End of an Era
So, I know full well that I'm not the first person to post about the deaths of Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, or even Ed McMahan. And I know that I'm not the first to realize the frightening thought that they all died in the same week. With the passing of Billy Mays-the OxyClean guy, today, is just another nail in the coffin.
Many of these faces will not be forgotten anytime soon, but some will last longer than others. The musical impact that Michael Jackson had on the world will last generations. This is no exaggeration. He has influenced so many artists in so many different genres of music, and Thriller is still a record holder for sales. Also, the Moonwalk, which only he could ever truly pull off, cannot be fully duplicated.
This is not a blog about Michael, Farrah, or even Billy. It's about the impact that these people had on our lives, no matter how large or small. Their images and voices are imprinted in our subconscious, something that will not be passed on to the unborn generations to come if we choose not to. Of course, that's with anyone. Those who continue to live with us after they have passed one are the ones that have had the most impact in our lives. Famous or not.
One question that arises is why these famous people have such an impact. What is it about these personalities that we are drawn to (and in some cases-with dangerous and disastrous results)? Why is it these particular individuals have such an effect on us? For some, it's talent. True, raw, undeniable talent. Talent that we enjoy and wish we had ourselves. Others are famous for just being famous. These will always be the ones to be the first to be forgotten after they are gone. But there is something there that we are drawn to.
Many of these individuals wouldn't be capable of leading us, should the occasion arise. Yet, we follow them and try to imitate them as if they could. Is it self confidence? Many of them lack it, but project as if they do have it. So what is it? Perhaps, we will never know.
A death is sad, no matter who is the one dying. No person is ever unloved, even if they feel that way. We all leave an imprint on others, some more than others. Humans come and go with the breeze, but legacies outlive us.
So, what kind of an imprint are you leaving on those around you? How will you be remembered, and is that how you would like it to be? The only chance you have to change is before you die, so might as well do it now while you still can.
Allright, done rambling. Hope you all have a good one.
Take care,
Jeremy
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Showing posts with label death. Show all posts
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Saturday, December 06, 2008
In Loving Memory
"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me." (John 14:1)
There is no easy way to loose a loved one. The pain, at first unbearable, over time dims; but never goes away. The survivors are left with an invisible scar on their hearts. Years later, the tears still flow-although they fall less often.
The Lord welcomed Virginia Ghea into His promised mansion on November 25th. In the last half hour of her life, her troubled breathing calmed. Her passage from this life to the next one was a gentle one. On her walk with God here on Earth, the only time she saw Him was in His majestic creations and artists’ assumptions. Now she sees Him face to face as He welcomes home His good and faithful servant.
She was a Christian, not only in faith, but in works. Completely selfless-even when she could no longer take care of you, she still tried. She had a pure and gentle heart, with a smile that genuinely lit up the room. The eyes are the window of the soul, and hers were soft and caring.
Does this hurt? Yes. But while our suffering has just begun, her has come to an end. She is finally, truly, at peace.
Goodbye, Grandma. I miss you so. And I await your welcoming hug when the Lord calls me home.
"Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God, trust also in me." (John 14:1)
There is no easy way to loose a loved one. The pain, at first unbearable, over time dims; but never goes away. The survivors are left with an invisible scar on their hearts. Years later, the tears still flow-although they fall less often.
The Lord welcomed Virginia Ghea into His promised mansion on November 25th. In the last half hour of her life, her troubled breathing calmed. Her passage from this life to the next one was a gentle one. On her walk with God here on Earth, the only time she saw Him was in His majestic creations and artists’ assumptions. Now she sees Him face to face as He welcomes home His good and faithful servant.
She was a Christian, not only in faith, but in works. Completely selfless-even when she could no longer take care of you, she still tried. She had a pure and gentle heart, with a smile that genuinely lit up the room. The eyes are the window of the soul, and hers were soft and caring.
Does this hurt? Yes. But while our suffering has just begun, her has come to an end. She is finally, truly, at peace.
Goodbye, Grandma. I miss you so. And I await your welcoming hug when the Lord calls me home.
Tuesday, October 28, 2008
Five years later
Today marks the five year anniversary of Dad's death. So far, I am doing well, far better than what I was expecting to be. It hurts, but there are no tears, only memories. This, I know, is how he would have wanted it. This is how I wanted it to be.
I have changed much over the years. Life is much more fragile and short. Not in a doomsday kind of a way, but in a way where you appreciate every moment that you actually are alive. After you lose someone close, especially a parent, you are constantly aware that the life you live will make an impact, no matter how small, even after you're gone. And there will be far more people at your funeral than you would expect. Even people you haven't spoken to in years.
This blog will not be grim, for there is no need for it to be. The depression is gone, leaving only the good memories and the few remaining "could've been"s. The hardest part of moving on is letting go. Is finally forcing yourself to admit that they are not coming back; allowing this person to be dead in your mind. They have moved on, and eventually you will have to as well. This is both painful and liberating. And completely, entirely, necessary.
This year has been hard, but I'm not goining into that either. I don't want to, and I don't need to. Time has healed the wounds it has needed to, even as the memories remain. I knew this year would be hard, not in the extreme that it has been, but even that's okay. It allows me to put everything in perspective; and allows me to filter out just what I need and don't need in my life.
I'm not happy, but I'm used to not being happy. I've grown used to this emptiness. What I am happy for is that he no longer suffers. He is in a far better place than I am. For that, I am happy.
I need to leave now. I will be heading to the cemetery, then spend the rest of the evening at home. Tomorrow, hopefully, I will visit my grandmother. After that, I will go to work. Essentially, I will keep on living. I wish you all good luck and good health.
Take care of yourselves,
Jeremy
Today marks the five year anniversary of Dad's death. So far, I am doing well, far better than what I was expecting to be. It hurts, but there are no tears, only memories. This, I know, is how he would have wanted it. This is how I wanted it to be.
I have changed much over the years. Life is much more fragile and short. Not in a doomsday kind of a way, but in a way where you appreciate every moment that you actually are alive. After you lose someone close, especially a parent, you are constantly aware that the life you live will make an impact, no matter how small, even after you're gone. And there will be far more people at your funeral than you would expect. Even people you haven't spoken to in years.
This blog will not be grim, for there is no need for it to be. The depression is gone, leaving only the good memories and the few remaining "could've been"s. The hardest part of moving on is letting go. Is finally forcing yourself to admit that they are not coming back; allowing this person to be dead in your mind. They have moved on, and eventually you will have to as well. This is both painful and liberating. And completely, entirely, necessary.
This year has been hard, but I'm not goining into that either. I don't want to, and I don't need to. Time has healed the wounds it has needed to, even as the memories remain. I knew this year would be hard, not in the extreme that it has been, but even that's okay. It allows me to put everything in perspective; and allows me to filter out just what I need and don't need in my life.
I'm not happy, but I'm used to not being happy. I've grown used to this emptiness. What I am happy for is that he no longer suffers. He is in a far better place than I am. For that, I am happy.
I need to leave now. I will be heading to the cemetery, then spend the rest of the evening at home. Tomorrow, hopefully, I will visit my grandmother. After that, I will go to work. Essentially, I will keep on living. I wish you all good luck and good health.
Take care of yourselves,
Jeremy
Monday, October 22, 2007
October 28th
There is a subject that I write about very little on here. A subject that I rarely talk about; even with either friends and family. Nevertheless, it is a topic that is extremely near and dear to my heart. I'm talking about the death of my Dad.
Let me begin this with saying that he was the best Dad I could ever have asked for. One thing that very, very few people know about me is that he was not my biological father. Where my biological father is, I honestly could care less. That man left my life at a very early age and I would like to keep it that way.
But the Dad that I had was beyond incredible. He was so supportive of both my sister and I and he loved his wife with all of his heart. He was beyond devoted to her and he cherished her more than all the gold in the world. He raised us and made us his own. We took his last name unofficially and when I was a junior in high school, I made it official. I bear my last name with a true badge of honor, because of what it represents and who gave it to me.
He taught me so many lessons and most of who I am today is because of him. He was the ultimate family man and he gave his everything for us.
This is one of the main reasons why his passing almost four years ago has impacted me so much. For most of his life he suffered with a lung condition called Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder (COPD) as well as asthma. Towards the end of his life, he literally fought for every breath that he took. The thing of it is, since I was still living with my parents at the time, I hadn't realized this. It was just how it was. But he did.
The Sunday before he passed on, he was adamant that we go to church. It had been a while since we had gone, so we didn't think anything of it. We went, and then the next day it was back to work. All three of us were living in Auburn, but working in North Bend. So a day of work was literally a day we were gone all day.
His last day was a Tuesday. I am so grateful that we all had the day off and we spent it together as a family. I can still see the sunset that he pointed out to us. The most brilliant and beautiful sunset I had ever seen and even now. We went home and spent the evening together watching TV. Like most families, this was a daily occurrence, but I am grateful for it. We all were scheduled to work the next day, so we turned in at relatively the same time.
I remember it happened just after eleven. I heard some commotion and I got out of bed to see what was going on. My mom was in the doorway of their bedroom screaming and I saw him laying on the floor. She yelled at me to go help the paramedics find the house and I left with this massive spotlight of a flashlight that he had. I'm not sure if I was wearing shoes or not when I left.
They were there within ten minutes and they did the best that they could. I have no clue how many times they tried to resuscitate him, but they only stopped after they were finally able to convince us that he wasn't coming back. As an interesting twist of fate, one of the firefighters who responded to the scene was the father of one of my oldest friends; who also was there, but I don't remember seeing him. And the volunteer chaplain that was there was none other than our pastor, who also presided over the memorial.
Most of that night is buried in my subconscious. I don't have flashbacks anymore, and I'm finally able to talk about that night without bursting into tears. He was cremated and his ashes are at Tahoma National Cemetery; because he was in the Navy during the Vietnam War.
The four year anniversary of his passing is this Sunday. I will be spending the entire day with my mother, who I don't see as much as I would like to. And those who have read this blog before know, on August 26th I received my very first tattoo and I wanted it to be in tribute to him.
Anyway, I just wanted to share that with you, my dear readers. Take care.
There is a subject that I write about very little on here. A subject that I rarely talk about; even with either friends and family. Nevertheless, it is a topic that is extremely near and dear to my heart. I'm talking about the death of my Dad.
Let me begin this with saying that he was the best Dad I could ever have asked for. One thing that very, very few people know about me is that he was not my biological father. Where my biological father is, I honestly could care less. That man left my life at a very early age and I would like to keep it that way.
But the Dad that I had was beyond incredible. He was so supportive of both my sister and I and he loved his wife with all of his heart. He was beyond devoted to her and he cherished her more than all the gold in the world. He raised us and made us his own. We took his last name unofficially and when I was a junior in high school, I made it official. I bear my last name with a true badge of honor, because of what it represents and who gave it to me.
He taught me so many lessons and most of who I am today is because of him. He was the ultimate family man and he gave his everything for us.
This is one of the main reasons why his passing almost four years ago has impacted me so much. For most of his life he suffered with a lung condition called Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disorder (COPD) as well as asthma. Towards the end of his life, he literally fought for every breath that he took. The thing of it is, since I was still living with my parents at the time, I hadn't realized this. It was just how it was. But he did.
The Sunday before he passed on, he was adamant that we go to church. It had been a while since we had gone, so we didn't think anything of it. We went, and then the next day it was back to work. All three of us were living in Auburn, but working in North Bend. So a day of work was literally a day we were gone all day.
His last day was a Tuesday. I am so grateful that we all had the day off and we spent it together as a family. I can still see the sunset that he pointed out to us. The most brilliant and beautiful sunset I had ever seen and even now. We went home and spent the evening together watching TV. Like most families, this was a daily occurrence, but I am grateful for it. We all were scheduled to work the next day, so we turned in at relatively the same time.
I remember it happened just after eleven. I heard some commotion and I got out of bed to see what was going on. My mom was in the doorway of their bedroom screaming and I saw him laying on the floor. She yelled at me to go help the paramedics find the house and I left with this massive spotlight of a flashlight that he had. I'm not sure if I was wearing shoes or not when I left.
They were there within ten minutes and they did the best that they could. I have no clue how many times they tried to resuscitate him, but they only stopped after they were finally able to convince us that he wasn't coming back. As an interesting twist of fate, one of the firefighters who responded to the scene was the father of one of my oldest friends; who also was there, but I don't remember seeing him. And the volunteer chaplain that was there was none other than our pastor, who also presided over the memorial.
Most of that night is buried in my subconscious. I don't have flashbacks anymore, and I'm finally able to talk about that night without bursting into tears. He was cremated and his ashes are at Tahoma National Cemetery; because he was in the Navy during the Vietnam War.
The four year anniversary of his passing is this Sunday. I will be spending the entire day with my mother, who I don't see as much as I would like to. And those who have read this blog before know, on August 26th I received my very first tattoo and I wanted it to be in tribute to him.
Anyway, I just wanted to share that with you, my dear readers. Take care.
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