swim in the pool/hug your babies/blog – whatever it happens to be)

You could even ask someone 'mum/friend' to monitor the first list for anything that becomes urgent and needs to go into the second list.

Then you can basically ignore the first until it hits the second list,
Ask for help on the second list, and focus your own energy on the last one.

Just an idea, you may already be doing something like this.

take care,
keep thinking of that shooting star…


Kakka February 6, 2011 at 2:16 pm

Lori – you are a shooting star, lighting up the blackness of suicide with your honesty, your courage, your hope for the future … talking about and being honest about what happened … you are a shooting star for others.

I am so glad you got to see a shooting star … your reminder that in time all things come to pass.


Michael February 6, 2011 at 2:10 pm


I know very little about many, many things. But I have lost people (including my father in 2009).

Probably the wisest thing that anyone ever said to me about grief was said to me by my minister. I lost a friend in high school and was pretty torn up about it. She said, "Don't let anyone- including me- tell you how and where and when and how much to grieve. This has its own schedule and will take its own time."

It's true.

She also added, if you're inclined that way, that it's OK to be mad at God. He can take it- He's big enough. And He'll be there for you if and when you're ready.

You can take that part or leave it if you want.


Donna February 6, 2011 at 2:10 pm

Lori, I have honestly never thought so much about someone I dont actually known IRL. But your story has moved me beyond words, and even from afar I am hoping, wishing, praying that each days sees you creep closer to small victories re-emerging in your world.

I know I cannot do much to make this any better but I hope you got the care package I sent to your friend Sarah, as a token to let you know you are not alone, that even "virtual" strangers care.

And finally, never apologise for what you write, as this is your space and your place to help you heal. If you werent posting it all here, it would just be festering away inside your soul, and likely to cause far greater pain for you. At least when you share here, we will cheer your every small victory and shed a tear over every struggle RIGHT ALONG WITH YOU. I've never known anyone to be quite so loved by so many in the online world, and we will all support you, every step of the bumpy way x


Naomi @ Under the Yardarm February 6, 2011 at 2:08 pm


Such a beautiful post. One day you will walk passed the calendar and not notice it. It will come. Every post I read here shows me you are taking little steps. I don't know what you are going through, but I know you are getting there.

All I can do is read, and comment, so that's what I will do.



Wanderlust February 6, 2011 at 2:04 pm

I love that you saw a shooting star. Want to rave and cry over skype? I would love to talk to you. Anytime. xoxo


Dazee Dreamer February 6, 2011 at 2:01 pm

I wish I were there to help you. Just know that putting it all out here on your blog, is how many of us can help you. We can offer words of support even tho we can't physically wrap our arms around you. You are in my thoughts all the time. What some people don't understand is just the need to get it out of your system, even if it is every day. My sister went through a horrible time a couple of years ago, and everyday was always a new day, a new depression, a new anger. But I was always there for her. She always apologized for saying the same thing, but you know. I could feel her burdered soul. It meant the world to me to be there for her. Your friend is feeling the same way. Don't feel like you are a burden to your mom or her.

Big hug. We are here.


Jodie at Mummy Mayhem February 6, 2011 at 2:00 pm

I'm with Mrs Woog. Stunning post, hon. And the one for Tony moved me to tears (I read it after midnight the other night, on my phone, and I don't think my comment stayed).

You have both my numbers. Call me anytime. That's a genuine offer. Ok?

And yes – keep writing and speaking the truth. As cliched as it sounds, the truth will set you free.



Stylish Mummy February 6, 2011 at 1:58 pm

I wish I was closer, Lori… I would be there to listen and help you through this. I cant believe that others arent there for you and that makes me sad. GBHs Im glad you saw the shooting star and took some comfort in it xx


Samantha February 6, 2011 at 1:48 pm

I broke down and cried at the end of this post. I can't give you anything to take away the pain. I wish I lived closer to you. I have PTSD too and I would sit with you while you rant, I would pace with you while you paced, I would laugh at your innapropriate jokes, I would do it all for you if I could. I understand what you need and why would need it and I wish I could give it to you.
Even if I could, I know it would not mean half as much to you as that shooting star meant. That is amazing, it takes my breath away and that is true love.
DM me on Twitter if you ever need someone to talk to you. I am nocturnal and will call you to listen if that's what you need!


lori February 6, 2011 at 1:33 pm

I wish I could give you a million shooting stars, sweetie. You are beginning to have the sound of hope in your words – just a glimmer- and I'm really glad to hear that. You'll get back to writing happier things. But in the meantime keep writing anything you want, however ugly or raw it may be.
If only every one of us in blog world who care about you could just show up on your front porch to give you a big hug. You'd have more support and open ears and arms then you'd care to have. You'd probably tell us all to get off your fucking lawn, actually. Be careful what you wish for, as they say!
Seriously though, if your close friends haven't called you back, call them again. Maybe they need to know what it is they can do for you specifically because they just feel so helpless. If they know what it is, they'll do it, because they love you.
Next shooting star I see, I'm putting in a wish for you. Love to you, my Aussie friend.


flask February 6, 2011 at 1:30 pm

you be who you need to be.

for however long.

i'll ask prayers for you in church. there's precious little else i CAN do.

but however tired or grieved or traumatized you are, that's how you are. and you are never very far from my thoughts.


Melissa *Suger Coat It* February 6, 2011 at 1:28 pm

Particularly beautiful writing today Lori.

And I hope those closest to you can find what strength they need to support you in the way you need to be supported. Nothing against them, as I'm sure their hearts are broken too, different, but too. But I hope you all find a way to be there.


bigwords is… February 6, 2011 at 1:22 pm

One day you'll forget to cross the day off the calendar. Keep reaching out Lori, there's always someone to listen to you, even if you have to shout it out into the night while you watch for those shooting stars x


Kylie February 6, 2011 at 1:18 pm

This blog will be what it needs to be, and at the moment it needs to be a place to let fly.
I hope some of your real life friends read this and step up for you. I wish I knew you in real life to show you some one would.
You amaze me every day Lori. I know in the end you have no choice but to go on. As you said, you want to live, you are a mother and therefore you have no choice but to go forward, but you still amaze me with the way you can articulate the chaos around you. Keep going. Those of us who can't be there with you physically are with you here. If I could take your pain for just an hour I would, just to give you a break. I can't and I'm so sorry for that.


MotorbikesLady February 6, 2011 at 1:15 pm

Sweetie always here for you if you & the kids want to come up to Bris for awhile & stay with us your quiet welcome to.

(((( Hugs )))) XXXX Kisses XXXX


Hear Mum Roar February 6, 2011 at 1:12 pm

I think people do often expect people to be 'over' this stuff in ridiculously small amounts of time. I think if you tried to be funny at the moment when you're not feeling it, that's not good for anyone. Keep crossing the days off, keep looking for shooting stars, keep reaching out for help.

Reply February 6, 2011 at 9:57 pm

I have to reiterate what everybody here has said – this is such a beautifully written piece Lori. There will be more shooting stars. xx


Breanne February 6, 2011 at 5:50 pm

I know I'm a complete stranger (and I feel a little like a stalker because I always read your blog and comment on these heart breaking posts even though you have no idea who I am) but I'd be happy to listen if you need to talk. Seriously.


Miss Angela Solo February 6, 2011 at 3:17 pm

I wrote a little bit about you sharing the truth on my new blog (finally started it because of you).

I got a shudder when you spoke of wanting to live, not die. All the years I suffered depression, all the times I thought of dying, and it was only after my dearest friend killed himself that I knew for sure that I did not want to die and certainly not by my own doing.

The paradox is, in the months following my loved ones suicide, I couldn't stop the urge to die, even though I didn't want to. It was lucky I had decided I didn't want to, and had my reasons clear, as it was an all out battle to fight the urge.

If you go to that place, just know, even though it can seem all consuming and the way out seems invisible, that it does. get. better.

And when you find your way out – you are strong. strong enough to scoff at anything life throws at you. You will know without a shadow of a doubt that you are a survivor. xxx

And the shooting star… bless…


Dee February 6, 2011 at 2:21 pm

Wow girl, you sure know how to write! Keep it up, you have many people here to listen to you, many people to try and support you as best they know how.

Stay strong xxx


Mrs Woog February 6, 2011 at 1:48 pm

Stunning post Lori. Stunning. Your Aunty sounds amazing. Try not to meet people's expectations. They do not really know what you are going through. No one does except you. Keep doing what you are doing. I am here for you WHENEVER you are ready.


Toni February 6, 2011 at 1:28 pm

After my son died, I couldn't remember stuff for even 5 minutes. I couldn't manage to make a cup of tea. It was too hard to pay bills, to go shopping, to get the kids ready for school, to plan meals. I was like that for about 3 months before I finally had a few hours where I thought I could see that my life would eventually be something resembling normal again.
You're doing well, Lori. Those 'little' things? they're big steps.
I too wish I could take the burden from you for a few hours, just to give you a break. But all I can do is listen, and to let you know that here, on this blog, we're with you. As much as we can be. All of us, wishing we could do, and be, more.


Madmother February 6, 2011 at 1:15 pm

Oh, you beautiful woman.

I will always be here. I know how people muttr the reassurances, and I am sure they mean it at the time, but then they have reasons. endless reasons of why they can't follow through.

I wish I was closer and could physically do more. But I am not, and can only tell you I'm here, always here to listen. xx


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