Archives for June 2014

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BRAZILIAN CHERRY HARDWOOD Floors

Sequim, WA : Sequim looking SouthBRAZILIAN CHERRY HARDWOOD  floors are known for their hardness and durability. Not a day passes without a sigh of joy as my bare feet touch my beautiful hardwood floors. Independent of the temperature or seasons, the floor remains inviting  beneath my  feet.  The richness of color offers both the elegance of time-honored solidness and the down-to-earth casualness in which I am the most comfortable.

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PTSD: He Witnessed The Deaths Of His Entire Platoon

Watching my children tend to their  “father  wounds” reminded me of a similar process with my father.

Howard died alone in the dilapidated trailer shortly after his wife, Vi, died from alcoholism. When they found him beneath the sagging tin roof, which was draped with a filthy black tarp to keep out the rain, dozens of empty booze bottles lay scattered at his feet.

Howard  and my mom had been divorced for many years at the time of his death, but she saw to it that he had a military burial. I remain in awe of the generosity of spirit that she alone extended to Howard by arranging his funeral.

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Family Legacies As Burdens

When Bill died four years ago, I was able to facilitate my children’s grief and farewells. By their own choice they had not spoken with him in several years, but I felt that grieving his passing was paramount to their healing journey.  We lit candles and wished him well on his crossing. They whispered their regrets. I felt blessed to have been given such softness in my heart toward him.

My children no longer had to carry the heavy stone of family wounds heaped upon them by their parents.

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But First the Amends

“I dreamed  I had a child, and even in the dream  I saw it was my life, and it was an idiot,  and I ran away. But it always crept on to my lap again, clutched  at my clothes. Until  I thought, if I could kiss it, whatever  in it was my own,  perhaps I  could  sleep.  And  I  bent to  its  broken face, and  it  was horrible…but I kissed  it.  I think one must finally take one’s life in one’s arms, Quentin.” —Arthur Miller