Death grief
118 creative works found
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Desmond John Spittall / 28.09.51-24.03.08 The original photograph of me and my dad was taken by my mum Liz Spittall when i was young (obviously), on our farm in Currumbin Valley. I treated it in PS to create an image i feel reflects us, as me and dad were quite similar. / I wanted to share this with the Bubble community as perhaps there can be some healing in sharing? REMEMBER WHEN ONLY MEMORIES REMAIN… The clouds outside my window are heavy and grey today… / connected… / reflecting the state of my heart. Distant memories of times gone by play over in my mind… / suspended moments in time… / People, faces forgotten from years past. / Good times and bad, a minds photographs. Gone is my rock, my constant… / my shining light amoungst the maddness. / I want you here to hold me… / to make my world seem right. My super hero… / protector… / whats a girl do without her dad? Imprinted on my heart are some stars you left behind… I hear your voice somewhere in my sleep… When the tears fall again it will be for my heart, / for now you are safe… / at one with the eternal… Forever… Remember when only memories remain… I am so proud to be your daughter… / I love you Dad…xo
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I saw the daughter of the sun; she stood / Under the north rise of the copse, where now / The shade-hoar faded, where began to show / Pale primrose heads, fresh as her own pale hood / Of straight hair, groups of early mercury / No greener than her own plain sheeny gown - / Long had I wandered in the winter-town / Of smoke-grey fog, of stone grey field and tree Nor girl she seemed, nor goddess; her grave face’ / Soft as a child’s, yet wise, brighter than spring, / More warm than summer, had strange shadowing, / Then mundane lustre held both more and less; No mirth was there, no glee, no eagerness, / No love, save love for every living thing. Elizabeth Daryush / (1887-1977) (Old Angel statue circa 1915 found in a graveyard in Copunty Wicklow, Ireland).
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It was late spring. I had my first assignment to research Peak Troullgrandra to draw new maps for future road passages along section 236. I drove as far NE as I could go before trekking by foot into the higher cliff regions. Id been traveling nearly 4 hours and the air was getting thinner, as i passed a section unseen on the old map, an alcove area appeared. When i saw something so unspeakably sad. It appeared to be anicent trolls. I had heard myths about them as a child. The Elders called them Troullgrandra’s hence the named peak. From what I could surmise from their positioning it looked as though, they had been trekking through the area seeking food and shelter from the harsh snow winters known for the area. The old legends told of those who had escaped north when man came into the area, many were killed for their skins, and to prevent them from killing our people. I approached slowly and knelt down beside the one, she appeared female, I turned to the one sitting, male, his face grievous, you could sense his loss. They had been there for many centuries, the erosion was evident. All i could think was this poor couple, probably trekking alone unable to seek shelter through a storm, she died and he couldnt bare to go on without her, he sat grief stricten and never moved again as if he was….frozen by grief. / I gathered my equitment, and trekked back to the truck when my radio signaled. It was my commander asking if we’d be able to tear through section 236. I looked back at the scene….and replied “Commander the area is unsafe i recommend we try section 237 instead, Im heading that way now” . He answered ” Okay see you back at base in a few hours then.” I placed the radio back in my packet and thought. At least for now they have peace and will remain frozen in time, and if others still exsists out there somewhere maybe they will find them. ©2007 Lisa C. Weber / . / . / . / Did you order this item today? In appreciate I’d like you to know: Ten percent of all my proceeds go to The Mount Dora Center For The Arts, who has provided quality art experiences in the Lake County region of Central Florida. They are a community oriented 501©(3) charitable nonprofit organization dedicated to fostering an understanding and appreciation of art and culture through exhibitions, arts education programs and being host to the annual Mount Dora Arts Festival. / The remaining proceeds go towards purchasing higher quality programming and program accessories, to create my art. In todays world of computer technology, programs are ever changing, advancing, and improving quality, of course they can be quiet expensive as well. So please know when you buy my art youre investing in me as an artist and helping to advance my skills, and helping a small community art center to continue providing children and adults of all ages to partisipate and learn about art. I appreciate your support and hope you enjoy the selection you have purchased today. Sincerely, / Lisa C. Weber
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This is actually a beige room, but it came out green and I love it! One of those ‘ooh look how that came out!’ moments!
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100% Photoshop. / Created using brushes and a few lines from a poem I wrote about a man thinking of his deceased wife called “Less A Set of Wings”
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Other sets by Kara… / NATURE / LANDSCAPES / PEOPLE / POEMS / PORTRAITS / SPORTS / SUNSETS / TRAVEL / ARTISTIC WORK / BOUDOIR / OTHER
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When I posted “For Mark, an American soldier, who gave his life in Iraq,” I didn’t realize that it would not print well as a card, so I’m adding this image of the same poem by Kim Graham and a different dragonfly photo to accommodate those who would like a copy of this in card size. 100% of proceeds from sales will go to the Mark W. Graham Foundation. According to the foundation’s official website, “The Mark W. Graham Foundation is a non-profit organization which provides support for young people of character and military families in crisis. It honors the legacy of Mark Graham, a fallen soldier whose strength of character and gift of service to his country are an inspiration to all who knew him. Mark was a Lafayette, La., native and his death opened the community’s eyes to the reality of war and the sacrifice soldiers make in their fight to keep our country free. He was married to Stephanie for a little more than a year when he died. Mark was 22 years old.
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Reminiscing
by Jo O'BrienNSFW
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A lesson this week....
by Wendy Slee“ I think my Daddy’s going to die” she said. I had found her standing by herself staring out the glass door at the back of my house, m…
“ I think my Daddy’s going to die” she said. I had found her standing by herself staring out the glass door at the back of my house, maybe watching the trees, maybe not really seeing anything. “I know, sweety” I said. “Your Daddy is very sick, and he might die, but they are trying to fix him at the hospital” / I did not know what else to say. Her big brown eyes fixed on mine, unblinking. / “It’s because of the alcohol, he drinks too much alcohol”. Stunned, I did not know what to say. For a child so young, she had seen too many things, and had worked out a lot for herself. “Two drinks is okay” she said, wisely nodding to herself “but more than that makes you sick. It’s not good to have more than that.” My heart broke for her. Yet she did not seem sad. Somehow, that was what made it worse. She was totally accepting of the situation, it was like it was an everyday experience to be taken on, worked though and discarded. For me, the whole situation had shocked me and filled me with grief. / I had followed the ambulance from town, on my way home from work. The sight of an ambulance, lights flashing, on its way along the highway towards my farm home, was an unusual one, and it filled me with dread. / “Please turn off. Please don’t be someone in my family” I silently prayed as I drove behind it. There were not many homes along that stretch of road, as it was mainly farmland. I felt ashamed for hoping it was someone other than my family. Then the ambulance turned into my neighbour’s driveway. / My heart thumped. A young couple with young kids – not a good sign; worse still, a man who had succumbed to depression after losing his mother, his grandmother and a friend in the past year, and more recently having lost his job and dealing with relationship troubles. I had felt his pain before and it was vast. These were people I cared about, I so desired to help, yet it seemed impossible to know where to begin. Sometimes friendship seems such a small and helpless thing against the demons that haunt people’s lives Neighbours were running across the paddock at the sight of the ambulance. The son stood at the door, white face, showing the ambos in and leading them to…… A man, OD’d on the bedroom floor. Purple… foaming at the mouth ………… dying. The fourteen year old boy, traumatized, quivering in shock, tells me had been at home with his little sister and the phone had rung. He had taken it up to his stepdad’s room to give him the call, and found him like that. His eyes were haunted, the tears quivered right there, he all but broke down and I prepared myself to hug him, but then something hauled him back and he blocked it. His Mum was home now, it would be all right. “Help me get your little sister’s clothes and school things” I said to him, “and she can come home with me for the night. I will take care of her and get her to school tomorrow. That will make it easier for your Mum”. The little girl was wandering around the house totally oblivious to the drama unfolding, telling everyone who would listen / “My daddy hurt himself. He had an accident.” The boy handed me a school bag and one pair of pants. He could not focus, could not think. He did not know what to do. I told him I would take care of it, give his sister my own daughter’s clothes….it would be okay. I asked if he would like to come with us, but he said no. He wanted to stay with his Mum. I wanted to hug him, but he had a barrier up that seemed to preclude anyone coming close to comfort him. I plucked up the courage and walked back up to the bedroom. I did not look down. I tried to block the sight of the ambulance officers, working on the body on the floor. I caught the eye of the woman, my friend and neighbour, and just said “I am taking your daughter home with me, to help you out…..” But she did not hear, her face white and distressed staring blankly across the room at me. So the little girl happily got in my car as if it was the greatest adventure ever. She was the same age as my daughter and they were school friends. All she could think about was staying with Maya. It was going to be fun. I was amazed at the resilience of small children, how they could seemingly shed the horror of things they had witnessed and just play. What a blessing it was that they could “just play”. I was holding back tears and shock at what had just taken place in that home, yet this little girl could only think about what fun she was going to have. But now, a few hours later, she had played for a while, the novelty was over, and reality had set in. She had wandered to a place by herself as her little mind tried to come to terms with what was happening. “I think my Daddy’s going to die”.
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Too Much
by Felicity Manning“I think that’s enough” “I’m not done yet”
Don’t know how many times I have seen something similar in real life. When too much suddenly becomes not enough. (Warning – Explicit Language In This Story)
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In honor of my grandfather. / Alas i missed his funeral due to an operation. / I composed a piece of music for him which ended up in the redbubble video montage black and white. it can be seen and heard here The lady in the wheel chair is my grandmother.
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I found this sign outside of a Baptist church in Granville, Ohio. In trying to come up with a description for this image I find myself in tears, grieving unlike any other time I’ve thought about the war. I am grateful to the makers of this sign for not forgetting the pain and suffering of the Iraqi people. I am incredibly sad over the loss of our men and women, because they died thinking they were protecting me. Any proceeds of this image will be donated to the American Friends Service Committee, a Quaker-based peace organization. Visit them at www.afsc.org.
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I am dedicating this image to Sarah Moore whose little boy Axel drowned today, December 26, 2007, and to Rosalie Dale, Sarah’s mother and Axel’s grandmother. Both Sarah and Rosalie have beautiful portfolios on Redbubble. Please pray for this family in their time of loss.
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modern grief is rubbish
by dynamopievIf I get knifecrimed, / Think only this of me: / I dont want a Facebook group / Set up in my memory.
i wanted to use knifecrime as a verb, because it’s always on the news, so i did.
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as with each season's turn of leaf
by janikand darkness fell silent that night / one man’s freedom, another’s fight / such disbelief and questions rife / yet, even in death, there …
and darkness fell silent that night / one man’s freedom, another’s fight / such disbelief and questions rife / yet, even in death, there is life distorted shadows ebb and flow / shrouding all as I let you go, / but out of the depths that I mourn / a renewed sense of hope is born as with each season’s turn of leaf / hands of time will encircle grief, / under rainbows of hopeful hue / I will whisper a goodbye to you.
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The Strong
by lianne….and March and night and / driving north – / bleak combination, / racing as we were, to death on a g…
My most beloved grandmother died over thirty years ago – 33 actually – this week. I have always hated the month of March for some reason – even as a child. The bitter winds, the sudden snow/ice storms, the promise of spring still far away here in the snow belt, just seemed to exacerbate a kind of winter melancholia that creeps over me in the shortened days and cold nights. But after her death, I came to dread March. Her death left a vacuum in my life that though I felt well loved by many others in my life, no one else could ever fill. She, unlike others, saw no flaws in me – lol – and loved me completely without condition or demand. I miss her still.
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This image is of my eldest daughter Leonie who gave birth to two beautiful babies and this series of photographs is a tribute to her bravery and to the memory of my two grandaughters born already in the arms of Jesus. I am doing this as an acknowledgement to their existence not to shock or disgust as i will never be ashamed or embarrassed by them and i want to give a voice to any other mothers, fathers, grandmother, grandfathers, brothers and sisters who have someone in their family who gave birth to a little human being who never knew life. We cried before, during and after each shot as it touched on such a sensitive nerve but it was something extremely dear to my heart and i needed to do it. I thank my dear daughter for allowing me to take these special photographs and in doing so they have a life of their own with their own little personalities. Ladies and gentlemen i would like to introduce my wonderful daughter and her two daughters Emily and Amy. / The little red coat was bought for Emily and the pink shoes for Amy but neither ever wore them, instead my daughter was left with hand and foot prints and two precious flowers taken from their wreaths and pressed as her memories. / In memory of Emily born 8th March 2000 and Amy born 9th June 2005 already in the arms of Jesus.
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as with each season's turn of leaf
by janikand darkness fell silent that night / one man’s freedom, another’s fight / such disbelief and questions rife / yet, even in death, there …
the death of my Father
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You Knew
by Samantha Cole-SurjanYou knew there would be times, / We would need…
A Poem written about my Gradfather when he passed! Oh how i still miss him….
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Also available without text. See “Rose in the Shadows” also in my gallery.
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Graveyard statue of young girl
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Headstone entwined with ivy
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