Not Yet

I think the hardest lesson to learn is....not yet. When will it happen? Not yet. When will that prayer be answered? Not yet. Is the pain ever going to subside. Not yet.

Not Yet is hard on the good days. Harder still on the holidays. Holidays are rough. I took food to a friend in need today and during the conversation I discovered I was the one in need. I was the weepy one, and she was the strong one. I wanted to give support and I felt like I needed it more. Because I will own that I am in a Not Yet time of life. She is too actually. Perhaps the combination of our Not Yets made it all more poignant.

The not knowing if I am where I need to be in life is a recurring Not Yet. The am I doing enough is another Not Yet. The worry over financial issues. The will I always be alone. Will I make it all work. Will I ever know the answers? ...maybe not, but definitely Not Yet.

Will the waves of grief soften and dissipate, no Not Yet. Those waves happen when you least expect it. There is no rhyme or reason. Bam, they just happen. So you wonder, will this ever stop....Not Yet.

Today I struggle with that. Face it, I want to fix it, and it's not mine to fix. So there I am. In between, praying for answers, stepping forward but with admitted uncertainty. My guess is that many of us travel that same path. Moving forward, waiting, struggling, wondering if it's time.  So I try to find some peace in the Not Yet. Or, at least, attempt to wrestle with it less. I'll set it down, and not pick it up, not yet.

Unexpected Graces

Last year this time I had to make a decision. I was a mess, life was shattered and there was a dog in need. Frankly, dogs in need trump most everything for me. I didn't feel like I had much of anything to offer, I was barely getting by. But this dog was living with even less than I had to give, so I said yes to him. Some of life's most brilliant decisions evolve in such a grace filled manner. 

 

Hobbs is one of those. Honestly he was the most emaciated foster to ever arrive at my door. It's helpful going into a new foster to have even a little bit of history on them. Are they house broken, crate trained, are they social with other animals.  All valid questions. Sometimes you know stuff on them, sometimes they are a package waiting to be unwrapped. Discovery can be a stressful trial and error process.

I've said before, and firmly believe, that rescue dogs are grateful dogs. Starving dogs even more so. He and I had a lot to give each other. We both needed some intensive nurturing, so day-by-day we did just that. I fed him kibble and love. He fed me love and comfort. We were both grateful. We still are.

As pointers go, he is not the most handsome of dogs.  Adorable in his own way with his bug eyes and under bite.  I've fostered some stunning pointers. I recently had a friend mention that I've always had amazing dogs here. Truly I have. Hobbs reaffirms that love brings out  beauty that may not be obvious from the outside. Don't tell the others, but he may be at the top of my list of favorite pointers. 

So as we enter Thanksgiving week, I have to give thanks for Hobbs. For the huge package of unexpected grace his carried into my life. I wish you the same, in whatever form works for you. May you all experience a Hobbs whenever you most need it. Trust me, it will be life changing.

Moving On

I like to think I am moving on, trekking through the grief, through the sorrows of losing a marriage and a husband to suicide. Some days the light is returning to life, and other days it's two steps back.

Many things factor in, holidays, birthdays, anniversaries all tug at my heart strings. The change in daylight savings time is a challenge. I need the sunlight. I dislike missing the sunset because it's gone down before I get off work. Having it dark when I get home saps my motivation.

I look at couples all the time and wonder how they do it. How do they manage to stay the course and keep the love. Now, I know I'm only looking from the outside in, so what I see may be only a partial truth.  It may not be what it appears, or it may be way more delightful than I can imagine.

The mystery is finding my way through the loss, and still trusting in the future. It's knowing I may be alone from here on out, and making peace with it. I'm not there yet. It's wishing I could have done more, and giving myself credit for all I did do. It's missing the happy man, but not the troubled mentally ill man. He is clearly in a better place, and those remaining have to create their new place in life.

I don't have the magic words for how to do that. I believe faith wraps us up in possibility, and to move on we must surrender to the loss. Acknowledge it, own it, share the pain, cry the tears. To move on we must look forward. We need to honor the past and trust in the future. We have to move, to move on. So staying stuck is not an option. It's hard, it's daunting, and it is part of surviving loss. It's taking it a day at a time, a season at a time, an experience at a time. It's moving when we can, resting when we have to and beginning again. It's as simple and as difficult as that.