Happy new...day

All the buzz is for a Happy New Year, all 365 days of it. Being one not to look that far down the road, I am going to break it into smaller pieces. Perhaps with age your goals become short term rather than long term. 

Remember when your wedding was 18 months out? Or the baby was due in eight months? Or graduation was in two years? Remember when you couldn't wait to be 21? Goes back a few years. Life was way out there ahead of you. We had the luxury of being naive. 

I grew up with a wariness of celebrating the new year. Heck, I couldn't predict what to expect daily. Still can't, actually. Although I have way less anxiety about that. I think because of dysfunction I went through a lot of motions, but not so many emotions. It wasn't safe to. Times have changed.

I'm hoping to experience the days individually rather than the year collectively. In my little world that's really all I can do. Here is now. Later will come, God willing.

I'd like to be more generous because sometimes that was lacking growing up. Pretty sure each day will give me those opportunities if I am open to them. I'd like to set down some weight that is not mine to carry and fold in some love I wasn't expecting but completely deserve. I'd like to laugh more. Totally achievable, right?

I'm going to frame this just one day at a time. Ending each day in gratitude and faith. And, with a little piece of chocolate, because I do believe in treats. There you have it. Have a happy new...day. We'll rinse and repeat tomorrow.

This Is For

This is for the parents who sent their child to school this week who never came home. This is for the families who sent their teacher to school this week who never came home. 

And for people whose loved ones chose to end their life, or lost their battle with an illness, were in an accident, murdered, assaulted or vanished without a trace. For the estranged.

This is for those longing to get pregnant as well as those who lost a child during their pregnancy. 

This is for those who feel unseen. Who give their all with no affirmation or acknowledgement. Or feel they have nothing of value to give.

This is for our military who serve far from home, sometimes in foreign lands. Who long for home and family.

This is for those with empty hearts, and pantries. For whom hope is a long-lost dream. 

For the ones who will always bear the weight of loss and yet carry on because moving forward is a choice made daily. 

It is for those whose days are not merry or bright as they move through this holiday season. Those going through the motions as people often do.

This is for you. You are not alone. I see you. Plagued by burdens and sorrow. I know you carry on, sustained by grit, faith and determination. May you find the strength to stay in the moment. To do the next right thing. Whatever that looks like for you.

In this most wonderful time of the year, it's okay question if you'll ever feel that sense of wonder again. It's okay if the days are hard. It's okay to wish for simpler times. It's okay to have human moments. It's okay to be just as you are.  

flawed, & (still) worthy.

1985

I've been on a mission. I'm working on a project, and I've been looking for a penny that was minted in the year each my kids were born. Shhhh, don't tell them. Can I just say it's been a challenge. 

First of all, the numbers on pennies are so dang tiny, or my eyes aren't what they used to be. Not sure which, maybe both. Then you think, maybe this is a silly idea. What's a penny anyway? Why is that date so meaningful? Does it only mean something to me? Maybe it's a mom thing. Will they shake their head at the mere idea? 

Then I think of Gibb's Rule #39. There is no such thing as a coincidence. I think God was really on to something when he inspired Gibbs to write this rule. God is good that way. No such thing as a coincidence. Is that not faith filled or what? Like a plot twist with a happy ending. Amen sisters and brothers.

So, I was a little concerned because I couldn't find one. But also, not horribly concerned because I had 20 more days to find it. I do well under pressure. A lot can happen in 20 days. 

Searching takes time, as we all know. That needle in a haystack is a challenge. Finding your hope and/or faith is right there too. Trusting is part of the process as is just being open to the outcome. Lord knows, over the years, I have wrestled with the process. Whatever process it was, I tried to take it to the mat. Anyone with me on this? I like to think I'm getting better at trusting.

So, I've been hunting for that penny. In all the obvious places. In my wallet, every time I got change. In my stash of coins in the drawer. In the extra change bowl at work. Plus, I've told a few people about this hunt of mine. They were willing to look too. I think because I had them curious, or because they believe in me. Good people help and I am grateful.

So, picture this. I'm working away and reach into a little votive cup of paper clips on my desk. As I sift out a paper clip, I see that lo and behold the cup holds one penny. Odd place for a penny. Just one penny. You guessed it, minted in 1985. Also of note, today is the birthday of my child born in 1985. Coincidence? Oh, I don't think so. 

All Will Be Well

I've written before about anniversaries of the heart. They may be full of joy, melancholy, sorrow. They may be dates of birth, dates of great celebration, dates of death, life events, transitions, tragedy. So many possibilities, and, with time, we all come to experience them.

It means so much when someone reaches out to you on those days. That someone says hey, I remember. You are not alone, I remember. People often hold their pain inside, closed off, and go along as if all is well.  Which reminds me of a lovely affirmation for good times and bad. All will be well, all will be well, and all manner of things will be well. Funny how we forget that, or flat out don't have enough faith to believe it. All will be well. Not all will be as we'd hoped, or expected, or desired. But all will be well.

I know, that's a struggle to embrace. Yet, embrace it we must. On the days we look back and see only failure. On the days we miss someone long gone. On the days that ended badly. I know it's a struggle.

Anniversaries of the heart can be lonely moments of reflection. If at all possible, share those moments with another. They can be moments of joy, share those moments. They can be days that changed the course of your life. Remember those days in the lives of your friends and family. Bridge the gap and reach out. 

I say all this knowing I struggle with reaching out. I excel at missing birthdays. I'm not great at sharing my life. I love connection, I'm just not always great at it. I am, however, a work in progress. And all will be well. On the good days, on the hard days, on the anniversaries of the heart. All will be well.

One More Time

I couldn't begin to count the times I've left the house and told the dogs be good, I'll be back later. Crazy dog people like me say things like that. A friend of mine instructs her dog each day to keep the elephants away. She doesn't live anywhere near elephants. Saying things like this are a term of endearment. A love language of sorts. A ritual, a transition, from being in the presence of our beloved pets, to going out into the world. Leaving them is hard sometimes.

I had to leave Layla for the last time. I held her and whispered, I've got you, I've got you, I've got you. Until all I had left were memories. It sucks. Big time. Letting go is so hard. In reality she left me, way before I was ready.

I've had to let lots of things go. We all do. It never gets easier.

Pets give love in such a pure and nonjudgmental way. I mean, they could judge me, lol. I am far from perfect. I'll admit I've wondered if when I leave, they put their heads together and say, whew, she's a nut job. But she's our nutjob and we love her.

I've felt that way about Layla. She was a wild child for years. She did miles and miles of perimeter checks. Barked the night animals away that came near her yard. Retrieved a zillion tennis balls. Tried repeatedly to crawl into my skin when it thundered. Did pet therapy visits and never met a stranger. In fact, she was always disappointed if a passerby neglected to stop to pet her. Rude.

I'd like to be a bit like she was. A little on the cray cray side. But completely adorable. I'd like to give a good side eye like she did. I'd like to have her joy, her resilience, her stamina.  Mostly, I'd like to kiss her one more time, say I've got you and I love you. One more time.

 

For me, and for you.

I haven't had a lot of words lately; I've been lost in feelings and memories. 

Memories are funny that way. Not ha-ha funny, sad funny. Sometimes the other way around. I look back a lot this time of year. Because life changed dramatically. You don't forget the events that change your very being. 

You remember who broke the news. You remember who helped clean up the messes. You remember who stood with you. You remember life flights, honor walks, and new titles like, widow and survivor. You remember going home for the first time afterwards. Life is divided by before and after. 

Now, there will always be those who think by now you should be over it. Years pass, life goes on. They say it's in the past. They say you'll love again. There is some truth in that. Live does go on. In different ways. You do love again. If you're lucky, you love yourself. You have a greater appreciation for those who bless your life. Some memories, however, carry into the future. That's not a bad thing. 

I realize I'd never be who and where I am without the experiences that shaped me. That the trauma serves a purpose. The life changes bring new blessings. The pain builds my faith. That gratitude is as necessary as breathing. That sharing is caring. That I need to put words to paper. For me, and for you. 

No Good Outcomes

I have a friend going through a time in life where there are no good outcomes. A different situation than my loss, but my heart weighs heavy for her. It triggers memories of seven years ago when there were no good outcomes in my life. 

We hadn't gotten to the worst, but we were on the downhill slide. Each day we lost more ground. Each day, especially in retrospect, it became clearer that things were not right and would never be. 

We were worried and stressed. Friends were concerned for his safety, and for mine. I worried about the dog's safety. So many prayers, so few answers. Each day I'd come home wondering what I'd walk in to. I'd count noses, I'd assess the mood, look for clues, sometimes I'd even do a mental inventory of what might have gone missing while I was gone. Part of me was always on high alert and had been for ages. I can't speak for his progression down the slippery slope, because his reality was different than mine. His pain and experiences were mostly held within. Except for the times they came out sideways. Few people were aware of how it was unfolding. Some knew from what I shared, even then it didn't feel safe to let on.

Therein is a lesson. So often we don't share the pain we are going through. I mostly didn't, but I didn't have much of a voice then. Sometimes in the midst of the storm we can't see how bad it is. We trudge on, in pain, in worry. We do the best we can with the knowledge we have at the time. 

I wish, and always will, that the choices faced ended differently. But we cannot choose for another. We can only choose for ourselves. Choice is a mix of instinct, faith, hope and ownership. It's a process that moves in slow motion or in light speed. Sometimes simultaneously.

I don't know where you are in life. I know we're only as alone as we chose to be. I know sometimes there are no good outcomes. Even in that we have a choice on how we respond. I pray it is with the faith and trust that we can survive the worst storms life offers. 

One Person's Journey

Anniversaries of the heart are not limited to one day. Often, there are days or weeks of memories. Flashbacks of trauma, days of stress and confusion. Sometimes a clear view of the dysfunction doesn't happen until long after the event.  I kept a journal during the hard times in life. It served me well then, and it serves me well now. Why do I look back? Because it helps to remember that I did all I could. That things were so completely messed up. That I made choices based on what I knew at the time. That I did the best I could. And, that I am a human prone to human moments. We all are.

At times we think back and say, self, it really wasn't that bad. The journal reminds me otherwise. It reminds also me how prayerful I was every day in unbearable circumstances. I understand that while specific prayers went unanswered, other prayers I never put words to were.

A friend said to me recently never forget the sting. Which seemed an odd. Most people would hope for that, long for that. She clarified that my story needs to be told. That someone out there, who I will likely never know, needs to hear it. I don't know for sure how my words will get there, but I believe they will. It's like planting seeds and never seeing them grow. You trust the process.

There are a million different stories of loss and grief due to suicide, all different, none make it easier to accept. The loss impacts who you are to the core. So many lives forever changed by one decision.

As the days countdown to seven years since this loss. I look back and I look forward. I count blessings, I grieve losses. I remember how hard life was. I remember those who sustained me. I recall the pain and the prayers. I trust that the words of a survivor can be balm for someone else. Therein lies the grace. One person's journey can ease another's. 

Do What You Can

We do what we can. It's both simple and complex. Each person decides what they can or cannot do. Sometimes we can do a lot. Sometimes we can do a little. There are times we don't know how to do, or what to do, but we trust the way will become clear.

For me, doing what I can includes putting ice packs on a foster dog who had a leg amputated yesterday. It's telling him what a good boy he is when he balances on three legs to pee when he used to balance on 4 legs, although one pained him greatly. It's giving pain meds in the middle of the night.

For me, doing what I can is working my butt off to fill orders for a large funeral this week. For me doing what I can includes clipping foliage from own garden to help give the designs that rustic wildflower look the family wanted. 

For me doing what I can is taking time to find 5 things I'm grateful for before I go to bed each night. It's texting a friend/friends daily to share the minutia of life. It is sitting down to write, knowing the words will come.

It's sometimes looking past what I don't want to do, or can't, to with the grace of God I can. It's pushing past depression, fatigue, the never ending "I should" things that life holds to I will, I can and I do.

We do what we can. Your list is not the same as mine because your gifts and talents are different. Your worries and burdens weigh differently. Your experiences color your approaches. It is all about showing up. In all the little ways and sometimes in the big ones.

Show up, trust in the process, do what you can. 

Scott's Sweet Corn

How do we keep memories alive? How do we remember and share them? Fact is we do not forget the days past. The lucky ones have a treasure trove of good memories to draw from. 

I will own that I struggle with releasing the harsh realities of losing someone to suicide. Mental health issues are painful to witness and debilitating for those who suffer from them and their survivors. I hope there is a shift someday and the good memories come first. It's a process. I'm not there yet.

I will also own, and I suspect I'm not alone, that I wish I could just say - I lost my spouse to _______ fill in the blank. I don't wish anyone cancer or an accident, or illness. But I stumble over the stigma of suicide every time. People understand how grueling a cancer journey is. They can envision an accident, or other illness. They cannot fathom death by choice, and it frightens them to think about it. I get it. It is a daily process to make any sense of it at all.

While I'm envious of those to talk freely of those they lost, I also find joy in it. I love how it draws them out, and gives them purpose by simply sharing their passions, their loves, their life.

Case in point. Scott's Sweet Corn. They began harvesting sweet corn at Master's Hand in Tekamah, NE this week. All the signs on the property shout with joy that Scott's Sweet Corn is ready. Made me think of the Burma Shave signs, or the multitude of signs to Wall Drug. Scott loved his sweet corn. Susie loved her Scott. In a way he is with us delighting in the corn. Isn't that cause for celebration? I think so.

Those Other Lives

Do you ever think back to those other lives you've had. I do.

I remember how naive I was when I got married at 22. I was young, in love, optimistic. Did I mention naive? I was so sure we would go the distance. For 18 years we did. Boy, though, I was unprepared. Willing to learn and grow, but unprepared. Much like when the kiddos arrived. Optimistic, but unprepared. And, oh, how I love them. They are the best part of those 18 years, and I am forever grateful.

I am taken back to another life by simply donning a shirt that has a tiny speck of paint on it. I know exactly where I was at, who I was painting with, and why we were painting together. It was a hard time in life, a rebuilding season. A fresh coat of paint put on with a friend makes a difference though. 

I remember pulling up roots and beginning a journey while struggling with depression and grief. It was a bold move. Another naive and crazy move. Definitely a hard move. I floundered for months. Yet here I am.

I remember being a new widow. How impossible it seemed. Every day it slapped me in the face one way or another. So many rude awakenings. I met with a group of other widows for dinner monthly which should have been comforting. But somehow the dynamics weren't. Right concept, wrong situation. Not my people. It's entirely okay to understand that some people are just not your people. 

In other lives I worked way harder than I should have, for far less than I deserved. Now, shall we say, I am a seasoned widow. A different person than I was in those other lives. I won't say I am an old widow, or an old wife or mother. Just seasoned. Seasoned by the journey and lessons in the other lives I've lived.

Sparkles

When I graduated from high school, a hundred years ago, my parents gave me a diamond necklace. It has a small stone from my mom, one from an aunt, and one from my grandmother. My parents wished they could have given me a car. Admittedly, that would have been amazing. Unlikely, but amazing. 

When I bought my first car, it was a used Plymouth Duster. The same day, my sister-in-law bought a used Trans Am. Very sporty, very. Kind of took the luster off my Duster. Granted my Duster ran a lot longer than her car. So, there's that. Many times, smart choices win out. But not so smart decisions provide wisdom and experience. We take our decisions wherever we go and what we make of them is up to us.

When my first marriage ended, I took my ring in, traded stones and had a right-hand ring made. In case you haven't guessed, I like bling and other shiny things. I used those stones in my ring when I married a second time. Perhaps odd? All depends on your viewpoint. I'm again wearing them in a right-hand ring. It's like wearable history in bling format. 

I don't know what you wear, drive or carry from your past. I know often there are shrouds of pain and regret. I know life can weigh heavy. I know we sometimes forget to see what sparkles in our life. I feel like I can see what's what now more than I could before. I like that I still have jewelry from my parents, bling that honors my life, and memories of a first car that wasn't fast or particularly sporty. But it was smart choice. And when it was clean and in the sun, it did kind of sparkle. 

anniversaries

Thirteen years ago today Gordon and I got married. You don't forget dates like this. Talk about for better or worse. I rarely talk about his life, and his death even less. But, this blog is for those who want to say their names and have a hard time doing so. Maybe it's a loss like mine to suicide. Maybe it's a nasty divorce. Maybe a bad, bad breakup. You want to forget it, but you can't. It's not humanly possible.

There is some shame, if you will, in the aftermath of suicide. It's a horrific event to be a part of. No less for the one who suffers enough to complete it. However, for them the pain has ended, for the survivors it doesn't end. It's hard to talk about it, so most times we don't. Memories and anniversaries of the heart get swept under the rug.  Pretend it never happened. Because, honestly, no one wants to talk about the colossal failure of what was once a loving relationship. Even I don't.

But, and there is always a but, sometimes we must talk about it. Sometimes it helps to say their name. We need to know it's okay to say their name. The shame isn't completely rational, rather it is tempered by stigma. The stigma is a wicked beast.

Thirteen years ago was a good day. Surrounded by friends and family, all our favorite people. We celebrated, we ate well, really well, we danced! It was a "for better" day. For which I am grateful. 

It's sad that the bad days, the traumatic endings take precedence over the good days. Those memories are hard to expunge. I don't expect people to say happy anniversary or remember the date. But sometimes a simple, that was a good day. I remember it well. Remember when we did this? Even a look how far you've come is comfort enough.

We do not have to live in silence. But we do have to choose to speak up. For all those who struggle with this, me included, I say own it. Honor it. Speak it. Share it. 

Old Things

I have a thing, for old things. Perhaps the older you get, the more you embrace old things. Who knows for sure on that. I like old things like my grandmother's engagement ring. My great grandmother's china. Old dogs. Old friends. Old terracotta pots, old hanging baskets. 

Here's the thing about things you've had for a while. Some you can easily part with, some you hold on to, indefinitely. Until a season in life that you get them out to enjoy them again. That's the important part. Enjoy them. 

When my kids were little, I'd get out the good china and make them a snack plate. It was much like a charcuterie board. Minus the board, the salami roses, specialty mustards, olives and fancy cheeses. It was a little bit of this and that from the fridge. They loved using a fancy plate. I hope when they have kids, they will do the same. 

I have a hanging basket that hasn't been used in 11 years. It's travelled to three towns with me, took up space in 4 homes. Last year it made it out of the garage and as far as the patio. I'd hold it up and look at it from time-to-time. Pondered where I might put it and set it aside for the time being. Sometimes we hold off and wait on things, sometimes we take action. 

It has a vintage looking bracket, and a lovely shape. Couldn't even tell you where I got it from. I'm thinking from a place I worked at in the late '90's. It has always spoken beauty to me, so I saved it. Today I got out the drill, mounted it on the fence and planted flowers in it. I planted joy in my heart just by using it again.

Maybe take a look at your old things and use them. If you know you'll never use them pass them on. If you already use them, feel the joy. Maybe it's an old ring, or old china. Whatever your favorite old thing might be. Share the story of them with someone. Share the joy. Make things a little fancy. We could all use a little fancy in our lives. 

More Than Enough

I'm guessing that each of us has childhood worries that follow us wherever we go. Some of us have processed them. Some of us are a work in progress. Some have stuffed them deeply and aren't consciously aware of them. Yet they impact who we are and how we live life.

For me I wonder if I'll always feel alone and will I have enough. Even though I feel alone, I'm not, never have been. But how does one define enough? What is enough sleep, enough money, enough plants, enough dogs? I'm a pro at going without to make sure I have enough. How ironic.

The gardener in me gets a little edgy this time of year about not having enough plants even though all my pots are full, and my garden is planted. I had a tomato plant take a turn for the worse this week. Now I worry what if all my tomato plants do that. How can I go through a summer without home grown tomatoes? Valid concern, right? Not at all anal or based on irrational fears. Nonetheless, I bought a 4 pack of tomato plants today to meet that need. Plus, to help the local nursery as it is close to end of season. I had to help them have enough sales, you know? I don't need 4 more tomato plants. I only planted two of them. The two leftovers must be Catholic for the amount guilt they are giving me. 

The beauty of life is that all my needs are met by the big guy upstairs. The times I didn't think I could pay the bills, I did. The times I thought I didn't have the strength to move forward I did. The times of emotional pain found healing. The year I moved 3 times, took a new job that was awful, depression made me a complete mess, the pandemic hit, and I had dogs cross the bridge, I survived. I grieved deeply, but I survived. Because I had enough even if I couldn't see it.

As I release this worry, I see how much I have if I let go a little. Or on my brave days, let go a lot. I have enough, more than enough. I may feel alone, but I'm not. I've got enough, and some to spare. If you need an extra tomato plant, let me know. If you need some faith to get you though, I'll share. If I end up with more tomatoes than I can ever eat, so be it. In the end, enough is a blessing I didn't see coming but will happily count. 

Feed My People

So far today I've fed two dogs, the hummingbirds, orioles, bees and some people who are complete strangers to me. I've fed my soul and more importantly I made a deposit in the karma bank.

As for the strangers I didn't personally feed them, I provided sandwich fixings for volunteers who continue to help with tornado clean up. Other volunteers will make the sammiches and deliver them on Saturday. It's a group effort. You see, just because the tornadoes were several weeks ago, doesn't mean they are over for those impacted by them. The need for prayers, sustenance, supplies, manual labor continues and will for days. We can still help.

Years ago, people fed us. With prayers, with home cooked meals, financially, and emotionally as Gordon recovered from his stroke and then months later ended his life. These were people we knew and loved, people we didn't know and never met. Friends, family, strangers all moved to meet needs during loss and tragedy. Back then I vowed to pay it forward. In tangible ways, like meat, cheese and hoagie buns, and intangible ways. 

Feed my people is a call to action. It's a call to step out of the comfort of a life smoothly moving along, into the messy life of someone else. If you've never had a messy life, count your blessings. If you have, I'm preaching to the choir. We need to be prayed for, propped up, encouraged. Sometimes we feed the people, sometimes we are the people fed. Either way, the need is there. Find a way to help. You'll sleep better at night, trust me on this.

Terrible, Umm, No

I got to thinking recently about the times I've been told I'm terrible. The times it's happened and the people who've told me that. Admittedly, I've told myself that at time or two. Also, admittedly I've been told that by a parent, a spouse, a coworker, a several customers over the years. Pretty sure I am not alone. Life just hands us shit sandwiches sometimes. 

Here is my takeaway. We're all half jerk, half jewel. Some days we lean more heavily to one side than the other. Everyone who said this was entitled to their own opinion. They were not entitled to take it out on me. Sometimes I absorbed the accusation. Sometimes it was crushing. Sometimes it rolled off like water on a duck. Sometimes I was numb to it. I don't believe I ever had the instinctive reaction to say, no, no I'm not. But, and there is always a but, I'm getting there.

I want that for myself. I want that for you too. While we may have terrible moments, we are not terrible. We need to remind ourselves of that. I know enough now, and sometimes I remember, that hurt people hurt people. It's a response born of pain, frustration, anger.  It's not something you forget. I have clear memories of such events. However, when you learn it's not about you it's about them, then you can turn the tables. By turning the tables, we can extend grace to ourselves and others.

We all need grace, and there is no limit to how often, how much and who we extend it to. If you have moments, memories or experiences of being told you are terrible. I assure you, you're not. You are human, prone to human moments. It's okay. You're okay. I am too. 

Small Bowls and Gratitude

Small bowls. They seem to be significant for this stage in life. When I look in my cabinet the big mixing bowls sit unused. Gone are the days of making big casseroles, batches of cookies, brownies, bread. When I pull them out I think wow, these bowls are heavy! They didn't used to feel heavy. They were used almost daily to feed a family, nourish bodies, provide snacks and desserts. Now when I look for a bowl I reach for the smaller ones. Two of which were my Mom's, so they're old bowls. I hope someday my kids will want them because sometimes your Mom's old bowls are just what you need. 

Gratitude, big, medium, small. Much like the bowls. With various sizes in between. Sometimes spilling over, sometimes just a smidge, other times a few drops. I've been keeping a list of things that I'm grateful for. It's posted in the kitchen; anyone can add to it. One of my kids is great about adding his gratitude's to it. I love that. I was getting a bit lazy about adding to it. Not that I wasn't grateful. Just that I wasn't consciously grateful. I wasn't present in the moment, or moments that grace my life. So, I put a pretty journal next to my bed. Each night, while I savor a small piece of candy, I write down five things I'm grateful for. Five things. Some days I'll jot a few down during the day and get a head start. For some reason the first four flow easily. The fifth one takes some thinking. Once I was grateful for the same thing five times over. It kind of defeats the purpose, but on that day, I was super grateful for one thing. So, I made an exception. 

I believe today I'll be grateful for the big and little bowls that have been a part of my life. For the wisdom to slow down daily and find some gratitude, for making exceptions, for just plain mixing it up. And... for that fifth thing that will come to me later. It always does. 

Connections

This is for the widows/widowers, the lost, those who've endured significant losses, those who struggle with depression, those who are hurting for whatever reason. I can relate. I've walked some of these paths; I know how heavy it weighs.

It's for those who've picked up the pieces and rebuilt a new life they never wanted. And for those looking at the pieces and wondering what the hell to do with them. For those who thought they were all past that only to discover it never entirely goes away. It sneaks up some days and floods you with sadness.

Somedays you can identify what triggered it, sometimes there is no obvious reason. It's a waste of energy to try to figure it out. Why now? It just happens, and you feel like the loneliest person in the world.  

You temporarily lose focus, and your pieces of joy scatter. I had a day like this recently. For no specific reason it was just one of those days. My heart knows I need these days because healing and growth is a lifelong process. Something was being felt and acknowledged even if I'm not exactly sure what. In the bigger picture, something was falling into place.

As the moments washed over me, I had the sense to reach out to a friend I knew could relate. It didn't matter than neither of us could fix it. You can't fix feelings, you have to sit with them, own and release them.  I knew this person could relate and knew that reaching out would make it easier. 

For the times you've been in this place and floundered on alone, for the times ahead that the clouds rain sadness, for the times you wonder can I make it another day. I beg you to connect with someone. Connect, and hold on together. Because sometimes you may be the one in need of love and support. Other times you are the love and support for another in need. This is how we hang on; this is how we grow forward. This is how we connect.

Dear Foster Dog

Dear Foster Dog, I don't know what your life was like before you came here. I know you were a stray. I know you came in with ear infections, skin issues, and had been a Momma multiple times. Pretty sure you'd never had a bath, much less a medicated bath. 

On the plus side, you didn't stress in a crate. You clearly knew what sofas are for. You weren't shy about finding your place on one. Chew toys were bliss, and squeaky toys got a workout. 

I have a million questions for which there are no answers. Did you have a yard to run in? Did you know the comfort of human touch? Did you have any vaccinations? Did you sleep in a clean place with soft blankets? Did you get hit, because I've seen you be a little head shy. 

Dear Foster Dog: I know part of your story. You were kept in a wire crate with 8 other dogs. Covered in feces and urine. With bite marks from stress and being in close quarters. I know you've been a Momma, but don't think you've had treats or the feeling of safety. I see the scars on your face from past trauma. All that and yet you have a sweet trusting demeanor. 

I have a million questions for which there are no answers. Did you have a yard to run in? How many litters have you had? Did you ever sleep in a clean place with soft blankets? Have you ever played with a toy? What kind of person would do this to a dog/multiple dogs? You and I have a lot to learn together, but we have time to do it. You are safe now; only good things await you.

Dear Foster Mom/Dad, I know fostering requires patience and faith. I know there will be accidents in the house. I know you worry if you're doing enough or could do things better. I've seen you give up things in order to foster. Things like your free time, your clean carpet, your blankets that used to be whole. I know each foster dog is completely different so each time you feel like you don't exactly know what you are doing. Because you kind of don't. Each dog has different needs and comes from a different situation. Sometimes we know, often we don't. But and there is always a but, you've done this many times over. You have the support of a solid rescue and many rescue friends, who are always willing to talk you off the ledge so you can help a dog who truly needs a soft spot to land. So, you open your heart and your home to an animal in need. Your resident pets help the process and share your love even though I bet they'd like to not share you quite so much. They help in ways the humans can't. They too were fosters, so they know.

We will have a million questions for which there are no answers. Except for these, will you say yes? Will you take a chance? Will you be the conduit between a homeless dog and a dog that finds a loving home? 

I've been extremely fortunate to be able to foster, I know not everyone can. There are a multitude of ways to volunteer in rescue if you follow your heart. I followed mine and it led me to Buddy, Jackson, Bo, Kobe, Pete, Sidney, Queenie, Buck, JR, Stella, Lil Bit, Wallace, Ryder, Mr. Hanky, Buck (same Buck, different time) Hank Jr., Cooper, Max, Addie, Lady Bird, Sophie, Addie (same Addie, another bounce back), Hobbs, Gunther, Layla, Clarice, Snowflake, Jessie, Gunner, Linney and Karma. Goods saves, great dogs, each and every one. Making a difference, one dog at a time.