Dear Sean Dietrich

Dear Sean Dietrich, we have some things in common.

We both are survivors of suicide loss, we have a thing for old dogs, we write. Granted you are a way more prolific a writer than I am. But then writing doesn't put food on my table or feed my dogs. Writing is a way to process my thoughts and feelings. Then I figure if I'm struggling with something, maybe someone else is too so why not share my thoughts. And words, words are tricky sometimes. Sometimes I have them, sometimes I don't. Most of my life using them has been a challenge. You see growing up it wasn't safe to have an opinion, to point out a wrong, set a boundary or say what you need. Guess you could say I come from a dysfunctional home. I'm thinking more of us have than not. 

Here is what I know, life does not take us where we think it should. Being divorced, a single Mom, a survivor of suicide loss, a widow were not life goals. In fact, I wanted to own horses, lots of horses. The big guy upstairs felt dogs were more do able. So, I do dogs, and I love them, especially the gnarly old dogs. I thought marriage would be for life until my ex-husband decided otherwise. So, then I was gifted with being a single Mother. You do the best you can, and you know what? They turned out good. They grew up, I grew up. It's all good. The dog thing started when I got divorced. Getting a dog was the smartest decision I ever made. We should all keep a list entitled "Smartest Decisions I've Ever Made". Write yourself a note to start that list. We all deserve a little more credit than we give ourselves.

Your journey with suicide loss is completely different than mine. You lost a parent. I lost a spouse. I feel for you even though I can't fathom how that impacted your life. Sometimes I can't fathom how suicide has impacted my own life. Or how the pain of life impacted our people who chose to end it all. It is just impossible to wrap our heads around. 

In times like these we just keeping moving forward as best we are able. Surround ourselves with what gives us comfort and joy. We grieve and we grow. We wait for the words to come and share them when they do. We laugh at the irony, we heal from the hurts, we share our gifts, we love our dogs. So can I say thank you for your words and thank you to the big guy upstairs. I think you have a different name for the big guy, but I know you believe. I know that because how else could your path and mine have crossed like this? Rhetorical question. No need to answer. Carry on, you're doing great.