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Paul Lawson Frank
March 7, 1969 ~ August 2, 2017 (age 48) 48 Years Old Light a Candle
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Message from Vonda K. Moss
August 23, 2017 6:04 PM
"My Friend just died. I don't know what to do"
A lot of people responded. Than there's one old guy's incredible comment that stood out from all the rest that might just change the way we approach life and death.
"Alright here it goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
"I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies. No matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love and the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
"As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
"In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks. maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything....and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
"Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An Anniversary, A Birthday, or Christmas, Or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
"Take if from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves, and lots of shipwrecks."
With Fred & Joyce Frank, George & Melissa Cook, David & Dora Frank and Daniel Frank <3
A lot of people responded. Than there's one old guy's incredible comment that stood out from all the rest that might just change the way we approach life and death.
"Alright here it goes. I'm old. What that means is that I've survived (so far) and a lot of people I've known and loved did not. I've lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can't imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here's my two cents.
"I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don't want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies. No matter the circumstances. But I don't want it to "not matter". I don't want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love and the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can't see.
"As for grief, you'll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you're drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it's some physical thing. Maybe it's a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it's a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.
"In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don't even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks. maybe months, you'll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out. But in between, you can breathe, you can function. You never know what's going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything....and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.
"Somewhere down the line, and it's different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An Anniversary, A Birthday, or Christmas, Or landing at O'Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you'll come out.
"Take if from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don't really want them to. But you learn that you'll survive them too. If you're lucky, you'll have lots of scars from lots of loves, and lots of shipwrecks."
With Fred & Joyce Frank, George & Melissa Cook, David & Dora Frank and Daniel Frank <3
A candle was lit by Vonda K. Moss
on August 17, 2017 8:21 AM
Fred, Joyce and Family... May the constant love of caring friends soften your sadness, May cherished Memories bring you moments of Comfort, May lasting peace surround your grieving hearts. I am so sorry for your Loss. My deepest sympathies. I miss you my dear Friend.
Fred, Joyce and Family... May the constant love of caring friends soften your sadness, May cherished Memories bring you moments of Comfort, May lasting peace surround your grieving hearts. I am so sorry for your Loss. My deepest sympathies. I miss you my dear Friend.
A candle was lit by Vonda
on August 17, 2017 8:06 AM
A candle was lit by Dee Dee and Gary
on August 13, 2017 2:09 PM
A candle was lit by Melissa
on August 10, 2017 11:02 AM
A candle was lit by Joe, Holli, Josh and Lani
on August 7, 2017 8:47 AM
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