a new spin on stewardship..........[

Yes, it’s Halloween, and yes, it’s been a weird day.   A cloak of undefined and unexplainable fear keeping me wrapped no matter where I go. Maybe it’s the thought of going back to work – not sure I’m ready – and not sure I’m not.

Maybe it’s the overwhelming thought of taking care of the stuff that all of a sudden demands attention – like the smoke detector battery buzzing at 1:30 in the morning… Really? 1:30 AM?  Like it couldn’t wait til 7:00AM? Of the water softener on the fritz, or the car needing an oil change, or……….fill in the blank.  Difficult? No – But the, once again, realization that I have to do it myself.

pinterest

Add to this mix a niece (out of state) with  serious health issues. Add to this the upcoming holidays (I know, it’s a ways away, but still…)  Add to this all of the other deaths and struggles of mine and others. And did I mention going back to work? There is that.

But there have been bright spots – coffee with friends, borrowing a friends’ husband to help with the to do list. A sympathy card from a neighbor I barely know.  A few cute kids coming around for Trick or Treat…

And then here is this…….Some of you are familiar with the writer Frederick Buechner.  Well, he has a new book out, A Crazy, Holy Grace, the Healing Power of Pain and Memory. Many of the essays are from prior works in which he writes about the pain of suffering – death primarily.  The death of a loved one – in his case a father by suicide.

But it was the first essay that got my attention and it has been rolling around in my head for a few days…… He talks about the universality of pain – and that life is terminal (not a new idea). But then goes on to explain how we need to be good stewards of our pain. That how we deal with  loss, pain, suffering, determines how we live (my words, not his).  We can choose to let it overwhelm us, we can choose to stuff it and ignore it, in which case our lives are diminished and in a sense, we, too die.

Or we can be good stewards of our pain. Work our way through the maze of it and turn straw into gold.

He then goes on to explain the Parable of the Talents as a way of understanding this idea. For Buechner, the talents are what life gives us – and what we do with these experiences is what matters. “To live a buried life is to say you have not lived your life at all.” And isn’t that what God wants of us? To live the life we have been given to the fullest? “If you bury your life-if you don’t face, among other things, your pain- your life shrinks.  It is in a way diminished.  It is in a way taken away.”

There is more (you’ll have to read the book!) and I’m still trying to wrap my head around all of this.

And maybe that’s it – acknowledging the pain – sharing it with others – being honest about the fact that it sucks – it’s not all ‘suck it up, buttercup.’  It’s hard work and it hurts and it often seems as if it gets harder, not easier.

Unfortunately, neither our society, nor our church deals with any of this very well. Platitudes about my loved ones returning to their heavenly home are not helpful for me.  But fortunately, there have been many conversations with friends, new and old, some with similar experiences and some not, but who get it and can listen and not be scared away by the pain of it all… not be scared away by my cloak of fear…this cloak that often feels like Harry Potter’s cloak of invisibility.  I sometimes feel invisible as if my grief has erased me from the world.  A friend once described her grief as being ‘outlined by grief.’ I would describe mine (often, but not always) as being made invisible.

It’s been 4 1/2 months – and no I have not ‘gotten over it.’  I don’t think I ever will, really…tears still pop up at the most inopportune times – anxiety and fear burrow themselves deep in my gut -  and sometimes I still can’t breathe. But I still get up every morning – Hunter sees to that – and face the day. Do I have a choice? Yes.

“So – are we going out now, Human?”
“No – Hunter, not now - it’s dark – so maybe tomorrow if it’s not too cold…”
“Well, you’ll just have to bundle up and put on a coat, right?”
“You are so smart, Hunter….”

Hunter continues...............

I’ve numbered all of my blogs – this is # 73 - not all have been posted – but most. It’s been a long 4 + months ……….

But tonight – remember those ice cream things with the swirly chocolate? Probably from the Good Humor truck………

That’s my brain tonight.  A swirl of  thoughts and emotions. As I’m on the floor with Hunter, he looks at me and says; “your eyes are all shiny and wet - what’s up, Human?”

“I’m just sad, Hunter…sometimes it’s just too much…”

“but we had a good day today, didn’t we?”

“well, yes we did.”

“at least it was for me – I played in the backyard while you DID WORK. I barked at squirrels all day, we took a walk, I got a treat (or two!), a couple of great meals, snuggles on the bed while you took a nap.  You even took me for a ride IN THE CAR!  You started a PROJECT that I can’t help with (except to lay at your feet and get in the way). It doesn’t get better than that!!”

“Well, that’s good for you, Hunter, but I still miss My Human – and I still miss Vespa too….and I know there is nothing I can do about it…it’s just the way things are now...”

“I know, but we had a GOOD DAY…”

“You’re right, as usual Hunter. We did. But I still get very sad…”

And then as I was sitting at the kitchen island after the dishes were done, I noticed, not for the first time, this:

We had stopped with the traditional gifts giving long ago – neither one of us really needed anything.  However……fun stuff was……..well, fun.   This was an Easter gift – a  Lamb Pen.  And it writes really well!

A toaster cover for Valentine’s Day ! Yes, really………..

Silly… yes…but. It meant we were each thinking about the other. Which we did – always. It was always about the other – even when we didn’t really feel like it.

And of course, there were THOSE moments…. We all have them. But now I miss even those………..

Oh – to have a real heart felt argument!  Or a debate about the next vacation………….or even the smallest decision, like what to cook for dinner, or watch on TV.       

I miss all of that.

And then some.

So what to do?  Pffffffbrttt – I don’t know.  Suck it up, buttercup?  No, that’s not the answer. ‘Why?’ you might ask?  Because it doesn’t work… Even raking the leaves today reminded me that we used to do this together…….I’d rake – he’d burn. Or whatever…….

Can you work together by yourself?  No, stupid, you cannot.

“But Human, we still have me?”

“Yes, Hunter, I do.  And I am grateful.  Really I am. You keep me grounded, keep me in the moment, keep me in the here and now... and I am grateful… however, I still miss MY human - Glenn. And I know I always will…………

And my eyes are shiny and wet…………….but, yes, we did have  a good day, Hunter and Me.

Communion shared

Dinner with friends several times this past week – mostly women – most understanding that the thirst of grief and mourning is never quenched.  Each in their own way, of course, but knowing grief and mourning nonetheless. A longing for what was and never will be again – but shared.

A prayer said, a birthday celebrated, friendships strengthened.  Conversation – deep and whimsical – silly and sacred as only friends can do.  Spiritual, sometimes theological, often pointed - ‘really – what do you mean by that?’ As only friends can do.

Wheat of the harvest broken and shared – communion.  The fruit of the grape – drunk and shared – communion. A meal shared at the Table – communion.

And isn’t that what friends are for?  The silly and the sacred?   The whimsical and the serious? Darkness pried open by the light…. Communion. Darkness splintered by shards of light….communion.

The broken heart and the healed one…. communion.

Where two or more are gathered….communion.

Communion…. with community….in unity….

And shared. As in 'I Am there among you'…………among us.

One ....

Just a reflection………….

As I was eating dinner – alone – but with his jazz selections on Pandora in the background – this came to mind: ‘One is the Loneliest Number.’  Remember?  I looked it up: covered by Three Dog Night, but written by Harry Nilssen.  1969. The year I graduated from High School (yikes!)

It was not written about being alone due to a death – but that is how I hear it now– so look up the lyrics.  One, is indeed a lonely number.

Dinner was good – grilled a steak with onions, baked potato, a glass of Malbec and my ever-faithful companion at my side: my Hunter- Dude waiting for a scrap of something………However – it was alone. Again.

And I got to thinking…………….this was suggested to me, by – yes – that wise person.  That if I would not suggest to someone in the throes of mourning, that they ‘get on with it – deal with it – get over it – get on with your life, etc., etc., etc.,’  (and I would never say those things to another human being), then why would I say them to myself? Why would I hold myself to a different standard? 

Good frickin’ question……………..

As a pastor, social worker, mental health counselor, I always attempted to meet the person where they were – and not impose any ‘should’s on them.  So why do I do that to myself?

Good frickin’ question……………..           Why indeed…….

It’s kinda like a preacher writing that sermon that she needs to hear…….

The hard part is the listening.

Today was a decent day, as days go. Errands run and accomplished, dog to the park, some yard work done, a nap, but still a lot of down time. What did we/I do before? I don’t know but it seems that the days were fuller - more robust - not empty or devoid of companionship - life filled.   And maybe that’s it – that’s what is missing.  Companionship.

Even for an introvert, other significant humans are necessary and even desirable ( well, some times!!). Friends and family are great – but they don’t live here.

I was also reminded that everything I do for the first year will be new – and I know that – I’ve even said it myself – but living it is another matter altogether.     And I don’t like it one bit.

Patience has never been my #1 virtue.

One is the loneliest number………… ( ok – I’ll do it for you. But you can also find it here or on YouTube)

http://www.metrolyrics.com/despacito-lyrics-luis-fonsi.html

One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
Two can be as bad as one
It's the loneliest number since the number one

No is the saddest experience you'll ever know
Yes, it's the saddest experience you'll ever know
Because one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever know

It's just no good anymore since you went away
Now I spend my time just making rhymes of yesterday

Because one is the loneliest number that you'll ever do
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever know
One is the loneliest number
One is the loneliest number
One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do

One is the loneliest number, much, much worse than two
One is the number divided by two
One
One is the loneliest number

But even harder than this is not shoulding on myself.

And the band played on……………..

a not so fiery rant - Don't call me a widow...........however ..........

WIDOW – how I hate that word.   I was commiserating with my therapist about this and recalled this event:

Shortly after Glenn’s funeral, I was talking with an HR person regarding his teachers’ pension.  She had to make a phone call to get information, and she said, “ I have Glenn’s widow here and she wants to know…blah, blah, blah.”

A gut punch if there ever was one.

I hadn’t used that word to describe myself – and to hear it from a stranger was, as devastating as finding him unconscious on the bathroom floor.

‘Why?’, you might ask.  Well, I’ll tell you.

I looked up the definition.  And the dictionaries agree that a ‘widow’ is a woman whose husband has died.  There are other minor meanings, but this will suffice.   One source stated that it comes from a Latin word meaning  ‘bereaved.’  This one I can deal with -  this one is genderless. This one is accurate. I am bereaved.

So think about it – in our scriptures there are 122 references to the word widow or its derivative.

One hundred and twenty-two.  And none (as far as I can see) directly from Jesus. But the jist of our scriptures, is that a widow – as with an orphan – is to be cared for because she has no resources to care for herself – i.e.. NO MAN to care for her.

‘Widow’ has a negative connotation, as does the word ‘orphan.’ Someone whose ONLY caregivers are gone.  Parents or husband -  you get the drift.

All well and good in the 1st century.

We are now in the 21st.  And yet, not much has changed in terms of our language and how society uses words and how we understand them even on an unconscious, gut level.

Well, it’s time we became conscious. It’s time we got out of our gut.

Words have power – ask anyone who has been bullied, made fun of, verbally abused, put down – you get the picture. “sticks and stones may break my bones, but words never hurt me…’ is not true.  Words do hurt.  Big time.

I may be a widow according to the dictionary – but do not use that word to describe me.

‘Why?’, you might ask.  Well, I’ll tell you.

Just because my husband, life partner of 38+ years has died, passed away to another (?) place, is no longer physically alive, however you want to describe this, does not mean I can no longer care for myself.

Having a husband, as wonderful as that was, did not define who I was/am as a person.  Being a wife was only one aspect of my being/identity/sense of self.  Important? Yes. But all of it? No. I, like all other women out there, am more than the sum of my various and sundry mismatched parts.

I was capable of self-care and was self-sustaining before him and I will be after him.
And - knowing Glenn - that is what he would want for me. To be uniquely me – whatever that means. To be who God created me to be.  To be undefinable.  As we all are: Undefinable. ( He would certainly agree with that word!)

So maybe it’s time -  for all of us -  to think before we speak.  It will take effort, it will require that we put the other first(!), it will require that we understand our language and the underlying meaning of words and the impact that it has on the hearer.

My therapist explained it this way (a very wise person!): Our brains have a limited amount of energy with which to work.  And so it is easier for us humans to put things in boxes, in pre-arranged categories ( I’m paraphrasing),  in order to conserve energy. It takes much more energy to think morally and ethically (i.e. outside the box!!) than to just accept what suits our best interests. Well, duh!

http://starpoempickjuly.blogspot.com

So – am I ok with Glenn’s death? No. I still have a long way to go to work my way through all of this.  But in the meantime, do not call me a widow.  Is there a better word?  I haven’t come up with it yet.  So, for now, I am a woman whose husband has died – and is struggling to make her way in the world that does not understand what that means for me. Nor, I suppose, does it care.

So for all my sisters out there whose husbands have died, this one’s for you. You will prevail -  and you will persist. In your own way and in your own time.

And so will I.

another fiery rant........Please Don't continued...

Some time ago I wrote, and posted, about many of the things people say that are meant to be helpful, but for me were not.

I forgot one.

I’ve seen it all over social media, and while not directed to me personally, it makes me more and more angry every time I see it.  Because, for me, it is simply not true. I normally don’t respond to what I consider to be inane nonsense on social media – but this time I can’t be quiet.

If what I have to say offends you, well, suck it up buttercup, I’m getting to old to keep my mouth shut.

“Everything happens for a reason.”    Seriously?

What is the ‘reason’ that a young child lays in a hospital bed for weeks on end because a distracted truck drive didn’t see him? What lesson is to be earned and by whom?

What is the ‘reason’ when a sister, friend, parent, child dies by their own hand? What lesson is to be learned and by whom?

What is the ‘reason’ for the devastation and deaths in California or Montana or Puerto Rico or the Gulf Coast? What lesson is to be learned and by whom?

What is the ‘reason’ my husband, and others, die, suddenly and unexpectedly, leaving grief in their wake? What lesson is to be learned and by whom?

What is the ‘reason’ for a terminal illness at a young age, leaving families financially and emotionally and even spiritually, devastated? What lesson is to be learned and by whom?

Seriously – what is the reason?

As human beings, capable of logic and analytical thinking, (well, most of us and most of the time) we tend to want to know that what happens to us has meaning. That life has a point to it -  even events that are painful. But finding meaning in the events of our lives and saying that things happen for a reason are two different things.

I do not believe that we have a God that purposely causes tragic events to happen in order to teach us something. That’s cruel.

I do not believe that we have a God that purposely causes wonderful events to happen in order to teach us something.  That’s cruel.

Can people be caring and compassionate in the midst of tragedy and loss? Yes – and often.  Can people be selfless and loving to their neighbor in the midst of devastation and despair? Yes – of course.

But that is not the same as saying that everything happens for a reason.

Because, at least in my world view, that is simply not true.

So, I will add this to the ‘Please Don’t…’

Please don’t tell me that everything happens for a reason – because it doesn’t.

together - no more

metal art purchased from an art fair in Dixon, 2017

Yesterday I wrote, but didn’t post, about the struggles I’ve had these last two weeks… days filled with a sadness so heavy, there have been times I could barely move, let alone think.  And function? Not well…   

Yesterday was 4 months from THAT day.

To say it has been rough is an understatement - and  it has been compounded by Vespa’s demise and the death of 2 colleagues, on top of all the other losses of friends and family these past four months.

It seems that each subsequent loss only makes the prior ones all the more raw, painful, almost impossible to bear. The sum is always more than simple addition, loss seems to multiply, like rabbits, or a different system of numbers.  2 + 2 does not always = 4, this time – more like 40.

And so today I packed up Hunter and his accoutrements, (he does NOT travel lite…) and hit the road – no specific destination in mind – I just needed to be gone.  I also wanted to acclimate him to traveling for a length of time – prep for the future road trips.

Well, if it hadn’t been for the doggy Xanax, it would have been a disaster. But eventually, after chewing his leash apart and trying to drive, he calmed down and we were all good.

And so I headed north and west and ended up in Bellevue, Iowa at the park just outside of town.

As I wind my way up the hill to the lookout point, I see an elderly couple walking along the road. Slowly, both bent over from age, but upright enough and walking nonetheless. Together.  In the park. When I pass them the first time – no wave, no acknowledgement.  When I pass them later as I leave – a smile and a wave - nature lovers all - and they had seen me walking Hunter – so I must be ok if I’m a woman alone and have a friendly dog… right? Right. Of course.

And then it hit me…… this is what WE used to do – this is what WE had planned to do for years to come.  Walks in the park, together, sometimes holding hands sometimes not, but together nonetheless. Together in our dotage.  Like this couple. It seemed obvious to me that they had been together a long time… just the way they were with each other. Comfortable, at ease, familiarity born of years, a history shared, a life lived: together.

Now was I reading too much into this split minute view of another couple? Maybe, but I don’t think so.

And it hit me – that gut punch that takes your breath away - waves of sorrow crashing over me: no more, never again.  Whether I find companionship at some point is not the issue – the time remaining in my life precludes a 38+ year relationship that speaks of this kind of comfort and familiarity.

No more, never again.

But then… I stop at the grocery store on my way home – and run into another new widow.  A woman I know – her husband too – who died suddenly with no forewarning – no time to prepare for the inevitable.

 Death rears its untimely head yet again. 

And so I offer words of condolence, inadequate, I’m sure.

We share our communal grief – a hug – and I’m on my way and she hers …

‘No more…’ I want to scream.  Stop already – enough is enough…….. !!!

And then I remember, ‘oh yeah, God is not a micromanager… She doesn’t just yank people out of life – nor does she ‘fix’ things that are best left up to us.’  Although a positive fix would be nice now and then…thank you very much...

But still, the ‘no more, never again …’ is hard to accept.  For me, for the new widow in the grocery store, for the countless others who have loved and lost, grieved and mourned. 

I know I am not alone – but still, the ‘no more, never again’ is almost impossible to bear.

Hey Human..............

I know something is up when he tries to get in my lap, climbing over my coffee cup and iPad.

“hey Human…?”

“yes, Hunter-Dude (that’s his middle name), what is it?”

“you’ve been running around here like crazy, so I haven’t had a chance to ask you…”

Charlie Brown and Snoopy 

“Ask me what…?”

“Something doesn’t seem right……it’s been awfully quiet… more than usual… and the girl dog? The one that smelled so nice? The one you called ‘Vespa’? Where is she?”

“Oh, Dude, I had to say goodbye to Vespa…she was sick and wasn’t going to get better….  And so I had to let her go be with Glenn…you know…the boy human who lived with us…”

“Oh…… so it really is just the 2 of us?  I wasn’t just barking to hear myself bark the other day? They are not coming back? Ever?”

“No, Hunter, they are never coming back… but they both have a special place in my heart…and we will always remember them - you said so yourself, 'cuz their smell is still here, remember?”

“Of course I remember, and I do still smell Vespa…her scent is all over the place…and there is another one too, one I don’t know...”

“That would be Rocky – her half-brother. We adopted you after he died, ‘cuz we didn’t want Vespa to be alone…and we were used to having 2 dogs live with us.”

“Oh.  Will you have to say goodbye to me someday?”

“Yes, we both will die someday…and say goodbye… but let’s hope it is not for a long time.”

“Ok. Well, as long as that is settled, can we go for a walk now?”

“Sure…, I’ll get my shoes and jacket – you get your leash………..”

Closets .........................

no it really doesn't look like this!

He was following me around like a 3 o’clock shadow. Back and forth between the bedroom and the laundry room. His big brown eyes looking at me as if to say, ‘what in the world are you doing?’

“Good question, Hunter, I ask myself that often.”

Going through the closet – his side anyway – sorting through shirts and pants and jeans, dress shirts and sweaters and t-shirts - making piles - all to be washed before I gave them away.

And finally Hunter said, “you aren’t gonna give them ALL away, are you? Because if you do, it’ll be hard for even me to smell his scent. You have to leave something for  me…”

“Oh, I hadn’t thought of that – but you’re right – I should keep a few things. And there are some I’d want to keep anyway.” And so I do - for Hunter!

We are taught that when we are baptized we are clothed with Christ – and those words are repeated at funerals - and so it is.  Invisible clothing that stays with us our whole life long.  But as humans living in community with one another, we wear visible clothes. Clothes to keep us warm -  to help us stay cool – to look ‘just right’ for that special occasion - clothes for work and play.  And after a lifetime, they accumulate (all by themselves, I think… like rabbits breeding?…)  But when the body is no longer in need of them – what to do?  Give them away… to be put to good use elsewhere by someone elsewhere.

And so I did – going through the closet – remembering when and where he wore this or that – remembering gifts given.  Touching each item as I gently take  it off the hanger to be washed – then folded – then set aside.

I’m not one for sentimental attachment to things – not usually anyway. So I decided it was time.  They were doing no good just hanging there… and I had found a resource for men and women to get clothes and other necessities at no cost to them. I had wanted to find a resource for men to get business attire, clothes for interviews and that kind of thing – but it doesn’t exist – at least not around here – and so this was the next best thing… and I know he would have been ok with this – more than ok actually – glad that he could help, even with something so simple as a pair of slacks and collared shirt for a job interview.

But it is just one more chink in my armor… which isn’t very thick to begin with. And Hunter must know what’s up -  the only time he leaves my side today is for SQUIRREL.

I’ll need to continue the sorting - I just couldn’t do it all at once – but that is for another day. And it will be another day of remembering - a day of remembering a lifetime of memories stored in the fabric of his life.

So Hunter is right – I do need to keep a few things – and not just for him - but for me too - at least enough to slow down the unraveling – to slow it down, ‘til I can begin to reweave my life, using the fabric of his.  I don’t know whether his is the warp or woof – it doesn’t really matter. After 38 + years there is no way to separate the threads of his life  from mine.  Our life together was of one piece - like Jesus’ garment. But I will claim it, it’s all mine now.

And so I sort through his clothes, remembering and beginning the reweaving process.  His clothes are off to another place – and so am I - I just don't know where that is yet.

And Hunter says, “but of course you’ll keep me, right?”

“well, of course, why wouldn’t I”

“It’s just you and me now, Human, we have to take care of each other…”

 “Hunter, you are so smart…  Good boy!!”

Hunter says......cont'd.

Hunter said, "…why are you crying?”

And I said, “.....’cuz I’m sad, Hunter,  I miss Glenn…”

 “oh yeah,”  he said, “ the boy human that lived here with us?”

“yes, that’s the one….”

“but he is here. I can smell him…”

 “well, that’s great, Hunter, but I can’t anymore…”

“that’s ok, I’ll do it for you….  You see, smells never go away. They may fade a bit, but they are always there, at least for us dog types… and other animals too.  It’s only you humans that can’t smell very well… and that’s how we know things, by what our noses tell us, and I’ve got a pretty big one…(and yes he does!).  And he is still here,  ‘cuz I can smell him…… everything he has ever touched has his smell all over it.. it’s everywhere….and it won’t go away – ever. I’ll always be able to know that he was here… "

“well, I guess I’d better keep you around then huh?”

“but of course, why wouldn’t you?”

Hunter, “you are so smart…  Good boy!!”

Hunter says...............

When I come home, no matter how long I’ve been gone (5 minutes?) Hunter does his rabbit dance – twirl, jump, repeat, repeat, repeat, repeat.

Hunter is always glad to see his human.  (Vespa was too, she was just much more refined about it – didn’t always even get up – but always tail wag, she was 90ish already…)  But Hunter is a different story – he is only 5 in dog years  -  still very young.

However – he is wise beyond his years.

We were watching the news this evening – (dinner with Lester Holt!) and so I got down on the floor and asked him – '...+ so what do you think of all this news coverage of the shooting in Las Vegas?’
And he looked at me with his big brown eyes, licked my face and laid down in my lap, belly up.

‘Huh… so what does that mean?’ I asked.   And this is what he said…

‘Ya know..all of this over excitable talk about what happened is not doing anyone any good – yes there was terror, a bad guy killed and hurt humans , but humans responded by showing their best -  humans helping other humans…and that is a very good thing.  Those humans did not deserve to die or get hurt.  And you do need to remember and honor those who got hurt or died.  It’s what you humans do. And it’s a good thing. Really. But, ya know, you keep me from hurting squirrels and those humans who walk by and the mailman and the UPS driver and the occasional raccoon and those random interlopers that I don’t tell you about, by keeping me fenced in – for my own good.  I can bark at squirrels, but not hurt them. Why can’t people do that?  You can bark at people – disagree – but you don’t have to hurt them…  Now I’m not suggesting that all of you need to be fenced in…. but… maybe fencing in the weapons?  Keep them away from people who don’t know how to be good with other humans…..? just sayin’.

And so I asked him this…’ so what should we do, us humans…?’ And this is what he said………

'Ya know how you love me?’ 

and I said, ‘yes, I know – with all my heart.  I do everything I can to take care of you… feed you, take you to the vet (ouch!) walk you, let you run (in the fenced in back yard of course), play catch with your favorite ball or stick, sleep in MY bed, take you for rides in the CAR, walks even in the PARK!’ And whatever else YOU need.’

And he said…

’exactly – you take care of me, putting yourself aside for my best interest…’

And I said, ‘ yes most of the time I do.’

And he said,’

‘exactly – when you brought me home from the shelter you said 'I DO.' A vow – like your marriage to Glenn – we take care of each other. So why can’t you humans do that all the time – with EVERYONE?

 And I said, ‘ damned good question, Hunter, I wish I knew the answer….’

‘Just because I’m born to hunt squirrels – doesn’t mean that you people are born to hunt people…just sayin’…’

free google image 

Hunter, ‘you are so smart…  Good boy!!’

broken ............

My heart hurts again… I’m broken in a thousand pieces  – like Humpty Dumpty when he fell of the wall…cracked like a shattered  mirror – like that crystal glass diving into the kitchen sink- you get the picture.

I can't think- can't focus enough to read a book – even a simple one. I start to do something and then stop – as if totally unwound, battery dead, and I wonder- ‘what the hell is happening to me?’  

Patience? Gone. Decision making? Out the window. Focus? Nonexistent. Hungry? Not really. Sleepy?' Nope. I’m. A. Mess.

With Vespa gone, the house is so much quieter than before if that is even possible. She wasn’t exactly a noisy dog…..  but even her wondering around left a musical  trail. Having to say goodbye to her – she was Glenn’s sweetie, after all - has pushed me over the top – the top of what you might ask? Over the top of grief…she was my last living connection to him in this place I call home …..And now??

Jazz light is in the background ... something to fill the void.  The required Sunday Brandy Old Fashioned at hand – ‘this one’s for you Glenn,’… I’ll drink it and probably another – but I don’t really want it. Not tonight anyway.  And I’ll putter around in the kitchen to make something to eat – ‘cuz that’s what I did/do on Sunday evening…but my heart is not in it….. I’m not even sure where it is, this heart of mine…..broken like that forgotten  toy at the bottom of the toy box? 

These last couple of days .I’ve been taking Hunter with me when I go out for errands or whatever, whenever I can.  He needs to learn how to do this too.  But I am terrified that something will happen to him – and so I am over cautious …. like a helicopter Mom.  But I am also thinking about a ‘travels with Hunter.’  Why not? Maybe I need some distance – to gain perspective? Maybe – maybe just a change of scenery – if I can make it til then….

It’s really not like me to broadcast my emotions to all the world – but I also know that if I don’t, it will be arms behind my back in a white jacket – and that is not appealing…

So maybe these are my prayers – these ramblings – you know – 'the sighs too deep for words.' 

And so it is Hunter and me.  My sister said maybe this is the start of a new book -not just a chapter – but a whole new book. Maybe she’s right – but until I know the title – I’m lost…………………… 

Broken like that toy at the bottom of the toy box.