I have just learned via Facebook that a very dear friend, Bill Aucoin has just died from prostate cancer.
I loved Bill, and I use the word "love" sincerely.
And I am sorry that I did not even know he was ill.
I met Bill pretty soon after I moved to LA in 1978, and I could tell party stories, however, I shall not.
Bill loved life. I never saw him angry, always smiling and though he was not tall, he filled the room.
He let me stay with him at his wonderful apartment in New York next to St. Patricks (I could have stayed in a hotel courtesy of my Chrysalis job), however, it was a pleasure to spend time with him.
It was way up there and I remember one evening spell bound by the ballet dancing of papers caught by the varying breezes, and that's how I shall think of him.
Bill always treated me with respect both as a woman and as an astute business person. No boys club' treatment from him ever.
I believe he was a great manager. I didn't know him when he managed Kiss, however, he was with them for some time and I expect that they will each miss him too.
And he managed Billy Idol really well.
He sometimes got in his own way. However, I don't think I ever saw him not smiling, except for one afternoon, when after a hard day's night, he trusted me enough to take a nap in my LA office.
I joined him as his date one night when his mother and sister were in town and he was taking them to the theatre. A fun night and a privilege.
Bill, I am sorry we lost touch except via occasional FB contact.
love, ann
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Monday, June 28, 2010
Going to visit the ocean
I have (I hope) enough gas (petrol in British parlance) to get me there and back.
There is something about the ocean, which has always soothed me. Which in some ways is odd, because I sink rather than swim and have nearly drowned three times.
It's the sound,and the scent and during the week, the lack of people.
The Pacfic ocean does not sound as huge and ominous as the incredibly strong North sea off the coast of Norfolk (which although it does sound ominous and you can't see anything, did not frighten me), where for a brief while I shared an over 200 year old cottage with a walled in garden with my ex husband. [This contained fox gloves and wonderful wild flowers and I could hear the sound of the sea from there, as well as smell it.]
Still working for Elton and as usually having had a crazy week, I often had to stop off on the Friday night 6 hour drive to the cottage. Once slept way into the early hours of the morning, quite safely. But when I got there, no matter what time or whether it was sheeting rain, my first desire, aside from parking my car was to walk down the very nearby slipway on to a vast beach in the darkness. And would wander along near, but not too close, to the sea. The sounds were so powerful, and you could palpably feel it. The huge waves crashing in and slowing to a gentler swoosh as they met the beach, just calmed my heart and made everything seem well with the world.
I loved that small cottage, which had withstood many gales without damage, while other new houses around it had. Although I could have done without going into the garden one time I arrived home, to one of the outhouses and being completely startled and horrified at the two pheasants hanging there! You can only hunt pheasants at certain times in the UK, but if they happened to run in front of your car, which they often did, you could keep them. Pheasant is okay (unless it has been shot, in which case, you might bite hard down on a piece of metal!) and is good for you, as is venison. No fatty substance to clog your arteries, as they run a lot.
Particularly remember the small (Munford) village pub; where I was generally one of only a few women; playing darts against the locals. And stunning them all into silence when to win the current game, I actually hit the bullseye to finish the game!
Now being a woman in the music biz boys' club, I did learn how to play darts as well as the small table poole/whatever, with mushrooms. Beat quite a few men at that too. Never got into streaking, however!
Anyway, instead of doing what I should be doing, which is listing more CDs on Amazon or Half.com, I shall take my camera and warm clothes and just walk and enjoy the ocean.
It's a measure of my limited budget that I rarely get to the coast, and one of my reasons for returning to Los Angeles, was to be near the ocean!
I am tired. Did not have a good night's sleep, having to sit to do so, because of damage to my left sinus after a fall into a bath tub! Run out of nasal spray, and I do have some percussion going on in my head, but that's ok.
I shall wrap up warmly and hope to come back refreshed and invigorated.
There is something about the ocean, which has always soothed me. Which in some ways is odd, because I sink rather than swim and have nearly drowned three times.
It's the sound,and the scent and during the week, the lack of people.
The Pacfic ocean does not sound as huge and ominous as the incredibly strong North sea off the coast of Norfolk (which although it does sound ominous and you can't see anything, did not frighten me), where for a brief while I shared an over 200 year old cottage with a walled in garden with my ex husband. [This contained fox gloves and wonderful wild flowers and I could hear the sound of the sea from there, as well as smell it.]
Still working for Elton and as usually having had a crazy week, I often had to stop off on the Friday night 6 hour drive to the cottage. Once slept way into the early hours of the morning, quite safely. But when I got there, no matter what time or whether it was sheeting rain, my first desire, aside from parking my car was to walk down the very nearby slipway on to a vast beach in the darkness. And would wander along near, but not too close, to the sea. The sounds were so powerful, and you could palpably feel it. The huge waves crashing in and slowing to a gentler swoosh as they met the beach, just calmed my heart and made everything seem well with the world.
I loved that small cottage, which had withstood many gales without damage, while other new houses around it had. Although I could have done without going into the garden one time I arrived home, to one of the outhouses and being completely startled and horrified at the two pheasants hanging there! You can only hunt pheasants at certain times in the UK, but if they happened to run in front of your car, which they often did, you could keep them. Pheasant is okay (unless it has been shot, in which case, you might bite hard down on a piece of metal!) and is good for you, as is venison. No fatty substance to clog your arteries, as they run a lot.
Particularly remember the small (Munford) village pub; where I was generally one of only a few women; playing darts against the locals. And stunning them all into silence when to win the current game, I actually hit the bullseye to finish the game!
Now being a woman in the music biz boys' club, I did learn how to play darts as well as the small table poole/whatever, with mushrooms. Beat quite a few men at that too. Never got into streaking, however!
Anyway, instead of doing what I should be doing, which is listing more CDs on Amazon or Half.com, I shall take my camera and warm clothes and just walk and enjoy the ocean.
It's a measure of my limited budget that I rarely get to the coast, and one of my reasons for returning to Los Angeles, was to be near the ocean!
I am tired. Did not have a good night's sleep, having to sit to do so, because of damage to my left sinus after a fall into a bath tub! Run out of nasal spray, and I do have some percussion going on in my head, but that's ok.
I shall wrap up warmly and hope to come back refreshed and invigorated.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
It's after 4 am on my 61st birthday
My mum died when I was young, and Dad could only remember that I was born in the early hours of the morning, or late in the night, whichever you prefer.
So 61 years ago, I was a few years old. Or as my Dad liked to say, I have entered my 62nd year.
My boyfriend has been at odds with me (he rebuilding a motorcylce carbutor - brave of him I thought since he has not done that kind of mechanical work for many years) and I have given up and returned to my own bed.
I think perhaps older women, like cats, like their quiet and solitude more than men.
I have been working on my first portraits from photos admitedly, however, ones I took. And I am thilled. My art can only get better, and that's exciting. I may not ever be commerically succesful, however, my passion has been ignited and I would rather draw and paint then anything else, except what's necessary.
I am going to bed now. Reading Red Cardinal - good book.
So 61 years ago, I was a few years old. Or as my Dad liked to say, I have entered my 62nd year.
My boyfriend has been at odds with me (he rebuilding a motorcylce carbutor - brave of him I thought since he has not done that kind of mechanical work for many years) and I have given up and returned to my own bed.
I think perhaps older women, like cats, like their quiet and solitude more than men.
I have been working on my first portraits from photos admitedly, however, ones I took. And I am thilled. My art can only get better, and that's exciting. I may not ever be commerically succesful, however, my passion has been ignited and I would rather draw and paint then anything else, except what's necessary.
I am going to bed now. Reading Red Cardinal - good book.
4 a.m. on the morning of my 61st birthday!
Since my
`ied when I was young, and Dad could never remember
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Farmers Market Insurance - Selling my music is really hard and straw bale houses
And it's also a wonder how I managed to listen to them all at some time or another.
Whereas listing them on Amazon.com or Half.com is not particularly enjoyable, as another piece of my history goes up for sale.
What on earth am I going to do when it comes to my 2000 vinyl collection. Which has an almost new Denon turntable, my brother bought me one Christmas - very thoughful gift.
Why can't I have a large enough space for my albums and CDs, a huge window to light a drawing board where I can paint and listen to music.
Nothing too grand and preferably not within distance of many people.
And speaking of space, I have some books out from the library on making houses out of straw bales, adobe style. Caught a bit of a Huell Howser show about them and have become caught up in the whole concept.
Now if I could just get my car accident settled. Happened on September 7 2008, first one in 40 years of driving, except for small dings here and there.
And all I was doing was sitting waiting at the traffic light waiting for it to change when a several ton Continental Navigagor crashed into the back of me. The young lady jumped out of her car (not damaged, although I did find the grill emblem in the back of the volvo station wagon, which I have to be grateful that I was driving), cell phone to ear and apologising that her brakes just failed. Well she hit me at about 30 mph.
Now she's insured with Farmers and I am insured with Farmers. My boyfriend who had some damage to his arm from being thrown forwards was paid $1000 within a few weeks. Whereas me, with severe repercussions from whip lash, have damage to my brachial plexus (when those nerves get going, it's like having a rat knawing at you) and am for the first time since my mid 40s (when I finally got the triple anti biotic treatment for pylori bacteria, which stopped the constant duodenal ulcers I had suffered with since I was about 17) back in pain again.
Now has Farmers treated me equitably?
Well, it's now June 26, 2010 and I still have only been paid for the car. No movement from them regarding the damage to my body.
And I just read they're being accused of anti discrimination.
To cap it all off, my brother has insured with them for nearly 30 years, and I have for 12.
I mean how cut and dried can a case be when a huge tonnage suv hits a stationary car, which is only stationary because the law requires that you stop at red lights!
Whereas listing them on Amazon.com or Half.com is not particularly enjoyable, as another piece of my history goes up for sale.
What on earth am I going to do when it comes to my 2000 vinyl collection. Which has an almost new Denon turntable, my brother bought me one Christmas - very thoughful gift.
Why can't I have a large enough space for my albums and CDs, a huge window to light a drawing board where I can paint and listen to music.
Nothing too grand and preferably not within distance of many people.
And speaking of space, I have some books out from the library on making houses out of straw bales, adobe style. Caught a bit of a Huell Howser show about them and have become caught up in the whole concept.
Now if I could just get my car accident settled. Happened on September 7 2008, first one in 40 years of driving, except for small dings here and there.
And all I was doing was sitting waiting at the traffic light waiting for it to change when a several ton Continental Navigagor crashed into the back of me. The young lady jumped out of her car (not damaged, although I did find the grill emblem in the back of the volvo station wagon, which I have to be grateful that I was driving), cell phone to ear and apologising that her brakes just failed. Well she hit me at about 30 mph.
Now she's insured with Farmers and I am insured with Farmers. My boyfriend who had some damage to his arm from being thrown forwards was paid $1000 within a few weeks. Whereas me, with severe repercussions from whip lash, have damage to my brachial plexus (when those nerves get going, it's like having a rat knawing at you) and am for the first time since my mid 40s (when I finally got the triple anti biotic treatment for pylori bacteria, which stopped the constant duodenal ulcers I had suffered with since I was about 17) back in pain again.
Now has Farmers treated me equitably?
Well, it's now June 26, 2010 and I still have only been paid for the car. No movement from them regarding the damage to my body.
And I just read they're being accused of anti discrimination.
To cap it all off, my brother has insured with them for nearly 30 years, and I have for 12.
I mean how cut and dried can a case be when a huge tonnage suv hits a stationary car, which is only stationary because the law requires that you stop at red lights!
Anita
I wait for the sound of her paws
I yearn for the look in her eyes.
I miss the furry warmth of her body,
and I simply can't let go of the pain.
I wake in the morning, she's not there.
She rests in my heart.
I yearn for the look in her eyes.
I miss the furry warmth of her body,
and I simply can't let go of the pain.
I wake in the morning, she's not there.
She rests in my heart.
Friday, June 25, 2010
Learning to live with depression and other mental challenges
In May 1992, my Dad died, and the rest of the year is a blur with much alchol to deaden the pain. I learned that my whole life (mum died when I was 5) had centered around him. Even tho' I have always been incredibly independent and moved to L.A. to develope Chrysalis Music Group USA.
In February 1993, I lost my job, went to Tortolla with a cheating, lying and abusive boyfriend (we find such people in our attempt to try to correct our childhoods) and on my return, came to accept that I am an alcoholic.
Only problem with giving it up, which I did, was that now there was no wall between me, and depression, panic disorder (I thought that this was a symptom of depression and didn't get that treated until about 2008) and as I learned a few months ago, ptsd.
Eventually, I drank again, however, fortunately with the help of the Musician's Union I went to Cirque Lodge in November 1999 and learned so much in just 30 days (the stay was supposed to be 28, but they let me stay an extra 2) and life began to change.
It's been a struggle. Coming to terms with not being the person I thought I was, outgoing, funny and often outrageously outspoken.
I learned that my childhood had been full of a mixture of people. Some very caring and nurturing and some very crazy mixed up ones. I was a child living with adults who had their own problems, and no time to help a child grow up.
I learned about the authentic self, and that the authentic self as a child is much confused by what is horribly wrong appearing to be right. Because a child does understand the difference. But doesn't have any way to protect themselves.
I learned that without the wall of alcohol to protect me, I no longer had any defences against depression or panic disorder or ptsd.
I learned that if I didn't take measures to help myself and take medication if necessary (which, in my case, is) there would be nothing between me and death either by alcohol or suicide.
To be contd...
Saturday, June 12, 2010
Homage to Allan Rinde
My very first day at Chrysalis LA, started with a visit from Artie Wayne. Artie I had met at a Midem (can't remember which year) and subsequently introduced him to my successor at Chrysalis Music Ltd., Chris Stone (wish I knew where he was), who also invested in his talent.
Can't remember the name of Artie's song, however, was convinced it was a hit and had persuaded Private Stock to invest in Pete Gage (of Vinegar Joe fame) producing it with Linda Kendricks, who I had met when she was a back up singer to Elton or Kiki. A rather crazy woman, with the most beautiful blue eyes, a great voice and pretty stunning. As an aside - Nicky Graham of CBS actually suggested that we were having a gay affair - being pretty naive still, didn't quite get what he was suggesting, but when the proverbial penny dropped, he nearly had my salad in his lap! Not that I have any problem with people's sexual orientation, it's just that by then I was already pretty fed up with being accused of having affairs with anyone in trousers, now a woman too! Linda had been a back up singer with Elton, or Kiki. Anyway, Pete and I thought the song needed a bridge!
Now as General Manager of Chrysalis you would think that both the imprudence and impudence (especially as the legendary copyright expert, Bernard Brown of Apple had helped me learn so much more about copyright law; which I'd started doing at Music Sales; when I was Gen. Man. of Big Pig and Rocket) of my action would have struck me. Besides which, no one was looking to share in the copyright neither Pete Gage, nor me for Chrysalis. Just wanted a hit single, and I think a writer's credit for Pete for the bridge.
My first day in my lovely LA office with a patio and humming birds (later lost to the creative genius, Billy Bass) life was going well.
My first appointment - Artie Wayne and Allan Rinde.
Artie was extremely annoyed and agitated that I had dared to add a bridge to the song he wrote about his love for his grandmother. I was totally horrified and upset that I had descrated something so special to him, and immediately offered to have it removed. That's not what Artie was looking for, but that's for him to write about.
Allan was there to keep him company.
That evening coincidentally, I met Allan again at dinner with one of Ten Years After, Ric Lee (another good man) and a life long friendship began.
Allan rescued me when my heart was broken by a winsome blonde man shortly after my move to LA (he did not like how I cleaned the faucets; the end came when he took me to Joshua Tree and ignored me for the entire time we stayed there, although I still have a double pink silk scarf I bought from Palm Springs' BoJangles), and thereafter rescued me several times more from other unwise choices. A great deal of my spare time was spent up at his and Richard Kimble's house in Laurel Canyon. The two of them generally had me in constant fits of laughter.
I also learned that he had introduced Blondie to Chrysalis, which he has never been acknowledged for.
Allan is extremely intelligent, has a caustic wit, and is thoroughly delightful. When I moved to New York, in spite of the fact that I could stay in a hotel I always stayed with Allan, which did mean that no matter what time I had gone to bed the night before I was to be awoken by the famed Holloway Cleaners starting up their business at around 6 a.m.
I am responsible for his breaking his wrist. He'd visited me in my New York apartment and kindly went up the ladder provided to change a light bulb in a 13' high ceiling. The ladder broke. He had great fun telling everyone at Genghis that his broken wrist was my fault. Fortunately, although he had not wanted to go to emergency, I insisted he did. I was more concerned with his stomach, since his arms were working fine, but he had a hair line fracture in his wrist.
During his planning stage for Genghis Cohen, I attended a few dinners while he interviewed Chinese chefs - great food! His delight in constantly rebuilding the restaurant (never knew what alterations would be made each time I came to LA), and in establishing the Cantina as a "must perform at music" venue was infectious.
My favorite story among so many - his reaction to my commenting one morning as I came out of the spare bedroom and said (was working for Imago by now) that I may be fired by the end of the week - "you make dreadful coffee!" Retreated to the guest bathroom to mutter a little, before returning and asking how did he like it?
Allan's sympathy and empathy when my brother was going through the a dreadful divorce and custody battle remains indelibly imprinted in my memory - I fled to him in tears many times. Before finding a house together, my brother and his eldest daughter were able to seek shelter (from a set-up for spousal abuse) at Allan's Flores Street apartment (he was in Nashville visiting Toni Wine) just before Chrismas that year, 1997.
His knowledge of music is phenomenal. He has introduced me to some of the most interesting men, Michael Ochs and Kenny Schaeffer, are just two of them.
My last trip to Palm Springs was with him to visit Richard and Patti Kimble. Richard and he had me in constant fits of laughter as they shared their music biz stories and I really wish he'd write a book.
Life is full of people that come and go. Most of them can go, and that's fine, Allan - never.
Can't remember the name of Artie's song, however, was convinced it was a hit and had persuaded Private Stock to invest in Pete Gage (of Vinegar Joe fame) producing it with Linda Kendricks, who I had met when she was a back up singer to Elton or Kiki. A rather crazy woman, with the most beautiful blue eyes, a great voice and pretty stunning. As an aside - Nicky Graham of CBS actually suggested that we were having a gay affair - being pretty naive still, didn't quite get what he was suggesting, but when the proverbial penny dropped, he nearly had my salad in his lap! Not that I have any problem with people's sexual orientation, it's just that by then I was already pretty fed up with being accused of having affairs with anyone in trousers, now a woman too! Linda had been a back up singer with Elton, or Kiki. Anyway, Pete and I thought the song needed a bridge!
Now as General Manager of Chrysalis you would think that both the imprudence and impudence (especially as the legendary copyright expert, Bernard Brown of Apple had helped me learn so much more about copyright law; which I'd started doing at Music Sales; when I was Gen. Man. of Big Pig and Rocket) of my action would have struck me. Besides which, no one was looking to share in the copyright neither Pete Gage, nor me for Chrysalis. Just wanted a hit single, and I think a writer's credit for Pete for the bridge.
My first day in my lovely LA office with a patio and humming birds (later lost to the creative genius, Billy Bass) life was going well.
My first appointment - Artie Wayne and Allan Rinde.
Artie was extremely annoyed and agitated that I had dared to add a bridge to the song he wrote about his love for his grandmother. I was totally horrified and upset that I had descrated something so special to him, and immediately offered to have it removed. That's not what Artie was looking for, but that's for him to write about.
Allan was there to keep him company.
That evening coincidentally, I met Allan again at dinner with one of Ten Years After, Ric Lee (another good man) and a life long friendship began.
Allan rescued me when my heart was broken by a winsome blonde man shortly after my move to LA (he did not like how I cleaned the faucets; the end came when he took me to Joshua Tree and ignored me for the entire time we stayed there, although I still have a double pink silk scarf I bought from Palm Springs' BoJangles), and thereafter rescued me several times more from other unwise choices. A great deal of my spare time was spent up at his and Richard Kimble's house in Laurel Canyon. The two of them generally had me in constant fits of laughter.
I also learned that he had introduced Blondie to Chrysalis, which he has never been acknowledged for.
Allan is extremely intelligent, has a caustic wit, and is thoroughly delightful. When I moved to New York, in spite of the fact that I could stay in a hotel I always stayed with Allan, which did mean that no matter what time I had gone to bed the night before I was to be awoken by the famed Holloway Cleaners starting up their business at around 6 a.m.
I am responsible for his breaking his wrist. He'd visited me in my New York apartment and kindly went up the ladder provided to change a light bulb in a 13' high ceiling. The ladder broke. He had great fun telling everyone at Genghis that his broken wrist was my fault. Fortunately, although he had not wanted to go to emergency, I insisted he did. I was more concerned with his stomach, since his arms were working fine, but he had a hair line fracture in his wrist.
During his planning stage for Genghis Cohen, I attended a few dinners while he interviewed Chinese chefs - great food! His delight in constantly rebuilding the restaurant (never knew what alterations would be made each time I came to LA), and in establishing the Cantina as a "must perform at music" venue was infectious.
My favorite story among so many - his reaction to my commenting one morning as I came out of the spare bedroom and said (was working for Imago by now) that I may be fired by the end of the week - "you make dreadful coffee!" Retreated to the guest bathroom to mutter a little, before returning and asking how did he like it?
Allan's sympathy and empathy when my brother was going through the a dreadful divorce and custody battle remains indelibly imprinted in my memory - I fled to him in tears many times. Before finding a house together, my brother and his eldest daughter were able to seek shelter (from a set-up for spousal abuse) at Allan's Flores Street apartment (he was in Nashville visiting Toni Wine) just before Chrismas that year, 1997.
His knowledge of music is phenomenal. He has introduced me to some of the most interesting men, Michael Ochs and Kenny Schaeffer, are just two of them.
My last trip to Palm Springs was with him to visit Richard and Patti Kimble. Richard and he had me in constant fits of laughter as they shared their music biz stories and I really wish he'd write a book.
Life is full of people that come and go. Most of them can go, and that's fine, Allan - never.
Perplexed
I was not particularly a fan of Monty Python when it first became all the rage in the UK, possibly because it was on every week, and became the thing along with football (soccer in the US) that everyone in a male oriented world talked about.
However, I think that if I can look at my current state of living under constant duress, and compare it to the Ministry of Silly Walks, I can call it a period of silly times.
I was given the gift of being able to laugh at myself. I did lose that for a while when depression became bleak beyond black, however, it has popped up again - thank goodness.
Because it seems that no matter what step I take forward, I get stuck.
Friday I visited my gastroentrologist (think that's correct), a very pleasant man, who I trust. Which given the fact that in my late teens and early 20s I grew up with several junior doctors as friends, trust is not a word I use lightly in reference to doctors in general.
On my paternal side we have lots of cancers, however, especially from grandmother, through father and his sister, we have stomach and colon cancer. Neither of which will kill you, if you get them in time.
And I have delayed
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Unbreak My Heart
One of Diane Warren's many number 1's. The Bee Gees "How Do I Mend A Broken Heart" and Frank Wildhorn/Chuck Jackson "Where Do Broken Hearts Go".
Grieving - the 5 processes of - "from Wikipedia Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross posited sequential stages of grief including denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, which are commonly referred to as the "grief cycle."
I never remember the 5 stages easily, however, I have also read that you don't go through them in a specific order, you go through the five as you feel. And you may repeat them over and over.
A thriving business has sprung up for grief counsellors, who help people who have lost loved ones to death. I have met some and know it is a business for them, and I have met others, who simply have incredible empathy for another's pain.
The five stages are applicable to losing a home, a job, a loved one to death, a loved one to divorce, any loss significant to the person concerned.
I have lost my dog, Anita. And cannot find a way through the pain yet. I don't want to walk the streets where I live, where I used to walk with her. I don't want to wake up and not see her face. I don't want to not be able to snuggle close to her and lay my head on her body, which was so soft, furry and comforting. I would gladly vacuum up all her hair again, or brush her daily, sometimes a chore, but it wouldn't be now. I can see her eyes clearly, they were so beautiful and we looked into each other. I simply just don't want to be without her.
I cannot remember experiencing unconditional love except from my Irish grandmother, until Anita came into my life. And she just simply loved me. Such a simple love and so comforting, and it's gone.
Yes, I know she remains in my heart and I can look at her photograph, but these are not enough.
Although a simple memory has just popped into my head. My brother, Darren and his wife, Becky brought their two sons, Ben and Luke to LA a few years ago. When they came through customs at LAX, Ben ran to me and put his arms around me and held me for such a long time. That felt so good and safe.
So I cry and cry, and am quiet.
Grieving - the 5 processes of - "from Wikipedia Dr. Elisabeth Kübler-Ross posited sequential stages of grief including denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, which are commonly referred to as the "grief cycle."
I never remember the 5 stages easily, however, I have also read that you don't go through them in a specific order, you go through the five as you feel. And you may repeat them over and over.
A thriving business has sprung up for grief counsellors, who help people who have lost loved ones to death. I have met some and know it is a business for them, and I have met others, who simply have incredible empathy for another's pain.
The five stages are applicable to losing a home, a job, a loved one to death, a loved one to divorce, any loss significant to the person concerned.
I have lost my dog, Anita. And cannot find a way through the pain yet. I don't want to walk the streets where I live, where I used to walk with her. I don't want to wake up and not see her face. I don't want to not be able to snuggle close to her and lay my head on her body, which was so soft, furry and comforting. I would gladly vacuum up all her hair again, or brush her daily, sometimes a chore, but it wouldn't be now. I can see her eyes clearly, they were so beautiful and we looked into each other. I simply just don't want to be without her.
I cannot remember experiencing unconditional love except from my Irish grandmother, until Anita came into my life. And she just simply loved me. Such a simple love and so comforting, and it's gone.
Yes, I know she remains in my heart and I can look at her photograph, but these are not enough.
Although a simple memory has just popped into my head. My brother, Darren and his wife, Becky brought their two sons, Ben and Luke to LA a few years ago. When they came through customs at LAX, Ben ran to me and put his arms around me and held me for such a long time. That felt so good and safe.
So I cry and cry, and am quiet.
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