One Year

A year ago, I had just put down a beloved dog. My heart had a hole in that had Gunther's name on it. That left me with one dog. That hadn't happened oh since 1999, give or take. I mean really? One dog is just never enough. One dog is just too quiet for my taste. So, in early February I added a new one to the fold. It was an obvious choice. Welcome to the good life Maxx. Maxx was in a foster home in TX. He was a sunbelt boy destined for life in the Midwest.

A year ago, two of my three kiddos lived in the same vicinity. Who knew life would present one with his dream job. He packed bags and moved within weeks. Exactly what a parent wants for their child, even when they prefer having them closer. We celebrate their opportunities and adventures. Even as we weep if life takes them further away from us

A year ago, I struggled with living a quiet solitary life. A year later, it's a norm that is more comfortable. My little world is cozy, safe and lovely. Blessed even. Okay, I'd like more hugs, I miss being someone's partner and more laughter couldn't hurt either. But I'm finding comfort in being present in the present. That's a good thing. 

I don't know what your year ago looked like. Or if the in between was gentle and kind, or grueling and hard. Perhaps some of both. I do know it's the little things that matter. Someone who checks on you daily, sometimes several times daily, or periodically just to make sure you're okay. It's simple pleasures that warm your heart. It's friends, new and old, including you in their life. It's a furry friend or two, or three. It's a Friday night tequila shot to celebrate getting through another week. Even if it's a one-person celebration. It's volunteering in a field you are passionate about. See also, it's better to give than to receive. For in giving, we do receive. It's working towards slowing down enough to be comfortable, just comfortable. It's the belief that we deserve good things, and the faith to know they are coming. It's trusting we are exactly where we are supposed to be. It's the ability to say my mental health matters and yours does to. It is the ability to be self-compassionate. 

So, wherever you are this year, know that you've grown since last year. Also know, you're worth it (whatever it may be), that if one dog is good, two can be better. You have value. You are not alone. You matter. Stick with me, and we'll journey life together. One step at a time. one day at a time, one year at a time.

Stephen 'tWitch" Boss

There is so much media about the loss by suicide of another young celebrity who had it all. I get that. We assume those with golden lives have just that, golden lives. We are appalled it could happen to them. They had it all, the success, the glamor, the family, the career. We don't get it, and we're devastated. I can't speak for Steven 'tWitch" Boss and the choice he made. I can speak for survivors of suicide loss.

It is an unfathomable act with life ending and life changing outcomes. All the circumstances, things, prestige, and glory of their world will not change the damage that is done and the pain it causes the survivors. The loss is tragic. The loss does not end for his loved ones. In fact, it's just beginning. It begins with shock and numbness; it transitions to disbelief and anger. It is a question that racks our brains with no answers. The how could it, the why did it, the what could have changed it. The questions, the self-doubt, the disbelief.

Was it an impulsive moment of despair? Was it planned? Was it someone's fault? Was it a moment of weakness? The bottom line is we do not know what struggles a person faces every day. We don't know when their strength wanes and it all becomes too much. We know help is available, but we will never understand why some people are able to reach out for it and others are not. 

And most, thankfully never experience the stigma that comes with such a loss. It is easy to look from outside and judge, a little self-righteously, while thinking it could never happen to us. It can. Which is frightening in itself. 

It is typical to read the headlines, feel some grief and then go on with life as we know it. Until it is us, and life as we know it is gone. We pray for those who take their life. But we need to pray and support those who carry the weight of that loss. Not just in the days immediately following the death, but in all the days thereafter. We need to make it okay to talk about it, even though we'd prefer to brush it aside, pretend it never happened. That said, I understand that until you walk this path, it's hard to completely understand. Rest assured those walking it don't understand it either. We struggle to talk about it, and we know firsthand. 

I'd like to think it is as simple as checking in on your people, the strong ones and the ones struggling. By all means do that, check often, ask the hard questions. But know that we are often masters of disguise when our mental health is suffering. Pain is inevitable, suffering is optional. Normalize mental health, normalize mental awareness and selfcare. Normalize the elimination of stigma and enhance compassion in the aftermath of suicide loss.

Owning it is the first step. Take those steps for yourself, and your loved ones.

Pause, As Needed

This is the time of year when I'd normally sit down and write a Christmas letter. A time to share of my life over the course of the year and wish loved ones well during the holidays. This year I don't have it in me. I'm not sure why, but I can accept this feeling without fighting it.

I did sit down and read letters I wrote over the last several years. I write a good letter. Life has been full, and challenging. Life has taken me on bumpy roads and gravel roads. Through trials and into great blessings. From familiar homes with chosen family, to new homes with new friends and family. There were tales of graduations, job changes, job losses, weddings, moves, trips, sorrow, friendship and laughter. 

There have been constants in these letters. Love of family, faith in times of hardship, great friendships, the desire to foster dogs and help them find their forever home. Mostly because I can't own them all, but I can help a few on their path to a new life. There are stories of my kids. Who now look out for me, much as I looked out for them. There are too many blessings to count.

It's odd to write a Christmas card and not include a letter. Makes me question am I doing enough? Or was I doing too much and in the end, it doesn't matter? Maybe I was one of the few to do this. So many send a photo card, and I always long to know more about their lives. Maybe that's why I wrote, so that I could give them a way to paint a picture of my life. So often we just show a tiny part of our lives, not the whole picture, certainly not the messy parts. FYI, we all have messy parts. Owning them is the first step.

I've decided to go with the flow and give myself permission, in a time of honored traditions, to do something different. Maybe next year I'll share a letter again, time will tell. In this time of Christmas cards, carols, shiny ornaments and colorful lights do what feels right. If you have the energy to do what you always do, then do it. If you chose to scale back, scale back. You do you. I'm not losing a tradition, I'm pausing it. It's okay, we can all pause when we need to. And carry on when we're ready. 

Maybe You've Been There, Hopefully Not

Pinecones, ornaments, Christmas trees. In the past, decorating for the holidays was a magical thing. As a child I'd crawl behind the tree and marvel at the blinking lights, the bubble lights, the tinsel. As a newlywed I decorated with popcorn and gum drops. That was back in the day before themed trees and LED lights. One of my favorite memories is of nursing my babies by the light of the Christmas tree. I still love a macaroni ornament made by a child in grade school.

Over the years I lost the magic. In life and at Christmas. Once lost it's hard to find it again. Maybe you've been there. Hopefully not. It was easier not to revisit the memories. Easier not to feel. The kids weren't there anymore, weren't kids anymore. And frankly, life was hard. Maybe you've been there. Hopefully not.

Even in the hard times we're told to find our gratitude. To count our blessings, to be grateful. There is truth in that. But we also need to honor our other feelings which may be of loss and sadness. Gratitude does not negate grief. It's normal to feel both, somedays one more than the other.

There are those standing alone facing their first loss, those who's loss is on the horizon. Those who's loss has never been open to the light of grace. Those who's loss was years ago, but always close at heart. We do the best we can.

 

Wherever you are this season of life, do what feels comfortable. With twinkling lights, or without. For me, I got a tree this year. Honestly, it's been a minute since I've put one up. If you know me, you know there were tears involved, in addition to macaroni ornaments, ice cycles, blinking lights and pinecones.  I'll sit in the dark and marvel at the blinking lights, missing those times with my babies. I'll honor my blessings and remember the losses I've endured. I'll do the best I can. You do the same.