This paper will address the importance of the grieving process to sustaining addiction recovery. In order to accomplish this I will utilize several sources which discuss the grieving process, including Elizabeth Kubler-Ross’s stages of grieving, J. William Worden’s book called “Grief Counseling and Grief Therapy”, and Robert Helgoe’s book “The Hierarchy of Recovery”. Additionally, some personal and professional experience will also be included.
There are three reasons that the grieving process is important to sustained, rewarding recovery. The first is many addicts have unresolved grief issues from their pasts. Perhaps the death of a relative or the dissolution of a close personal relationship has occurred. The use of drugs and alcohol hamper the grieving process, resulting in a delayed grief reaction. The loss is not grieved until the addictive use of drugs and alcohol has ceased and the feelings surrounding the loss are felt and processed.
A second reason that grieving is important to recovery is the result of the losses that occur due to addictive use. Many recovering addicts grieve time they have lost with family, time lost in or starting their careers, and possibly potentials or opportunities that were lost. Recovering addicts compare their progress in their lives to that of non-addicted peers, and they appear to fall short. Their peers have moved on in their careers, have had and raised families, and have many amenities that a person new to recovery may lack.
In order to discuss the third reason that the grieving process is essential to rewarding recovery I must first introduce a theory from Helgoe’s book, “Hierarchy of Recovery”. Helgoe divides recovery into two phases. The push phase is defined by the focus of motivation, which in this case is toward the crisis or events which led to treatment. More concisely, the recovering addict is staying clean to avoid the consequences they experienced due to active addiction. Their motivation is largely to avoid the life they were living, being pushed from an old life to a new.
In the pull phase the recovering person is drawn toward a more spiritual and fulfilling life. The focus of recovery is no longer avoidance of an old way of living, but attraction to a new way of being, and enjoyment of the rewards of recovery in the present. Furthermore, focus on continued self-discovery, and eventually self-expression are the focus.
Helgoe believes that in order to move into the pull phase of recovery, in which the rewards of recovery are found, a person must complete the grieving process for their addiction. Facing the fact that the use of a substance such as alcohol or drugs can never be relied upon again is a painful experience for any addict. The reality of living the rest of your life without drugs and alcohol is sometimes nearly impossible to fathom to those dependent upon them. When an addict gives up substances they are giving up a friend, a lover, and possibly the only relief they know. True acceptance of powerlessness over substances is a true loss. And according to Kubler-Ross, an authority on grief and grieving, we experience grief whenever we lose anything of importance.
As identified by Kubler-Ross, there are six stages of grieving. They are:
Shock: the inability to grasp the situation as it is presented. The information is too overwhelming to process. Usually lasts only a few minutes.
Denial: a belief that the news can not be correct, due to the pain associated with the loss.
Anger: diminishes the experience of the pain that comes with the loss. Can occur at person or thing lost, at God, or at self.
Bargaining: hope leads to bargaining, a defense mechanism that delays the pain of the loss temporarily, until the hope is extinguished.
Depression: works to dull the pain of the loss because it dulls nearly all experience, internal and external. (Hierarchy of Recovery, pgs 56-59)
According to Helgoe, “at this point people go in one of two directions: they either continue defending against the pain or they drop their defenses and experience the pain.” If they choose to continue to defend against the pain and not experience it, they “may resort to previously used (defenses, denial, anger, bargaining) and enter into what can be termed extended or chronic grief, a life debilitating situation often misdiagnosed”. (pg59-60)
Acceptance: the acceptance of the pain associated with the loss.
In the book “Grief Counseling and Grief Therapy” by J. William Worden, the grief process is divided into four tasks, all of which relate to the stages of grief previously mentioned. They are described in the following:
Task I- Accept the reality of the loss.
During this phase the denial of the loss, including denial regarding the meaning of the loss and/or the irreversibility of the loss are resolved. Relates to shock, denial, and bargaining.
Task II- Working through the pain.
During this phase the grieving work in relation to the pain is processed and resolved. Avoiding the pain prolongs the process, as does avoiding the anger. People avoid anger due to feeling guilty, such as being angry at deceased or at God. In relation to addiction, the recovering addict may be angry with God for making them an addict, angry with the disease of addiction, angry at themselves for being an addict, and angry at those who can drink or use socially. They may have pain related to not being able to use again, and the acceptance of powerlessness may hurt their image of self worth. Relates to anger and depression.
Task III- Adjustment to the environment.
During this phase the individual may need to re-identify him or herself and take on new roles.
Relates to the beginning of acceptance.
Task IV- Emotional relocation of the loss.
The emotional energy once tied to the loss is relocated. This is the final task, and as it relates to recovery the individual has now accepted the loss. Relates to the acceptance stage. This would lend itself to entering the pull stage of recovery, as identified by Helgoe.
There are an array of feelings that are considered normal in the grieving process. These include but are not limited to: sadness, anger, guilt and self reproach, anxiety, loneliness, fatigue, helplessness, shock, yearning, emancipation, relief, and numbness.
There are several complications that can occur during the grieving process. These include:
Delayed grief -the immediate emotional response is insufficient to the loss. (Grief Counseling and Grief Therapy)
Extended grief -emotional flatness, feelings of guilt.
Chronic grief -the continued use of defenses and not dealing with the pain associated with grief results in this. (Hierarchy of Recovery, pg65).
William Berry MS., CAP.
Program Director
Addiction Education Consultants
http://www.addictioneducationconsultants.com
954 306-0722
As a son of a mother who was an alcoholic, I can tell you from firsthand experience the cause of alcoholism. Unlike food that satisfies a physical need, alcohol which provides no bodily nourishment satisfies a spiritual need.
Alcohol is a mind-altering chemical and anesthetic that dulls the emotional pain of one’s existence. The gnawing internal dissatisfaction with life is the primary reason for substance abuse. Young men who don’t have the courage in and of themselves to approach a young lady think by drinking their inhibitions will lessen if not go away. Hence the dissatisfaction ultimately is with oneself and his or her life. Sadly many resort to substances before they work on themselves within. After the substance wears off you have got the same personal challenges and emotional pain to contend with.
My mother was always troubled by the fact she was adopted. Even though my beloved grandparents gave her all of their love and everything under the sun, she found no comfort within. My entire childhood all I knew about my mother was that she was either out getting drunk, in jail under arrest, or at a mental ward receiving psychiatric care for rehabilitation. I do have one fond memory from when I was about 5 years old of my mother rubbing my back while I was laying in bed, a sweet experience which I savor.Thankfully my maternal grandparents, father, and step-mother stood in the gap and cared for me in the absence of my mother.
Alcoholics have an intense spiritual thirst that if unmet will drive them as they seek to find spiritual harmony, whereby they can be made whole. The hippie movement of the 1960s rejected the progression of materialism their parents had made and replaced it with their form of a spiritual quest. Sadly their parents who came from a generation of little neglected to provide their children with some of the true spiritual riches they did have as they went hard after getting for them the things they did not. How ironic that the first American generation to have it all was the generation which turned to substances to find relief.
The great Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung wrote a letter in January 1961 to Bill Wilson (the founder of Alcoholics of Anonymous): “Alcohol in Latin is spiritus, and you use the same word for the highest religious experience as well as for the most depraving poison.”
Jesus said, “God is a Spirit: and they that worship Him must worship him in spirit and in truth. The true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him.” (John 4:24,23)
Jesus said to the Samaritan woman seeking to draw water from the well, “Whosoever drinks of this water shall thirst again: Whosoever drinks of the water that I shall give her shall never thirst; but the water that I shall give her shall be in her a well of water springing up into everlasting life.” (John 4:13-14)
Sadly my mother only got dead religion from her upbringing and never found her way to the best bartender – Christ the head of the Church. Her name, Marsha-Anne Krofchik, a cheerleader who attended Boone High School (one of two high-schools in Orlando before Disney World came to town). She made homecoming court, graduated from UCF with honors and I’m told by an Orlando Police Department Officer who knew her that she was the most beautiful young lady in the city of Orlando in her day. Unfortunately Marsha never discovered her inner beauty.
My aunt Paulette, her cousin, told me that when she saw Marsha she was either smiling real pretty or nearly crying as if something deep within was bothering her. I was 2 years old at that time.
My grandfather Paul Krofchik (retired Lt. Colonel, U.S. Army) who everyone said was the nicest man they’d ever met was deeply troubled by his only child’s battle with the bottle. He would often go driving around the city looking for her. I once saw it written outside of a local bar, “Don’t let Marsha in here!”
Daddy’s little girl died one early morning at 2am when running across a street drunk. She was hit by an 18 year-old driver who was also drunk. Drinking and driving is a deadly combination.
My father said at the funeral he had never seen my grandfather look so grievous. Pop-Pop (as I affectionately called my grandfather) was like a Dad to me. I and my grandma Nana adored him and he us. He never missed one of my baseball games. He participated in Cub Scouts with me. And so much more!
Ironically Pop-Pop had a problem putting down the bottle too, although he was a functional alcoholic. Apparently after losing his daughter Marsha and nearly losing my Nana too due to a hiatal hernia Pop-Pop started finding a degree of temporary comfort in the bottle.
I had noticed when I was staying with my grandparents and using Pop-Pop’s car that he had stashed some little vodka bottles in his trunk. Maybe in some strange way that is how he got closed to his deceased daughter. I tried to gently confront him about it and ask him to just drink at home and not in his car behind the wheel. His eyesight wasn’t the greatest anyhow. A couple years after my mom died, Pop-Pop took a bad fall around 11:30am at a local convenient store. I got to talk to him at the ER where he was admitted for the night. It was the last conversation I had with him, as within 24 hours he had a stroke and lost his ability to speak. Upon going to the store to retrieve his car I found two small bottles of vodka in the door compartment (one of which had been opened and was half empty).
Pop-Pop spent his last two months bed ridden in a nursing home and then died. My Nana and I missed him terribly.
All I can say is please don’t drink alcohol and subject your loved ones to such grief and misery.
The “new wine” of heaven is available for whosoever will drink of it (Acts 2:13). Ask and invite the Holy Spirit that rose Christ from the dead to come in and fill your troubled heart in Jesus’ name. I promise you once you taste of the rivers of life by the mighty Holy Spirit you shall never thirst again! (Revelation 22:17)
Paul Davis is a masterful poet, worldwide professional speaker, minister and author of several books including Breakthrough for a Broken Heart; and Stop Lusting & Start Living.
Paul is a life coach (relational & professional), popular keynote speaker, creative consultant, humor being, adventurer, explorer, mediator, liberator and dream-maker.
Paul’s compassion for people & passion to travel has taken him to over 50 countries of the world where he has had a tremendous impact. Paul has also brought revival to many in war-torn, impoverished and tsunami stricken regions of the earth. His organization Dream-Maker Ministries is building dreams, breaking limitations and reviving nations!
Paul’s Breakthrough Seminars inspire, awaken, impregnate with purpose, impart the fire of desire, catapult people into a new level of self-awareness, facilitate destiny discovery and dream fulfillment.
Contact Paul to minister, speak at your event or for life coaching: RevivingNations@yahoo.com, 407-967-7553
For additional info: http://www.DreamMakerMinistries.com, http://www.CreativeCommunications.TV
((Part Seven) (concerning the old folks, and Soldiering,
Larry, Richard, Tom and Mary: 1959-1970))
In Four Pieces
The Old Folks
Donkeyland had its old timers as well, they were always around, you just never seen much of them: Mrs. and Mr. Stanley, the old man had retired in 1959 from the Railroad, died in 1964, lived next door to the Evens, and to the opposite side, by the Williams, they’d sit on their front porch in the front part of the house or puttering about in the backyard garden by their garage or by their garage, the old man had bought a new 1959, Rambler, his pride and joy, and if he wasn’t on the front porch, or in the garden, or thereabouts, he’d be washing or waxing that Rambler, he did it more days than he drove it. They were good ole folks, busybodies, the boys in the neighborhood called them, but in reality they just minded their own business, and watched everybody else’s.
On Agate Street, a few streets over from Cayuga, Aunt Mary Clemens lived, of the old people, a sister to Anton Evens’ deceased wife, she was in her late ’70s. They were-for the most part, an uninteresting, soft voiced lot. Then there was Anton, who always looked old to his grandson Chick Evens, he was in 1965, seventy-four, a silent-if not grumbling-old man with thin white to brown hair who befriended the only Blackman in the neighborhood, and because of him, the boys didn’t cause the Blackman any trouble. But the Evens boys were questioned by the local gang members, voices saying “Why’s your grandpa catering to niggers?” But it was left at that.
Then Chick’s grandpa, that year, 1965, after the state surveyed the empty lot, finding out his garage was halfway on state property, he had to move it to the backyard, funny the old rickety, lopsided board outer-covering didn’t fall to pieces in the transfer, over a loose framework on an old brick foundation, and a dirt floor. It was I would guess, a small horse stable, from the ’20s.
It was-at one time- the empty lot and all, next to the Evens’ garage, that a number of houses that now remained around it, were but a larger cluster of houses joined together in a rather random comportment twenty-years prior. Now, inside, the empty lot, the one Ernest Manning had cleaned out, and cut the grass, with his own lawnmower, and picked up rock after rock, the boys now had made a baseball diamond out of it, and it was no longer just a drinking hole. Earnest was also becoming one of the old folks. He was in 1965, fifty-nine years old. Planning early retirement, he was a painter from the slaughterhouse out in South Saint Paul. And Joe Williams, and Roger Landsman father, all planning their retirement.
So Donkeyland, as the police nicknamed Cayuga Street, and all those streets that seemed to connect to Cayuga-invisible or not, and that empty lot, and the turnaround that was next to Evens’ house, was a place full of surprises. At one moment all was quiet, then doors began to open and cars roared, and that is how Mike Evens got his nickname: Gunner, he would gun his car, and rip up and down Cayuga Street with his black 1940-Ford as if it was right out of the Marlon Brando movie: “The Wild One” with its big engine, and all one saw was a streak, and you could heard the pilling of rubber being burnt off his tires-even if you were watching television in one of those houses on Cayuga Street-as was the case for Gary, nicknamed: Mouse. The neighborhood grease monkey (or backyard mechanic, and clock man, he had old clocks he worked on likewise). And the old folks, would stare out their windows, and Smiley, out his window, he was not one of the old folks, rather a new-younger lad-in his early to mid thirties, who had bought a house kitty-corner from the Evens, a big bulk of a man, with a nice family, with children, who never smiled, and one day, all the neighborhood kids were gunning their cars, and making noise, and the police came, and they police left, and the police came, and there just was no end to the game of chasing: you know what I mean, the cat and mouse thing. And Doug Swords, a rowdy, and well build fellow, looked like the wrestler Crusher, back in the ’60s, strong as a bull, was boastingly, clattering with several of the boys, in front of Smiley’s house, about four years Evens’ senior, not paying any attention to the noise he was making, matter-of-fact, annoyed that he called the police. And then Smiley came out, and we looked at this big bulk of a man.
Down the few stairs he came, a murmur from his soft voice arose, and our eyes appeared to be listening more than our ears, to his dozen or so obscure words, and he walked up to Doug, who was standing on the corner edge of the sidewalk, an inch from the street, “I’ve already mentioned this to you,” he told Doug, who at that moment looked a bit dull-witted, “what do I need to do to make you understand, there’s a limit to my patience!” And he pulled out a revolver, it looked like a 38 Special, and he aimed it at Doug, pert-near shoved it in his mouth, “Next time, I may pull the trigger,” he said, and turnabout, and walked away.
The War Years: and Soldiers
By this time the Vietnam War had started, it wasn’t long before everyone in the neighborhood was talking about this unknown country, some place in Asia, no threat to America, but it was loosely said: if we don’t stop communism here, then where? The Korean war had been over for ten-years or so and World War Two, for some twenty-years. And in due time many of the boys in the neighborhood would go to war, or off to some other place for soldiering. First was Evens’ friend, Joe Parker, a new kid on the block, he was eighteen, got killed that year in the jungles of Vietnam, he was the only one that Evens knew who wasn’t drafted, he wanted to go to war. Then there was Bill Kapuano, he survived the war, but when he came back found out his wife was seeing his brother, that didn’t stand very well, but they didn’t divorce; Terry his older brother, looked much like Bill, and so there was an immediate attraction there. And in 1985, Bill was killed by an electric current, while working at that steel plant, near the railroad tracks, in back of Roger Landsmen and his younger brother Ronnie’s house (Ron, for short, he and Evens hung out for several months or so, back in 1965, driving his 1960 black Chevy Impala, up and own White Bear Ave, and Cayuga Street, looking for girls, as they were on Route 66). And Jack Tashney went off to war (another friend Evens hung out with, and they’d also drive about, in his 88 Oldsmobile, the white knight, showing off, and trying to pick up girls), and came back mentally messed up forcedly had sex with two of the neighborhood girls, causing some commotion, and almost landed himself in prison. In Nam, he ran over a cluster of Vietnamese village people, who allegedly on the road, were trying to escape the Vietcong, and ended up, maimed, dead or wishing they were. Evens went to Vietnam in 1970, and came back a better man than when he left, used the GI bill until there were no funds left in it for him. Pat Grains (the strongman of the neighborhood, the one who inspired Chick to start weight lifting, the one who lost his girlfriend to Doug Swords, when he went into the Air Force, she couldn’t wait, and got pregnant), never saw any war action: and Larry Lindsey the tough guy of the neighborhood, was serving his time in the National Guard. The others-more or less-got married before 1965, and hence, were allowed to avoid the draft, as for Gunner, and Mouse, and Reno, and all the other boys. And as for Ace, he had flat feet, and I would guess, would have gotten deferred if not from that, from mental incompetence.
Indians Hill
When Earnest Manning had cleared away all that thick foliage and bush, and rubbish from the empty lot, and the boys started playing softball in it, and there of course was no ownership of the place, much of the harder part of the work of clearing had been done, but the boys clung to old traditions and helped the old man out, Earnest, and after a few weekends, widened the lot, clearing even more, and picking up even more rocks, and now behind them was a big hole where a house used to be, another small lot and Indians Hill, so it was called. Many of the streets and areas in that local had Indian names, Minnesota is famous for the Chippewa Indians that had once lived in the area, and called this place home- a few hundred years back.
In the fall those trees on Indian’s Hill, were a drab color of a colorful rainbow, most beautiful, and through most of the winter the hill was used for sliding, back in the late fifties and early sixties by the neighborhood boys but now, now in 1963-’65, they were no longer kids, it was used as an escape route for the boys, when the cops chased them, or it was used for drinking parties. It became for a while there, the Sleepy Hollow, of Donkeyland.
Several young men were drinking on Indians Hill this one evening (Ace doing his little dance singing “Twenty-four black birds baked in a pie…” he had forgotten his teeth again and you could see his gums, and his eyes popping out and a few of the boys were saying, “Come on Ace, come on, put more into it,” and Ace jumped up and own and just like he was crazy and everyone laughed and had to hold their stomachs, and then he’d stop, and ask for a drink, and god forbid if you gave him a bottle of wine, it would be gone in three gulps), Evens sitting down in the lot below listening to all this, with Ricky Grains by his side, Pat’s younger brother, and two years younger than Chick-the best chess player of the gang; Chick half snapped on a case of beer, the other guys drinking hard eating heavily, a bonfire going, of track of greasy food, a few girls: Jackie, Jennie, Nancy, and Mike’s future wife Carol Landsmen, a relative to Roger and Ronny, and a few others were there, and a few of the boys were passed out this night, slept like tired beasts on a bed of grass and leaves and straw like weeds. Into their lives came a little excitement, and it would end up being not the mild night they had planned, two squad cars came down Cayuga Street, stopped at the empty lot, jumped out, with clubs in hand, and brutal and outwardly they were themselves coarse and brutal-and wanted blood.
It was Saturday night, Evens was fifteen, and the cops ran right by him, up into Indians Hill, and there was a squad car full of cops behind, on the other side of Indians Hill, there they all stood, the boys were all dressed in overalls flecked with dirt and grass stains: their hands as they stretched them out to fight-making fists, the heat of the bonfire crackled with red sparks. It was difficult for them to talk and so they for the most part kept silent, and Larry cold-cocked one of the police officers, he dropped back like falling timber, and then another one, Larry was fast like Clay, the boxer, and his punches stunning. And they grabbed him as the others got away, and pulled him into the squad car, and brought him down to the police station; beat the crap out of him on the elevator.
When they had bought him down, they had also brought Evens down, he was drunker than a skunk, and he had just kept sitting on that case of beer, as if it was the Lost Treasure of the Incas. And then when the day came for his mother and him to face a juvenile judge, he told him, face to face, “I want to go to Red Wing, that boystown, or reformatory, where you got my brother,” and that was when the boy saw his mother cry for the first time in his life, the hard hearted woman from SWIFTS Meat, out in South St. Paul, where she had earned that reputation, melted like butter in front of her boy and the judge, she just couldn’t hold it back any longer.
Consequently, the boy was sent to a juvenile pre trial waiting correctional facility, called Woodview, and that would be for two weeks, and it would have an influence on the boy, never to return again. When the judge visited him, he asked, “Now you have a very light taste of jail, what do you think of it?”
Chick Evens could no longer kept suppressed his dismay, he was breaking up inside of him, he hated being locked up. A kind of crude and animal-like poetic justice-he felt, oh he deserved it. Vehemence took possession of them, and if not released, it would be a long and bitter struggle. When all turned out well he emerged from his incarceration, placed in the custody of his mother once again, and went back to High School, as though nothing had happened.
Fire Alarms, Girls and Victims
Then the neighborhood had been well for several months, things died down suddenly, and it must have seemed to the police the boys altogether were discouraged in causing trouble, even though there was still a raid of stolen cars in every parking lot in St. Paul, racing up and down the side streets of the neighborhood. Chick was seventeen, going out with a girl called Barb Ergot, fifteen, from Johnson High School, who everyone at Johnson High School seemed to know, and she was originally a blind date, one Sid Molar had fixed up for him, Sid was going out with Eva, a East European girl, who had now been in America ten-years, of the same stock, both short, both with bronze skin, both very attractive, and both knowing it.
At this time, the new pranks were to tie up a few of the boys, onto the fire alarm boxes that were fastened onto the towering electric poles and pull the red lever inside the box and wait for the fire engines to come, and run like hell. They did that so much one summer, they took the red box out of the neighborhood-once and for all, never to return. The victims to this sport, was Allen Pitman, and Richard Zackary. Richard would become infamous in just a few years, like Tom Fauna, would be, both would end up in prison, for rapping girls within their homes, peeping toms of the neighborhood and other neighborhoods, and Richard’s old man, his pa, he talked of selling the house, moving out of town it got so bad, he had to put a second mortgage on the house, and then when things look good for his son, he was caught again doing what he was under suspicion of doing in the first place, and thus, whatever kind of suspicion was considered by the jury, now became fact beyond a doubt. He would tie the woman’s hands to the bed, and rape her. Sometimes all day, other times all night, when he knew the husbands were out working, truck driving cross country; when they neglected their homes; when the husbands got so drunk and forgot to come home.
No: 577 (1-19-2010)
See Dennis’ web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
The Fellowship of automobiles and Real Traffic Safety. Förbundet Automilägare för Reell Trafiksäkerhet. cipramilmannen
srry 4 takin so long my brother took the comp .. Nick's POV Something is wrong with Joey. But no1 will tell me what. In too young. It is not right. Kevy looks like a wreck. Cried Joey, was incredible. But Im not afraid anymore. It was just thrilled. I thought I was still in his arms as he hugged me. I was always tired. I havent had my diaper. Slowly, my eyes got droopy and I was soon asleep. Kev's POV I sat in the waiting room. I'm waiting news about Joe. My baby. Yep Thats right my baby. Hesnot my brother hes my son. Hes too young to know. I do not know if Ill ever say that to him. My parents never wanted me to say to him. They said it would be better if I had not. I remember back in the day. I told my parents about Christa was pregnant. Thats right is not the mother of Dani. I wish. Christa had me fooled. She was 2 years older than me, but at the same level as me. He had two left, again. We went to a party. They put my drink. I had become drunk. I do not even rememberWhat happened that night. I only know a couple of weeks later told me she was pregnant and she hated me. But she made me stay with her. Well, 'she has no slideshows me. Although I no longer with her. Not say no slideshows, I did not want to be there and help us take care of my child. The day we told our parents was the worst part. We were together and told them to do everything at once. I was almost 15 when he had said them, my father and his father attacked me. I ended up with 2 eyes blacks and a lot of bruises. Has not yet been…
Guy gets while trying to film his sleigh pulled by 4 years in a dirty hands.
It started in the fourth grade. My daughter launched her first rocket. It was the beginning of a dream. In the next several years, she won two national science competitions, will return to NASA’s Goddard for a second internship this summer and will attend Georgia Tech in the fall to study Aerospace Engineering.
Chrissy’s dream is to work for NASA, not for a summer… but for a career. But she’s watching her dream disappear as the President’s proposed NASA budget cancels the Constellation Program, the only current replacement for the Space Shuttle, in the very same year that the Space Shuttle will be retired. This cancellation effectively ends our country’s human exploration program beyond Low Earth Orbit. It also places our ability to perform human spaceflight on the Russians as well as the shoulders of an immature and unproven commercial space market.
Of course, Chrissy’s not the only one affected. At a time when job creation is highest among our nation’s concerns, the President’s proposed NASA budget would cut many thousands of high tech jobs across the country. Once NASA loses these highly skilled workers, their years of practical knowledge and experience will leave a gaping hole in the agency’s capabilities.
If you’re like me, you watched in awe and were inspired as American’s took steps on the moon and returned home. We all wanted to be astronauts.
What will inspire today’s young people? The study of climate change?
In Chrissy’s own words to our President:
“I keep my laptop background set to a picture of the recent Endeavor launch to remind me to study hard even when my work becomes exhausting and to never let anyone or any thought limit my capability because space is limitless. This summer I will return to NASA as a second year high school intern and I will be studying Aerospace Engineering next fall at Georgia Tech. I am an American teenage girl and NASA inspires me. What will inspire the post-shuttle/scrapped Ares/..so let’s use Russian launch vehicles generation?”
People all over the world admire NASA for its courage, innovation, and persistence: a representation of America itself. NASA’s pioneering in human space exploration provides inspiration to continue to develop innovative concepts in health care, energy, education as well as many other fields.
For the sake of future generations and our country’s future, please send a letter to your representatives. It only takes a few minutes to email or send a letter to your representatives and the President.
For Chrissy’s dream and the dreams of thousands of young American men and women, we must keep NASA and keep America great!
Thinking about becoming a new Cessna owner? There’s never been a better time! Get answers to your pre-purchase questions at http://www.AirplaneNoise.com.
rape little goin on, enjoying their hope of good quality rate comment subscribe to Call of Duty 5 – World at War Demo BETA Online Gameplay Call of Duty 5: World at War Exclusive Gameplay Trailer CoD5 Call of Duty 4 3 2 1 cod3 cod COD2 h2 h3 halo 3 CE Gears of War Infinity Ward Xbox 360 Xbox 360 PS3 Wii PC doggietreats marytdom melee digitalpheer Machinima constant aim mp5 50 cal Desert Eagle M40A3 M21 Dragunov R700 outstanding superb awesome the shit lol lmao rofl no scope head shot Gears of War 2Rainbow Six vegasACOG Skorpion G3 G36C M14 AK47 M4 Mini Uzi rifle sniper rifle ND ps3 resistance fall of man 360 of the world. 10 20 25 50 75 99 100 kill streak COD4 Call of Duty 4 Battlefield Bad Company Call of Duty 5: World at War Exclusive Gameplay Footage CoD5 WaW Xbox360 PS3 PC beta gameplay Demo Beta Online Gameplay CoD5WaW. Watch high quality. Call of Duty 5 beta gameplay multiplayer 4 COD5 COD 5 Infinity Ward, Microsoft Xbox 360 Play Station Sony PlayStation 3 three PS3 Nintendo Wii2nd World War II WW2 WWII Gears of War GOW 2 1 halo 1 2 3 longshot pwnage owned terrible defects nine years old n00b Nizmojoe terrible clan exo outsider hitmanN nick nerd trash kid headshot blood gore idiot gears OWN3D tourque bow grenade cod 1 2 3 4 knife Call of Duty 4 3 2 1 cod3 COD2 cod h2 h3 halo 3 CE Gears of War Xbox 360 Infinity Ward PC PS3 Xbox 360 Wii doggietreats marytdom melee digitalpheer Machinima constant aim mp5 50 cal Desert Eagle M40A3 M21 Dragunov R700 impressive suspended superb…
Security has been executed the day was down. Eight policemen, including two machine guns, stood at the gates of the prison with two guard dogs. Car and motorcycle police patrolled the streets seemingly at each of the 75,000 Filipinos in the country to discourage protest. Flor Contemplacion, a 42 year old girl was hanged to death for murder. It 'was the murder of Delia Maga, OFW other defendants and their four years in Singapore Ward. It 'was a bitter end to Flor, as washung at 6:00 AM on March 17, 1995 along with three male drug trafficker. Although Flor confessed to the murders, it was alleged that she was so under duress. Until now, this indictment a secret. For its first application in the case of incomplete multi-awarded broadcast journalist Arnold Clavius reviewed Flor Contemplacion. Join him as he travels to Singapore to watch the world come Flor lived before he died. Visit Changi prison, where he was FlorDetention for almost four years before it was suspended. spoken along Veerasamy Road Gangs Road, where about Flor and her friend Delia once their hopes and dreams. Find out what happened to the husband of Flora, which is now in prison, and his four children, three of whom are also in prison. Visit Delia's husband, the wife after his death, a drunk. Listen to the interview Sacerno Lucena, who once told a detainee's Changi prison, he saw that pile together in court on drugs,Hearings …
BBC3 launches a competition for 2 years of sitcom he wrote. . . Channel 4, with its conversation with someone who was only 18 months for programs to respond in order. From episode 6 of Time Trumpet.
bloghottrends