Archive for year 2014
10 Inspiring Death Quotes
1.
“I do not fear death. I had been dead for billions and billions of years before I was born, and had not suffered the slightest inconvenience from it.”
– Mark Twain
2.
“From my rotting body, flowers shall grow and I am in them and that is eternity.” – Edvard Munch
3.
“I find it delightful that the optimal way I can live my life from moment-to-moment is also the optimal way I can prepare for my death, and equally delightful that acknowledging our future death is a prerequisite for living a truly joyful life now.” Ram Dass, Still Here
4.
“The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time.” – Mark Twain
5.
“Death is always close by. It is almost like your shadow. You may be aware, you may not be aware, but it follows you from the first moment of your life to the very last moment. Death is a process just as life is a process, and they are almost together, like two wheels of a bullock cart. Life cannot exist without death; neither can death exist without life.” : Osho Rajnish
6.
7.
The flowers bloom, then wither …
the stars shine and one day become extinct …
This earth, the sun, the galaxies and even the big universe
someday will be destroyed …
Compared with that,the human life is only a blink,
just a little time …
In that short time, the people are born, laugh, cry, fight,
are injured, feel joy, sadness, hate someone, love someone.
All in just a moment.
And then, are embraced by the eternal sleep called death.
– Virgo Shaka (Saint Seya)
8.
“Madame, all stories, if continued far enough, end in death, and he is no true-story teller who would keep that from you.” – Ernest Hemingway
9.
“It seems to me most strange that men should fear; Seeing that death, a necessary end, Will come when it will come”- Shakespeare in Julius Caesar
10.
Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life.
Because almost everything — all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure — these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important. Remembering that you are going to die is the best way I know to avoid the trap of thinking you have something to lose. You are already naked. There is no reason not to follow your heart.”
“No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there.
And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent. It clears out the old to make way for the new. Right now the new is you, but someday not too long from now, you will gradually become the old and be cleared away. Sorry to be so dramatic, but it is quite true.” — Steve Jobs
“Your scars are beautiful”: A guest post on self-harm
Good writing happens when you are whisked away from your own reality and placed into another reality. It happens when someone else’s narrative becomes apart of your own.
Valuable writing happens when you’re whisked away into a perspective that you don’t understand. It happens when you begin to see multiple dimensions of a narrative you previously saw as one dimensional.
The following guest post by Jocelyn Ressler is that rare piece of writing that’s both good and valuable.
***Trigger Warning***: If you’re sensitive to writing that deals with self-harm and suicide, please don’t read this article.
Do not tell me my scars are beautiful
I did not do this to myself to look beautiful
To appeal to some fucked up
perception of what beauty is
What scars are
What scars represent
Was I beautiful when I was biting my lip
pressing scalding metal to my flesh?
Was it attractive when my mom laid me down on the floor
blood pumping from my arm
the day I went too deep?
Would you tell me I’m beautiful if I didn’t have scars?
Would you have looked twice at me
without the crisscrossing white lines
and the purple blotches?
Wouldn’t it be sad
if the most beautiful thing about me
is the hate that I carry on my body?
“Scars are tattoos with better stories”
Better stories?
Better for who?
Nobody looks at my arms and sees
a good story
A good time
A good memory
Looking at myself
I read the stories
Stories of chaos
Stories of pain
Some marks I remember making so clearly
Others are a mystery
Some of the lines spell out thoughts
Short blurbs of my conscience
“Dad”
on my calf
next to
“Goodnight”
“Whore”
across my chest
“Die” or “Death”
many times
“Fat”
on my stomach
“Get out”
on my right thigh
“23”
on my left
“Rape”
on my arm
and ironically
the biggest
“I know better”
on my leg
Looking at my tattoos
I see the stories there too
Stories of hope
Remembrance
Influence
So tell me
How are scars better stories?
Are they preferable?
Desired?
I’d rather hand over some cash
for an inked man to press needles to my skin
Than give up my life
to take a razor to the same skin
“Never be ashamed of your scars”
Am I to be proud?
If I had harmed anyone else
the way I harmed myself
would you tell me
not to feel remorse?
Why wouldn’t I be ashamed?
I am living on the border
of a society that glorifies my behavior
and a society that condemns it
But neither
will ever understand
“Maybe you should cover your arms; kids will be there.”
“Are you emo or something?”
“Cookie cutter.”
“Why haven’t you just killed yourself?”
“You’re cute. Messed up skin kinda doesn’t help you though.”
“What are you going to tell your kids?”
“Ew.”
“Why are we on a team with the emo girl?”
“Stop trying to get everyone’s attention.”
“Why are your sleeves rolled up?”
“I wasn’t going to tell you, but that looks really ugly.”
“You’re wearing a jacket to homecoming, right?”
And today in a coffee shop:
“Have some self-respect.”
Please read Jocelyn’s most recent piece, “Frozen in Time.”
Ten Cancer Scars
Cancer will scar you in one way or another. It may scar your body. Or it can scar your soul. Roughly one out of four people die from cancer. And roughly 50% will fight or develop some form of cancer in their lifetime.
For many, fighting cancer becomes a battle … a battle that changes us. Fighting cancer can make you gain new perspective and find a better appreciation of life, but it also damages and kills. It can provide both a beautiful perspective and horrible fear and pain.
I’ve often thought that the visual damage that cancer causes provides an accurate physical depiction of what cancer can do to our psyches. It can distort us, it removes pieces of our life, it can render us feeling less than whole. And the cuts are hardly ever neat and clean. Cancer is feisty, unruly and unempathetic. Cancer is an enemy of health.
This is what cancer looks like:
1.
2.
From IMGUR: “Done in February to remove my pelvic lymph nodes and appendix to run further tests on to see if the cancer had spread. You can see the incision runs about an inch short of the previous incision. This time I had 29 staples, instead of 37.”
3.
From IMGUR: “Today, I am officially 10 years cancer free! Here is a before and after photo to show how far I’ve come. Kicking cancer’s ass 10 years and counting!”
4.
5.
Via Mirror UK: The scars on Andre’s head after he underwent surgery for a brain tumor. A tumor that would eventually take his life.
6.
This incredible story and photo and comes from Huffington Post.
7.
From Deviant Art : “This was from a bone transplant that removed a cancerous bone tumor over two years ago, another year of chemotherapy and radiation followed. I’ve been in remission since Christmas 2010. I felt like a Warrior since. 
”
8.
This is from the photo documentary by Renée C. Byer called, “A Mother’s Journey”. A Mother’s Journey” was a series of photos, over the course of a year, about a boy at the age of 10 who was battling cancer.
9.
Scars from mouth cancer.
10.
From IMGUR: Most people hide them, but I love my scar because it means that I fought cancer and WON.
When an Obituary Mentions the Deceased’s Disdain of the Kardashians …
Brent Taylor from Ontario brought this obituary to my attention:
BROWNLEY, RAYMOND “BIG AL” ALAN
December 30, 1931 – September 21, 2014
Raymond Alan Brownley of Pittsburgh (Ingram Boro), Pennsylvania, died on September 21, 2014, at the age of 82, but his larger-than-life persona and trademark stubbornness will not be forgotten.
He was born on December 30, 1931, in McKees Rocks, Pennsylvania. He was the youngest son of the late William Franklin Brownley (born on October 28, 1894, in Newtown, Virginia, and died October 1, 1977, in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania) and Lucille Beverly Fauntleroy Brownley (born February 14, 1896, in King William, Virginia, and died October 8, 1956, in McKees Rocks, Pennsylvania).
Affectionately known as Big Al by his family and many friends, he was a plumber by trade, a tremendous gardener and avid hunter. He also enjoyed fishing and proudly displayed the stuffed barracuda he caught back in 1965, much to the dismay of his wife, Agnes Bargo Brownley, to whom he was married to for 24 years.
He despised canned cranberry sauce, wearing shorts, cigarette butts in his driveway, oatmeal, loud-mouth know-it-alls, Tabasco sauce, reality TV shows, and anything to do with the Kardashians.
But Big Al had many loves, too. He loved his wife, Agnes Bargo Brownley, who preceded him in death in 1990. He also dearly loved his children and grandchildren. Famously opinionated and short-tempered, Big Al handed these qualities down to his daughter, Jill Ann Brownley of Phoenix, Arizona, a sharp-tongued character in her own right. Attending trade school to be a plumber instead of going to college, Big Al’s strong work ethic and keen sense of wisely saving and investing his money live on with his son, Jeffrey Allen Brownley (Jill Shafranek Brownley), of New York. He took extreme pride in his two adorable grandchildren Derek Brownley (5) and Alexis Brownley (3), who affectionately called him Grandpa Al. He also loved milk shakes, fried shrimp, the Steelers, the Playboy channel, Silky’s Gentlemens Club, taking afternoon naps in his recliner, hanging out at the VFW, playing poker, eating jelly beans by the handful, and his hunting dogs-his favorite being Holly Hill Rip Van Winkle, a loyal beagle that answered to the nickname of Rip.
Big Al was world-renowned for his lack of patience, not holding back his opinion, and a knack for telling it like it is. He was highly proficient at cursing. He liked four-letter words just about as much as four-wheel drive pick-up trucks. He was a connoisseur of banana cream pie and a firm believer that ham sandwiches should only be served on Mancini’s bread. He always told you the truth, even if it wasn’t what you wanted to hear. He was generous to a fault, a pussy cat at heart, and yet he sugar-coated absolutely nothing. To quote Winston Churchill: “He was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.”
His fondness of spaghetti Westerns was only surpassed by his love of bacon, beer and butter pecan ice cream. He fondly reminisced about good friends, good drinks and good times at the Tri-Valley Sportsmens Club in Burgettstown. He was a long-time member of the Elks Club in McKees Rocks where he frequently bartended and generously donated his tips to charity. Quite a teller of tales, Big Al’s elaborate stories often were punctuated with the phrase, “And that’s when I kicked his ass.” He enjoyed outlaw country music: Waylon, Willie, Hank, Johnny. He was also on a first-name basis with the Four Horsemen of liquor: Jack, Jim, Johnnie and Jose.
Big Al had strong beliefs in which he never waivered: dog shit makes the best garden fertilizer; Heinz ketchup does not belong on a hotdog; and PennDOT should be embarrassed of the never-ending construction, detours and potholes on Route 28.
With his love for gardening and passion for hunting, Big Al was locally sourcing his food for decades long before it was the “in thing” to do. While a necessity in his youth growing up during the Depression, this passion for being self-sufficient was carried throughout his whole life. This Depression baby was ahead of his time with “being green,” as evidenced by the approximately 87 “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter” containers stacked neatly in his kitchen cupboard. The biggest challenge was actually finding the butter in his refrigerator with 13 containers of leftovers that all looked the same.
Big Al was known for his timeless words of wisdom, including “Life is hard; but it’s harder if you’re stupid” and “Don’t be a jackass.” He had a life-long ménage a trois with his homemade chili and Gas-X. He had a great fondness for sardines on crackers, stuffed cabbage (which he lovingly called hunky hand grenades), making turtle soup, and eating BLTs. And his famous holiday eggnog had enough whiskey to grow hair on your chest.
Also known as the Squirrel Whisperer, he communicated with the local red-tailed squirrels and fed them peanuts out of his hand. He took pride in his time served in the Navy on the USS San Marcos during the Korean War, often waxing nostalgia that the worst meal he’d ever eaten was Shit on a Shingle (creamed chipped beef on toast). His mantra of a girl in every port often led to a fight in every port. With a stink eye towards organized religion, Big Al was more spiritual than religious and enjoyed reading the Bible before bed each night and watching “church on TV” every Sunday morning.
What he lacked in stature, he compensated with an over-abundance of charisma, charm and feistiness. Big Al took fashion advice from no one. With his trademark white, v-neck t-shirts and strategically coiffed comb-over, his comfort far outweighed any interest in the latest fashion trends. He was well-stocked with white shoe polish to keep his tennis shoes looking pristine for prime rib dinners at Longhorn Steakhouse.
In the last few years, Big Al’s short-term memory loss was getting the best of him. On December 29, 2012-the day before his 81st birthday-he had a stroke that was a turning point in the decline of his health. His devout feistiness and stubbornness had served him well throughout his life. And even in his waning months, he was a model of strong will and sheer determination right up until the end of his journey here on earth. He will be greatly missed and fondly remembered by many friends, neighbors, nieces, nephews, and bun heads.
Also preceding Big Al in death were his older siblings: William Franklin Brownley Jr., Robert Fauntleroy Brownley, Richard Leonard Brownley, Virginia Lee Brownley Barnes, and Louise Beverly Brownley Kindle.
Tremendous heartfelt thanks go to Stacey Schaeffer and Barb Casey, truly compassionate and exceptional hospice nurses at ViaQuest Hospice, as well as Laniece Butler, who provided much more than just comfort for Big Al, but also provided a sense of humor, peace and tranquility during his transition from this life into the next. Many thanks also to the wonderful staff at Asbury Heights Nursing Home in Mt. Lebanon.
Visitation 6-8 p.m. Thursday, 1-3 and 6-8 p.m. Friday at the Schepner-Mcdermott Funeral Home, Inc., 165 Noble Ave., Crafton, where the Funeral Service will be held 10 a.m. Saturday with interment to follow, with full military honors, in Mount Calvary Cemetery, McKees Rocks. In lieu of the traditional Irish Wake, Family and friends are cordially invited to Downey’s House Restaurant, 6080 Steubenville Pike, Robinson Twp., PA 15136, for a Celebration of Life Luncheon at Noon for a mandatory shot and a beer, in a final toast in Big Al’s honor, the greatest Dad in the world.
– See more at: http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/postgazette/obituary.aspx?n=raymond-alan-brownley-big-al&pid=172561140&#sthash.owfIYYYX.dpuf
