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some are good, some are bad |
Discussion:
some are good, some are bad
Andrea Krause
· 22 years, 3 months ago
I guess it's just the feeling of shock and sadness that somebody let it get THAT bad that it killed them, you know? We tend to worry about folks that do drugs but feel that while they're alive there's still hope. But when they're gone...there's sadness at the tragedy and anger at the person for letting it get so far. I don't know.
And I think it's what killed them that carries the stigma. Pot is seen as less dangerous. But, I think if someone died as a result of the pot (like driving being impaired) then THAT would be what's remembered, you know? It's just that it's so much less often that pot is the culprit. I'm sorry for your loss. :( ![]() Thank you for your reply. I don't know why I immediately (i.e. within 4 posts) went into the subject of my dad; I had meant it to be more of a comments on drugs in general, but oh well. Have you ever seen the Simpsons where they use Springfield as a landfill? They keep packing the garbage into the ground, keep on packing the trash down, until it starts to overwhelm everything (i.e. spurting from the ground). I think that's how grief is sometimes. You take your feelings, think you've dealt with them and push them away. And sometimes it just jumps back out 'atcha. I think a <textarea> isn't really the place for this but, I'm sorry for your loss as well. Your surname seems very familar to me, dunno why... I'm sure it'll come to me. Just for your info, you have the debatable honor of being the first Fruhead to interact with me. :) ![]() Wooohooo!! :)
It's always good to be a welcome wagon. :)
From what I've been told...the grief never really goes away...just fades. I'm still not used to not having a dad yet.
Welcome to Fruhead.com :) ![]() You are definately a welcome wagon :) One last thought and then I'll quit adding comments to this thing: When the police arrived at my grandparents to let us know that they had found my dad, I was away with my uncle at his house. My grandfather drove over to tell me in person, partly because he's the responsible sort but mostly because he couldn't deal with everyone being emotional. I remember not hearing him the first time, he had to repeat it to me. I remember getting in the car to drive back to the house. I was kind of spaced out, starting out the window and trying to figure out what I was going to say to my then-17-year old pregnant sister when my grandfather started talking “Mike,” he said, “a lot of people are going to tell you that this feeling will pass, that this grief will go away. But they're liars. The feeling, this pain, never goes away.” It took me a long time, years, before I finally understood what he really meant. It's not the intense, I-can't-handle-life grief that doesn't go away. It's that subtle pain, that sense of loss, of regret, that never really fades. It's reaching for the phone after a big accomplishment, getting halfway through dialing the numbers before you realize that there's no one on the other end of the phone anymore. But life goes on, and despite everything it does get better. But the grief never leaves. Thank you for listening; if my tone isn't clear above, I'm more bittersweet than depressed ;) ![]() ![]() ![]() You must first create an account to post.
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