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	<title>WIRL Project &#187; Death</title>
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	<description>What It&#039;s Really Like.</description>
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		<title>This I Believe</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/this-i-believe/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/this-i-believe/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Thu, 25 Jun 2015 18:00:57 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Entertainment]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Believe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Cancer]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[cry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Death]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Die]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sad]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Words]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7188</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[&#8220;I believe that taking your last breath does not mean you are dead. I believe that you die twice; once when you take your last breath, and again when someone whispers your name for the last time.&#8221; &#8211; Banksy When I was 9 years old, my aunt died of cancer. I remember getting the call from my father telling me that she had passed in the night with him by her side. He watched her pass, he watched her take her last breath, and he heard her last words. &#8220;She was turning purple, getting pale in the face, she was dying,&#8221; My dad said. My father had lost his sister that day and I had lost an amazing aunt. I remember visiting her like it was yesterday. She loved to talk. She loved her husband, and she loved her kids. But two years after she died, her husband got cancer. My uncle went blind, he got sicker and sicker. He left a granddaughter behind, two daughters, and three sons. But Aunt Tina did not know. She did not know that her husband would soon be gone, too. Through her chemotherapy there were times when she wished she would die. Her hair was all gone, she lost more than half her original body weight, her cheeks were so sunken in to her face that it looked like she hadn&#8217;t eaten for weeks, and she could hardly walk. Recognizing people close to her even became a struggle. Sadly, sometimes I wished she would go, just so she wouldn&#8217;t feel the pain anymore. Even though it had been a year since I had seen her last, I knew she couldn&#8217;t have looked any better. I knew she was worse, and that the pain was killing her more than the cancer was. I wanted her better, but I knew she wouldn&#8217;t be. After all, it would have been selfish of me to force her through more treatment. I did not go to her funeral. I did not see her die. I wasn&#8217;t allowed to go. My father told me that I wouldn&#8217;t have wanted to go, that I wouldn&#8217;t have wanted to see a dead person. Instead I cried, like anyone would with such a loss. I was nine, and even though I was still a child, I understood. I knew where she had gone. She is where we all end up some day. Maybe that place is called heaven, maybe it isn&#8217;t. But she is in a better place now, where all the pain is gone. She is where we all end up someday. She is also in my heart. She is where she belongs; everywhere and nowhere at once. Aunt Tina is not dead. Uncle Tink is not dead. They are both soft whispers in the mouths of many. Their names have not been said for the last time. They are not dead. This I believe. This I will always believe.]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Should Coulda Woulda</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/should-coulda-woulda/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/should-coulda-woulda/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Fri, 19 Jun 2015 08:30:22 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Anne Bardsley]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Family]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[AIDS]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Brother]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Death]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Die]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Friend]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Friendship]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Heaven]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Hell]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Journey]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[love]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pray]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Sign]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Spirit]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=7123</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[“Dr. Mort, report to emergency. Dr. Mort, report to emergency STAT.” The operator’s nasal voice roared in my head as the odor of disinfectants crawled up my nostrils. It was suffocating. The “Bing” of the elevator was a welcome relief from the chaos in the hall and in my mind. One by one, floor by floor, they crammed me further into to the back. An intern with huge, dark circles under his eyes, played with his stethoscope to avoid my eyes. No words were meant to be spoken in this sterile place. The arrow pointed up to heaven, as we approached the fifteenth floor, yet my heart knew we were headed toward hell. I adjusted my sunglasses to shield my eyes and especially my heart. The heavy metal doors screeched open. My wobbly knee headed toward room 1512. The bright linoleum corridor ran the length of a football field.  At the twenty yard line, I passed a young man gripping his side rails of his bed. An older woman spoon fed him as tears streamed down her face. At the forty yard line, a man stared into space, hooked up to bottles that drip..drip…dripped life into his veins. His dark, glazed eyes stared past me. At the sixty yard line my heart sympathized with a running back. I couldn’t catch my breath. My clammy fingers reached for the already damp tissues in my pocket. I closed my eyes refusing to believe that my friend Tom’s room was approaching at the eighty yard line. There would be no touchdown today. I’d blocked out the four letters, AIDS. I prayed this was just a nightmare. Any minute I’d wake up and my friend would be his old self. Surely the blood test was mistaken. The doctors were wrong! Even now as the wall supported me, my heart tried to follow this path of denial. I pushed my sunglasses back into place and blinked my eyes toward the ceiling to keep the tears at bay. I met Tom five years prior to him getting sick. He was a business associate and we quickly became friends. My husband and I were very fond of him. I used to joke that if I could pick a brother, I would pick him. He would make a perfect uncle for our kids. His job as a sales rep was to convince us to sell more products. He did so by complaining that if we didn’t increase our sales, he’d be forced to replace his blazing red BMW with an olive green, used truck for his sales calls.  He would grimace and tug on the collar of his Polo shirt looking like a forlorn kid. “Come on, Anne. Please, I can’t drive a truck” he stuttered, like truck was a dirty word. My husband, Scott, suggested he get mag wheels. “You’d be great driving a nice truck.” Tom broke into one of his award winning laughs.  He was twenty- five then. He had it all: charm, a great sense of humor, self- confidence. He was tall with sun bleached streaks in his brown hair, tan and had the world in his hands. &#160; As I reached room 1512, I lifted my sunglasses, but closed my eyes and prayed. “Dear God, don’t let this be true.” Gently I pushed the door open. His eyes were so sunken that his eyebrows looked like caterpillars. He was sound asleep. His once trim body was a bag of bones. Little sticks poked out of the covers making his feet look gigantic in comparison. A thunder storm raged in my chest. I gulped for air. He opened his eyes and smiled. “Hey stranger,” he said softly as we hugged hello. And then the damn burst without warning. Tears rolled down my face. “It’s alright,” he lied to me, patting my back.  His backbones felt so fragile, I was afraid I’d squeeze him to death. “You’re my only visitor,” he said quietly. His family lived states away. His eyes, once full of spark, were dull and tired as he stared out the window. “I’m going home to my parent’s house. My mom is going to keep my dog. He’ll have a good home. But who will drive my beamer?” he grinned. He gulped when he asked, “Who will watch over my mom after I’m gone? I’m her favorite.” My heart was so heavy that he would be leaving this world so soon. I told him, “Tom, if I could ever choose a brother, I would pick you. I can’t imagine a better brother for me.” He laughed. Already I was missing my “pick a brother” choice. Hours later, we hugged farewell and we vowed to keep in touch. I promised to write him funny letters to cheer him up. Emotions and words were circling in my head. My heart was breaking. I wanted to ask him to send me a sign that he’d made it to heaven. Just the thought brought a sting to my eyes and the firing range blasted my heart. “No tears, No tears,” he insisted, raising his skinny arms in protest. His haggard face turned toward away to avoid my eyes.  He rubbed his chin nervously. Without tears, I couldn’t say, “I’m going to miss you. You are a kindred spirit and I’m glad our paths crossed. I wish you a sweet and painless journey. I hope the angels escort you on gentle wing, so swift that it feels smoother than a ride in your BMW&#8230;Only the best for you!” The words lodged in my throat. I wanted to tell him. I really did, but I put on my darkest shades and walked out the door.]]></description>
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		</item>
		<item>
		<title>What It&#8217;s Really Like to Die</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/what-its-really-like-to-die/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/what-its-really-like-to-die/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Sun, 29 Mar 2015 09:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[WIRL Project]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Life/Leisure]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Death]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Die]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Life]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memory]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Religion]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Science]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[What It's Really Like]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[White Light]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WIRL]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=4561</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[So what happens when we die? It&#8217;s hard to figure this one out because, well&#8230;once someone dies, we can&#8217;t really ask them what it was like. But, some people have instances where they have nearly died and they lived to tell their story. Actually, some people, in a scientific sense, have actually died (for a few moments), came back, and lived on to tell their story of what it was really like. Religious or not, this article is very interesting because it unveils something we know little about. Do people see &#8220;the light&#8221;? How can they remember what happened if they&#8217;re dead? Is this all bogus? What do you think?]]></description>
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		<slash:comments>0</slash:comments>
		</item>
		<item>
		<title>Gone but Never Forgotten</title>
		<link>http://www.wirlproject.com/gone-but-never-forgotten/</link>
		<comments>http://www.wirlproject.com/gone-but-never-forgotten/#comments</comments>
		<pubDate>Tue, 03 Mar 2015 23:00:48 +0000</pubDate>
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kassidy Everard]]></dc:creator>
				<category><![CDATA[Love/Relationships]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Death]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Loved One]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Memories]]></category>

		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://www.wirlproject.com/?p=3704</guid>
		<description><![CDATA[When someone dies it is easy for us to lock our memories away, thinking that it is just too hard to talk about them anymore.  Often times, we tell ourselves that it didn&#8217;t happen and that they are just on a very long vacation&#8230;a vacation that they will never return from.  We can never tell ourselves that we will never see them again because we cannot believe that its true. When someone asks what happened,  you&#8217;ll tell them that they died. You&#8217;ll think about it for a second, but you won&#8217;t choke on the words because to you they have not died. To you they are sitting on a beach or in the mountains and probably just have really bad signal. The memory of the person is well off in your head, constantly repeating the best moments over and over again, almost as if a broken record sits on a record player. I believe that as long as you say the persons name when talking about them, as long as you still do things in honor of them, as long as you remember what they lived for, that they are not dead. They are not dead until their name is said for the last time. Whether that be a year from now, or thirty years from now, is entirely up to us to decide. When mourning a death, we often accept the &#8220;I&#8217;m sorry&#8221; and the &#8220;I send my condolences ,&#8221; but never do we hear a &#8220;what was he/She like? &#8220; We all know that we appreciate the &#8220;I&#8217;m sorry,&#8221; but that&#8217;s just not what we wanted to hear. It isn&#8217;t your fault&#8230;so why are you apologizing? Instead, ask what the person was like. Not only does this engage in a new conversation to avoid an awkward one, but it also shows that you genuinely care about the loss. Plus, it gives the person that is mourning a chance to remember all of the great things about their perished loved one instead of continuously revisiting the tragic event that occurred. One of the hardest things to do is tell someone that a loved one has died. You&#8217;d much rather tell them that you didn&#8217;t get a job, that you failed a test, that you have the flu&#8230;but never is it invigorating to admit that you have lost something that is irreplaceable. Sometimes the only thing we want to do is lock ourselves in our room, shut the door to the rest of humanity, and pretend that time has stopped in its tracks. Of course we don&#8217;t want to think about our loss, but what else are we possibly going to be able to think about? It is crucial that we think about all of the time we have had with them before they left, rather than all of the time we will lose with them from this moment on.  We must always remember that they wouldn&#8217;t want us to cry about their death, but smile about their life. Death takes a body off of the earth, but renews memories in our heads. As long as we live, our names will be repeated. And as long as we are dead, our names will be remembered.]]></description>
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