tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post8131569365119478712..comments2024-03-27T07:54:13.206-04:00Comments on An Accidental Blog: Rest in PeacePaulita http://www.blogger.com/profile/14237320966048538408noreply@blogger.comBlogger5125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-77377571010892410032007-11-08T06:47:00.000-05:002007-11-08T06:47:00.000-05:00Dianne,That sounds really difficult. Maybe Earl sh...Dianne,<BR/>That sounds really difficult. Maybe Earl should feel fortunate that he wasn't able to be there. But then you have to feel guilty about the sibling who was sitting there, timing the last breath to the time the heartbeat stopped. Thanks for your moving (and intelligent) commentsPaulitahttps://www.blogger.com/profile/02611117766982930997noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-29345304096779379152007-11-05T11:03:00.000-05:002007-11-05T11:03:00.000-05:00Thank you for this and all your writings ! - I lov...Thank you for this and all your writings ! - I love when you take me to a place I hadn't anticipated.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-17736747298048837642007-11-02T20:05:00.000-04:002007-11-02T20:05:00.000-04:00I had similar thoughts at my mother's viewing when...I had similar thoughts at my mother's viewing when my sister exclaimed in a loud disapproving voice that Mom didn't "look like herself at all!" I bit back the obvious answer and just sighed in secret relief because somehow the funeral director had managed to make Mom look even a little human ---but not ever again, like our mother. That image and person had been erased weeks earlier. <BR/>Please tell your husband (don't know if you want names on the blog) how sorry I am and my sympathy to you and the children as well. <BR/><BR/>You are right. I'm sure your husband can think of scores of times he was there for his Mom. You can bet all of those times were priceless to her. My own mother, had she been able to express anything, would probably have been mortified that both Bob and I were there leaning over her, squeezing her hand when she passed. Of the six of us, I was the only one at either of my parent's bedsides when they died, and each time I felt as though I shouldn't be there, as though I were intruding on something sacred. Dying is a very private thing, ---- the most private thing we will ever do. <BR/><BR/>Beautiful piece. Thank you for writing it!Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-76913648015260707872007-10-25T14:33:00.000-04:002007-10-25T14:33:00.000-04:00What a wonderful essay...it made the hairs stand u...What a wonderful essay...it made the hairs stand up on my arm, which is my gauge of good writing.<BR/>- a friend of Noreen :)Anonymousnoreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-32469880.post-57813533753547153562007-10-25T08:36:00.000-04:002007-10-25T08:36:00.000-04:00Very well said. I just attended a very rare close...Very well said. I just attended a very rare closed casket visitation and funeral. I was able to remember him not as he was - lying in a casket but as he lived - vertical and lively.Anonymousnoreply@blogger.com