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Sylvia Rose’s Story – Part Eight

Depression AJ 12

I know now why the Caged Bird Sings – Maya Angelou

One evening after a very heated argument with my daughter; anger in her eyes she turned to me and said, “Happiness comes from within, you create your own happiness. Get your shit together. You have to love yourself before you can possibly love anyone. Look at all your failed relationships; they didn’t last because you can’t even love yourself”!Love Yourself First

After many tears in my room, it got me thinking, she was right. How could I possibly move on with my life if there was so much inner hate? I made a decision then; I would make a concerted effort to work on my life and my self-happiness. There were places I knew exactly where I needed to start.

Why not start the series at the beginning.

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A House Divided against Itself – Part Four

Unity

Life returned to a sense of normality, which after two months was turned completely upside down.

It happened when the husband awoke  at two in the morning to find he was alone in bed. He called out softly to his wife and on getting no response; he got up and made his way through the house and on reaching the lounge he heard soft sounds like crying coming from behind the closed door of the study. He tapped on the door and made his way though. His wife was curled Husband Comfortingup on the big easy chair weeping. He reached down to her small, almost frail body and without a word, his big arms enfolded her and he gently lifted her off the chair and sitting in the chair he moved her onto his lap as he would have done with the smallest of his children.

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A House Divided against Itself – Part Three

Unity

It seemed within in a mere matter of days that life in the household resumed its usual ways and the Australian adventure had lost its focus; but this was only short lived.

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Letting My Son Go

Let Go

Wednesday morning 4.30 am, I lay awake knowing that today I will scatter my son’s ashes.

I force myself out of bed; dawn is breaking and I go out into the garden, where I laid my son’s ashes some weeks ago. Still in my pajamas, I lift my son’s ashes, in a tiny box, from under a rose bush and take them inside, placing them on the table. I stand, there, alone and dazed, not even able to think. There’s no one that I can turn to, no one that can hold me and comfort my shocked soul. Tears are falling, but I’m not crying.

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