I was searching for something and realized that often, too often,links expire (I'm talking about newspaper links..etc) so I am rethinking about just copy and pasting them instead of linking them...unless of course of course it's too long, which is often the case...like this sentence.

Any way...I then went to the sticky Artistic Expression, and remember how much I miss dear Lou-lou and how much I love Ellen Bass's poetry.

Don't Expect Applause
And yet, wouldn't it be welcome
at the end of each ordinary day?
The audience could be small,
the theater modest. folding chairs
in a church basement would do.
Just a short earnest burst of applause
that you got up that morning
and, one way or another,
made it through the day.

You soaped up in the steaming
shower, drank your Starbucks
in the car, and let the guy with the
Windex wipe your windshield
during the long red light at Broad Street.
Or maybe you were that guy,
not daring to light up
while you stood there because
everyone's so down on smoke these days.

Or you kissed your wife
as she hurried out the door, even though
you were pretty sure she was
meeting her lover at the Flamingo Motel,
even though you wanted to grab her
by a hank of her sleek hair.

Maybe your son's in jail.
Your daughter's stopped eating.
And your husband's still dead
this morning, just like he was
yesterday and the day before that.
And yet you put on your shoes
and take a walk, and when a neighbor
says Good moring, you say
Good morning back.

Would a round of applause be amiss?
Even if you weren't good.
If you yelled at your kid,
poisoned the ants, drank too much
and said that really stupid thing
you promised yourself you wouldn't say.
Even if you don't deserve it.

****************

by Ellen Bass The Human Line
________________

For Alffe
not for deserving it
so much as for wanting to give it
because you are who you are for we who are
here

Going to post another link because the article is too long to copy and paste...a great article by our Doc John...

http://psychcentral.com/blog/archive...icidal-intent/

Hugs for the room...Mark you are too kind! Or maybe just kind enough!

The End by Ellen Bass

All through the dark hours
she mumbled goodbye,
as though the word itself
could make it happen.

As if she were a novice witch
learning an old incantation,
Goodbye, she'd say
with fresh determination.

But night after night, the lungs
kept stealing air, the stubborn
muscle refused to give up.

Help me, she begged,
an ashy whisper. Please.
I stood in the cold spot in my heart
from where I could watch everything.
She was out beyond being a mother
and this my brief chance to know her.

In the morning, when the new
angel of morphine arrived
in its full brown bottle,
we funneled it into her throat.

My daughter helped me
and when the rattle began
she was closest. I leaned in behind,

It was like a birth that way -
The baby coming too fast
to change position-
and I thought, Okay,

She'll know how to do this.
And we kept at it together, both of us,
killing her as fast as we could.

Hard indeed.
Wow

http://www.southbendtribune.com/news...0,427158.story

I can't imagine being insensitive enough to ask someone that question!!

The stigma of suicide has affected the Strother family.
On October 3rd of 2008, Don Strother Jr. was lost to suicide.

I am Donna Sadler; I am a survivor that has no shame in being able to stand up and honor the ones that have been lost to suicide. I take a step in honor of Don Jr. every year to assist in the fundraising for suicide prevention in the Indianapolis Out of the Darkness community walk. Don Jr. was at the young age of twenty eight years old, a proud father, brother, uncle and a son. I am honored to say that in December of 2012, I was elected by several co-workers at Baldwin & Lyons for the Gift of Giving award... I was officially given the award on December 14th of 2012, for my volunteer service and commitment to AFSP. I do the volunteer work to help others never feel the way that I did on that day ~ October 3rd in 2008! I know that many run the other way when I mention suicide or they apologize and end the conversation... not me! I speak up and talk louder! I want to be heard, I want the world to know that suicide is occurring to people everywhere and it can happen to those who are right next to you! Don Jr. didn't have any diagnosed mental health issues, nor did I know the signs of suicide risk. Don Jr. had given a few prize positions away including one to me, a ring with a small cross on it! At the time I was excited because I had wanted it for a long time and it wasn't until it was too late... that I learned it was a sign. I now am aware of the signs of suicide, I learned them to late to help Don Jr., however, if we speak up and out ...then others may be aware before it's to late... To this day I am not able to explain why Don Jr. took his life that day, I just know that life had gotten the best of him and he lost the faith to hold on any longer. Don Jr. is loved and missed, however, he will never be forgotten by all the ones that loved him.

Good for her!! It should NOT be a conversation stopper! ~sigh

To speak up, inform, come alongside, and help.

In that darkness, I was trapped and thought only one escape was presented. I was giving things away, throwing things away, some now I wish had not slipped by my grasp in restrospect. We who have been in the darkness have SUCH profound need to be shown the light. Those around, if they tip to the awareness are at once shocked/fearful/wanting to help lest things go too far.

I am grateful to have opportunity to admit having been there, the means to recognition, the opportunity to reach out and perhaps save another grief.... the reward manifests in the heart.

Thank you Alffe.

Close with a poem inspired from darkness

Out of Darkness, Hope
M56

In the deep of my heart
a place filled with pain
a place, oh, so lonely,
may I reach out again?
To languish alone there
the light very dim
it seemed all steps forward
were aching and grim.
So easy the choice
could have been to remain
awash in self pity
alone still again.
Yet God in His great love
remained by my side.
He captured the sense
of this innermost plight.
The touch of His hand
burning clear to my soul;
redemption, salvation
shone light in this hole.
His fingers He wrapped
firmly ‘round pain filled heart
and cradled me near Him,
His sacrifice hard,
yet given His love,
price He paid there for me,
through darkness He reached
and with Hope set me free.

In fact, that question has never occurred to me when I learn I am speaking with a veteran. The deeper emotion which surfaces is an expression of gratitude for their sacrifice. I remember when quite young a friend who had been a happy, loving, open young man returned from Vietnam after serving his draft obligation. He was never ever the same following immersion into the cesspool of carnage.

Cannot debate the necessity of conflict to satisfaction without delving into political recriminations, while those who pay the price of service must always bear the cost of having served. Two things of which I am aware deeply, had patriots not risen to the fray there would be no United States of America and far later a maniacal Austrian would have continued to lead Germany through its reign of death.

Thus humbly to any veteran I offer thanks for their service and sacrifice.