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.

Slow Down, Look Within

Some days I feel like I get nothing done. And I wonder, am I wasting a day, or am I healing? We all have healing to do. Physical healing, emotional healing, mental healing, occupational healing, faith healing.  

I have a theory on this. Usually, my theories start with owning it is the first step. We take a lot of steps in life. Strong bold steps, tiny hesitant steps, slow regretful steps. Quick deliberate steps. Steps full of sorrow, steps surrounded in joy. Steps I tell you, lots of steps.

I think for years I was unable to slow down enough to do nothing. Stress, expectations, work life, parenting life, marriage life, past trauma's, anxiety. You name it, it was safer to go non-stop than to slow down. Slowing down requires a sense of safety. Don't get me wrong, sometimes life forces us to slow down. We tend to fight that tooth and nail. Slowing down comes with time to feel all the feelings. You know, the ones we often want to push away. 

Maybe my age is slowing me down. Maybe I'm willing to while some time away, to be still and sit with life as I know it. Maybe I'm ok. Maybe life didn't go as I'd hoped. It's been messy and hard. It takes time to push past the grief and stigma to process all of that. This much I know. It's okay to make choices, question your judgement, have regrets, and still know you did the best you could at the time. It's important to own your truths. It's beneficial to share them. It's good to remember we are not alone. And, if we take time to just be and think we've gotten nothing done look within. Something important is happening.

Savoring The Process

I've begun preparations for Thanksgiving even though I'm so not ready for it. November and December are much like July and August. Once they begin, they are gone in the blink of an eye. I'll admit, because owning it is the first step, it leaves me a bit crabby and out of sorts. I miss my summer/fall routine, I miss putzing around in the garden every day, I miss the daylight and lament daylight savings time. I rush to get home and get the dogs walked before I lose the light. I miss my motivation to be any sort of productive after the sun sets.

Back to the preparations. I cubed bread today for homemade stuffing. Yes, I know you can buy dried bread for stuffing. You can buy complete stuffing mixes. No way it could be as good as doing it myself. I've cubed it myself. Stirred it myself, I've lavished it with love. It's different now, it's like bread 2.0. I just can't give up the tradition. There is comfort in the process. It also reminds me of the poignancy of loss. I've done this for years, sometimes without thought. Sometimes with great thought. In the end I'll be glad I made the effort, turning dried bread into something savory, something greater than the sum of its parts. 

The holiday season reminds us not only of good times and family, but of the losses along the way. Even as we get further out from grief events the feelings return and weigh heavy. Perhaps not as much as the first couple years, but we do feel the shadow. Still, we go through the motions as best we can. We buy the turkey; we cube the bread. We look forward to the celebration, and yes, we give thanks.

It may not feel the same as life before loss. It may leave us longing and sad. But it is life as we know it now. Both blessed and broken. So, we move through the rituals. Even the ones we question just a little bit, and then do the way we always have. Knowing, trusting and investing our love in the process. Grateful we have love to give and to receive.

Months of the Year

I am always surprised when all of a sudden, the calendar reads November. I'm not ready for November. I'd like to go back to August and have a do over. I'm not ready for winter, or the holidays. Part of me keeps looking back with longing on so many levels. I need to apply my "what if it's better than you expect" mantra to new months, new directions, new possibilities.

I don't know about you, but I tend to be a creature of habit. My routine is kind of set, my expectations are low, my life is simple. At times it feels full, other times very empty. There are many, many, reasons to be grateful, count blessings and feel joy. And I do. It is also entirely possible to feel all of these things, joy, gratitude, comfort, and still walk with a slightly heavy heart. It's possible to laugh and love the same way. 

I saw someone recently and had the thought, that person is a hot mess. Pretty judgmental of me. We have moments like that. I'd be lying if I said I never had those moments. But then I looked back and realized some folks could look at my life and think it's been a hot mess. And sometimes it has. No one's life goes just as expected. Life is too messy and too blessed for that. For every mess I've found myself in, I've also found blessings I never expected. Lord knows I've made mistakes, I still do. I've made apologies, some of them good apologies, some not. I've learned from them. Sometimes forgiveness is offered, sometimes not. Sometimes forgiving yourself is that most challenging task of all.

Like November, many things have happened I was not ready for. Changes of life, changes of relationships, changes of seasons. Yet here we are. Finding our footing as we move forward. Holding the sadness even as we experience grace and gratitude. Our hearts hold all the feelings. All of them valid, ebbing and flowing, coming and going like the months of the year.