This past October I had my first surgery. Not long before the procedure I had been thinking how lucky I was that I had reached middle age without any serious health concerns. Although my parents are very healthy, active seniors, they both had health scares in their 40's and I had surpassed them both. I think it is not unusual for your body to show signs of wear and tear in middle life and I was feeling fortunate. Then came the dreaded colonoscopy that revealed a very large polyp that couldn't be simply removed.
I remember waking from the procedure and in that fuzzy state hearing the doctor tell my husband surgery was required. At the time it didn't really register. I just wanted something to drink and to go back to sleep. When the reality hit I wasn't overly concerned. I had been told the polyp appeared to be benign and I held on to that.
Because this thing growing in me was slow growing, surgery didn't have to occur immediately. At the meeting with our surgeon I asked if it could be put off several months so as not to interfere with a month long work related trip to Kyrgyzstan. The surgeon felt that would be fine. I left that day and gave it very little thought. I am possessed with the ability to compartmentalize. In other words I can easily bury seriously worrisome things and live my life. On the other hand, I will admit to sweating the small stuff- those insignificant things that make you crazy on a daily basis. Like work, or house upkeep, finances or family obligations.
Now I need to share a little story about irony because if ever there was an ironic situation, this was it. And when I say that, for the most part, I can suppress worry about really scary stuff, I am telling the truth. Did I worry about the possibility of cancer, or the anesthesia not working, or serious complications? Well, maybe, a little bit, maybe subconsciously but not in any truly nerve wracking way. What did I worry about? ......the farting. Okay, I'm being serious here. You see my dad had the same surgery in his 60's and I clearly remember the post surgery uncontrollable tooting. It went on for some time. I remember the giggling behind his back and all the fart jokes. I was mortified.
Me? I don't really find farting all that funny. I don't even like the word fart. Yet I live with a man who finds it VERY funny and farts often, often unnecessarily. I don't know how many times I've said "Seriously, you're how old?" And my kids find it funny. My girls, in their 20's now, can be very earthy, particularly my oldest. She hoots over a good fart and isn't at all embarrassed to let one rip, even in front of her boyfriend.
My Book Club friends, particularly Mary, had a good laugh at my concerns. Mary has this amazing laugh, a loud guffaw that makes everyone smile. She was in agreement with the rest of my family- farts are funny. So, okay, okay I get that I'm a bit prudish when it comes to this topic. But seriously, I'm even a little embarrassed to be writing about farts. I DO NOT want to be that person who can't control her bodily functions and toots every time she gets up from her desk at work (in front of all her young co-workers) or every time she bends over. AND...I didn't want to wake from surgery to uncontrollable farting and my family laughing their asses off.
Okay, now here is where the irony comes in. My surgery went fine, the polyp was in fact benign and I was not in significant pain BUT, you guessed it- I couldn't pass gas- my ticket out of this place of torture and pain. Little did I know that all my years of repressing farts and sending dirty looks to my husband would come back to haunt me.
The expectation was I would be in the hospital for 3-5 days. I had my heart set on three. Unfortunately my body didn't allow that, bloating up like a beached whale. I looked about 7 months pregnant. On day three, post surgery, my gastrointestinal system still wasn't cooperating. The nurse would ask "Have you passed gas?" To which I would answer "Well, maybe a little." That wasn't true. I lied. Never had I wanted to feel the urge more and still no farting occurred.
At this point it was determined this build up of gunk bloating my belly needed to come out. Thus, the gastrointestinal tube was put in... while I was awake. Any of you who have woken from surgery with this tube already inserted knows that it is uncomfortable and causes a very painful sore throat. What you don't know, because you were under anesthesia is that it hurts like hell when inserted. A tube gets shoved up your nose, passed your sinuses and runs down your throat into your belly. It took the nurse three attempts, with me trying to shove her away and pleading with her to stop. I believe I let the f bomb fly more than once. Once inserted, the relief that it's over quickly disappears as you realize your throat is on fire.
The days passed and disgusting green stuff pumped from my stomach out this tube into a canister and still my body wouldn't cooperate. In the meantime, every day brought more injustices to my body- daily shots that burned, blood drawn in the middle of the night, medicines pumped in my IV that shot pain up my arm. I WANTED OUT. Please, please cooperate body. I was only supposed to be in here three days!!!
In the midst of all this, I wasn't allowed to eat. In preparation for the surgery, I couldn't eat the day before and post surgery I lived on ice chips. On day 9 my surgeon became concerned about my nutrition. She was considering inserting a feeding tube. It sounded abhorrent to me, it sounded painful and I was sick of painful procedures. I didn't care about my nutrition, I wasn't hungry anyway. I didn't care about my health. I just wanted to know if it would hurt. Her answer, "It's a little uncomfortable." Okay.... Now Hear This...when a doctor says it's uncomfortable it means it's going to hurt like hell. I was now an expert at doctor speak.
So, I begged for one more day and I prayed. I prayed my body would heal. I prayed the bloating would subside and yes, I prayed to fart. And around 11:00 that night something woke me up. I remember looking at the clock and hearing the whirring sound of machines around me. It was quiet and dark and as I came fully awake I knew something significant was happening. I felt a peace wash over me and just knew everything was okay. I felt the rise of my stomach and could feel that it had softened and was not as distended. I slipped back into sleep knowing my body had finally healed itself.
The next morning my nurse confirmed what I learned in the night. Later still, talking to my parents, I learned my dad slipped out of bed around that time and was praying for me. I was touched and thankful for his prayers and the confirmation that prayer works and small miracles do in fact happen.
In 24 hours I was eating again and released from the hospital. I am happy to say I did not become the butt of family jokes and have been able to control my bodily functions.
I learned a few good lessons as a result of my surgery. Nurses, like all of humans, can be kind or rather cruel. Pain is a given when you endure surgery. Hospitals can be scary in the middle of the night. Morphine makes you testy. The love and care of family and friends is crucial. It takes prayer to heal and... Farting can be a good thing.
(No Craig, this does not mean I think it's cute when you fart.)
VSL
Friday, July 17, 2009
Friday, July 3, 2009
For Better or Worse
Recently my mom shared a phone conversation she had with my Aunt Judy. Judy and her husband, Jack, live in West Virginia, and have throughout most of my life. Because it is a long distance we only saw each other on rare, special occasions. Throughout my childhood, those occasions typically took place in California where my grandparents lived and later in Arkansas where they retired. In my adult life I saw them when they came to see my parents, who live nearby. I always look forward to their visits. They are very dear to me.
Uncle Jack was head of the sociology department at the small private college where he taught. He was always full of energy; an avid jogger, hiker and swimmer. He and my Aunt Judy traveled often and enjoyed outdoor adventures. Well, let's just say he did and Aunt Judy, as the dutiful wife, went along. So it was surprising that shortly after retirement and only in his mid 60's, Uncle Jack's health began to fail. His legs kept giving out and his hearing began to go. At first it was a minor impairment but as time when on, and doctors were baffled, it became a burdensome thing. Burdensome for Jack, but also, very much so for my Aunt Judy.
Long distance trips to doctors, being home bound and Uncle Jack's constant demands are now what my Aunt Judy's life is made up of. In the phone conversation my mom had with Aunt Judy, she asked how things were. Aunt Judy replied "My life sucks." As my mom relayed this to me I got thinking how marriage and the roles and relationships in those marriages change over time.
Judy and Jack are not the only seniors I am close to who have had to take on the role of caregiver and disabled. I know of many couples whose end of life stage becomes pure drudgery- chronic illness for one and over the top care giving for the other. I saw my paternal grandmother sit by my grandfather's side every day in the nursing home. She did this for years. His death was a relief and a release for her. It was like she was a changed person and all the garbage from their marriage tumbled out. No longer saddled with her ailing husband, she traveled, joined clubs, enjoyed fashion and spent time with family. She shared stories, thoughts and feelings like never before. Freedom was a such a release for her. It was like she was allowed to live for the first time in her life.
My parent's neighbor cared for her Alzheimer stricken husband for a couple of years until she could no longer handle the responsibility. Once he was put in a nursing home, she left for weeks at a time visiting family and friends. Her weekdays are filled with lunches out, afternoon matinees and shopping. My mom rarely sees her anymore. Freedom never felt so good!!
Even closer are my in-laws. They live nearby and have had a wonderful marriage, filled with respect and affection. It's my mother-in-law who fell ill. She was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's a couple years ago. We all saw the signs for several years prior to the official diagnosis. My father-in-law, Harold, is her sole caregiver. One son lives in the same town and helps out as needed. The other two sons, visit often and are willing to be there on a moment's notice. But the day-to-day grind falls to Harold. It's hard to watch the healthy dynamics of a marriage disintegrate, when in the end, this person you are caring for is not the person you married. Harold loves Marge and he will be there until the end but it isn't easy and I imagine each and every day feels like a chore.
As my daughter and I plan her wedding and I feel the excitement and anticipation just oozing from her, I contemplate how life changes and relationships change. You start out young and starry-eyed and, sadly, often end up bitter and disillusioned. The only options to this end of life scenario are that one spouse dies suddenly or both go at the same time- a rarity. The fact is, if you live a long full life; more than likely one of you will end up taking care of the other as their health declines. And, often, in the end, that person feels unimaginable frustration, oftentimes anger and resentment at being absolutely stuck in this position, through no choice of their own.
It's rather a depressing scenario and there is no real solution. No matter how you've cared for your body, no matter what your genetic history, no matter that you've never been sick a day in your life; in the end, most of us end up needing care. As my lovely neighbor Helen use to say, "Growing old ain't fun, girl."
I know it isn't and I hurt for my senior family members living through these tough times. I know the love is still there, it's just buried under the tasks of getting through each day. In the end, when the ill spouse is no longer with us; the memories of that person in their younger days will win out and those end memories will be forgotten. But, for those doing the care giving, it can be a long haul until then.
Uncle Jack was head of the sociology department at the small private college where he taught. He was always full of energy; an avid jogger, hiker and swimmer. He and my Aunt Judy traveled often and enjoyed outdoor adventures. Well, let's just say he did and Aunt Judy, as the dutiful wife, went along. So it was surprising that shortly after retirement and only in his mid 60's, Uncle Jack's health began to fail. His legs kept giving out and his hearing began to go. At first it was a minor impairment but as time when on, and doctors were baffled, it became a burdensome thing. Burdensome for Jack, but also, very much so for my Aunt Judy.
Long distance trips to doctors, being home bound and Uncle Jack's constant demands are now what my Aunt Judy's life is made up of. In the phone conversation my mom had with Aunt Judy, she asked how things were. Aunt Judy replied "My life sucks." As my mom relayed this to me I got thinking how marriage and the roles and relationships in those marriages change over time.
Judy and Jack are not the only seniors I am close to who have had to take on the role of caregiver and disabled. I know of many couples whose end of life stage becomes pure drudgery- chronic illness for one and over the top care giving for the other. I saw my paternal grandmother sit by my grandfather's side every day in the nursing home. She did this for years. His death was a relief and a release for her. It was like she was a changed person and all the garbage from their marriage tumbled out. No longer saddled with her ailing husband, she traveled, joined clubs, enjoyed fashion and spent time with family. She shared stories, thoughts and feelings like never before. Freedom was a such a release for her. It was like she was allowed to live for the first time in her life.
My parent's neighbor cared for her Alzheimer stricken husband for a couple of years until she could no longer handle the responsibility. Once he was put in a nursing home, she left for weeks at a time visiting family and friends. Her weekdays are filled with lunches out, afternoon matinees and shopping. My mom rarely sees her anymore. Freedom never felt so good!!
Even closer are my in-laws. They live nearby and have had a wonderful marriage, filled with respect and affection. It's my mother-in-law who fell ill. She was officially diagnosed with Alzheimer's a couple years ago. We all saw the signs for several years prior to the official diagnosis. My father-in-law, Harold, is her sole caregiver. One son lives in the same town and helps out as needed. The other two sons, visit often and are willing to be there on a moment's notice. But the day-to-day grind falls to Harold. It's hard to watch the healthy dynamics of a marriage disintegrate, when in the end, this person you are caring for is not the person you married. Harold loves Marge and he will be there until the end but it isn't easy and I imagine each and every day feels like a chore.
As my daughter and I plan her wedding and I feel the excitement and anticipation just oozing from her, I contemplate how life changes and relationships change. You start out young and starry-eyed and, sadly, often end up bitter and disillusioned. The only options to this end of life scenario are that one spouse dies suddenly or both go at the same time- a rarity. The fact is, if you live a long full life; more than likely one of you will end up taking care of the other as their health declines. And, often, in the end, that person feels unimaginable frustration, oftentimes anger and resentment at being absolutely stuck in this position, through no choice of their own.
It's rather a depressing scenario and there is no real solution. No matter how you've cared for your body, no matter what your genetic history, no matter that you've never been sick a day in your life; in the end, most of us end up needing care. As my lovely neighbor Helen use to say, "Growing old ain't fun, girl."
I know it isn't and I hurt for my senior family members living through these tough times. I know the love is still there, it's just buried under the tasks of getting through each day. In the end, when the ill spouse is no longer with us; the memories of that person in their younger days will win out and those end memories will be forgotten. But, for those doing the care giving, it can be a long haul until then.
Tuesday, June 23, 2009
Surviving the Loss of a Child
Recently I was reading Off Season by Anne Rivers Siddons. She is a favorite novelist of mine-savvy and smart. In this particular novel I was stopped by her description of surviving the "fall" after a loved one dies. In this case it was the death of a spouse but her description fits with any loss of a close family member or friend.
Until recently my life has been blessed with little tragedy. Those family members who died were the older members, those who had lived full lives and their time had come. And, though, we mourned their passing, there was a natural order to things. That is until we lost my 19-year-old nephew.
It's been 18 months since Skyler died, towards the end of his first semester in college. The initial shock of this unexpected death was unlike anything I had ever lived through. I literally had trouble catching my breath. The days that followed left me numb. Moving through those days felt like acting, like we were on a movie set acting out a particularly tragic family event.
The ensuing months have proven that one does survive. That parents survive the loss of a beloved child and that extended family feels the pain in their own fashion; although always mindful of the immediate family and their loss.
People ask me all the time, "How is your sister doing?" I am never sure how to answer. She is living, she is eating, she is working, she socializes, parents her living child, laughs, celebrates life events. So... on the surface she is doing well. Despite this, I know there are deep, dark moments, that have probably lessened in severity but will follow her all of her days. I know holidays suck. I know she sometimes has a bitter outlook on life. Yet, somehow she survives. As does her husband and her daughter.
What everyone wonders is how? As parents we think we could never survive the loss of a child, though we all know of parents who do. Once you've lost a young family member it's as though people come out of the woodwork telling their loss stories. A coworker who lost her brother when he was 18. Although it's been 20 years, her mother still morns the anniversary of his death in a deep and sorrowful way. A neighbor who lost her son to polio in the 50's and still speaks of him as though he is a living being. The family in your church who survived the loss of two children. You see them in church. You know they get up each morning, work, live, eat. So we do know that most do survive.
I imagine there are some who don't, who slip into deep despair and never recover. And I've wondered why can some people go on and eventually live full, seemingly satisfying lives and others can't move on. That brings me back to the Siddons novel. In it she describes what's it's like each morning, following the death of a loved one, to wake up and for a split second all is okay and than you remember.
"Anyone who has lost a love to death can tell you about that fall. You wake from a hard-won sleep and lie there warm and groggy and consider engaging the day. And then you remember. half of you is not there, and never will be again. The agony is too much; you almost welcome the great slide ahead of you. But there is no oblivion in it. Only a blackness and an endless well of red pain."
"At the very first, the effort to haul yourself out of the pit hand over hand seems impossible, and, indeed, unnecessary. What is there up top for you? But somehow you begin; I know few people who have truly surrendered to the blackness, even at the beginning, when a leftover life seems to hold nothing to give you life. Many of us have other lives, other beings, that wait for us to minister to them, and on their shoulders we toil, finally far enough up to begin to stumble forward. I do not know what happens to people who have no family, close friends, or animals. Perhaps they simply do not come back up. Or perhaps they are steelier souls than ever I could be."
Those passages spoke to me and though I knew on some level that was the very reason my sister and her family have survived, I had never seen it so eloquently written. My sister survives because she has a husband and a daughter and a spoiled, much loved dog; because she has amazing friends that go back a lifetime and because she lives in a community that embraced them at the time of Skyler's death.
I can think of no better reason to cherish and nurture those you love than to know that sometime in the future, when you are falling into an abyss of despair, they will be there to pull you out, to breathe life back into you and need you to go on living. That's how one survives the death of a loved one. You do it because those you love depend on you to do so.
Until recently my life has been blessed with little tragedy. Those family members who died were the older members, those who had lived full lives and their time had come. And, though, we mourned their passing, there was a natural order to things. That is until we lost my 19-year-old nephew.
It's been 18 months since Skyler died, towards the end of his first semester in college. The initial shock of this unexpected death was unlike anything I had ever lived through. I literally had trouble catching my breath. The days that followed left me numb. Moving through those days felt like acting, like we were on a movie set acting out a particularly tragic family event.
The ensuing months have proven that one does survive. That parents survive the loss of a beloved child and that extended family feels the pain in their own fashion; although always mindful of the immediate family and their loss.
People ask me all the time, "How is your sister doing?" I am never sure how to answer. She is living, she is eating, she is working, she socializes, parents her living child, laughs, celebrates life events. So... on the surface she is doing well. Despite this, I know there are deep, dark moments, that have probably lessened in severity but will follow her all of her days. I know holidays suck. I know she sometimes has a bitter outlook on life. Yet, somehow she survives. As does her husband and her daughter.
What everyone wonders is how? As parents we think we could never survive the loss of a child, though we all know of parents who do. Once you've lost a young family member it's as though people come out of the woodwork telling their loss stories. A coworker who lost her brother when he was 18. Although it's been 20 years, her mother still morns the anniversary of his death in a deep and sorrowful way. A neighbor who lost her son to polio in the 50's and still speaks of him as though he is a living being. The family in your church who survived the loss of two children. You see them in church. You know they get up each morning, work, live, eat. So we do know that most do survive.
I imagine there are some who don't, who slip into deep despair and never recover. And I've wondered why can some people go on and eventually live full, seemingly satisfying lives and others can't move on. That brings me back to the Siddons novel. In it she describes what's it's like each morning, following the death of a loved one, to wake up and for a split second all is okay and than you remember.
"Anyone who has lost a love to death can tell you about that fall. You wake from a hard-won sleep and lie there warm and groggy and consider engaging the day. And then you remember. half of you is not there, and never will be again. The agony is too much; you almost welcome the great slide ahead of you. But there is no oblivion in it. Only a blackness and an endless well of red pain."
"At the very first, the effort to haul yourself out of the pit hand over hand seems impossible, and, indeed, unnecessary. What is there up top for you? But somehow you begin; I know few people who have truly surrendered to the blackness, even at the beginning, when a leftover life seems to hold nothing to give you life. Many of us have other lives, other beings, that wait for us to minister to them, and on their shoulders we toil, finally far enough up to begin to stumble forward. I do not know what happens to people who have no family, close friends, or animals. Perhaps they simply do not come back up. Or perhaps they are steelier souls than ever I could be."
Those passages spoke to me and though I knew on some level that was the very reason my sister and her family have survived, I had never seen it so eloquently written. My sister survives because she has a husband and a daughter and a spoiled, much loved dog; because she has amazing friends that go back a lifetime and because she lives in a community that embraced them at the time of Skyler's death.
I can think of no better reason to cherish and nurture those you love than to know that sometime in the future, when you are falling into an abyss of despair, they will be there to pull you out, to breathe life back into you and need you to go on living. That's how one survives the death of a loved one. You do it because those you love depend on you to do so.
Tuesday, June 16, 2009
Planning a Daughter's Wedding
My 2nd eldest is getting married on September 5, 2009. This will be the first wedding in our family. The engagement occurred just prior to Christmas. It didn't come as a big surprise. You see, daughter number 2 can't keep a secret and everyone knew the momentous occasion was just around the corner. However, the groom had other ideas and what we thought would happen any day turned into several months.
The joy in Ali's voice when she finally got that ring on her finger was precious. Voice trembling, she called late on a Saturday night and told us they were on their way over. It was near midnight. Her dad and I made ourselves presentable, looked for something suitable to toast the occasion and patiently waited for them to arrive- beaming all the while. Joy ensued and all in attendance congratulated the happy couple.
Now here is the "bad mommy" part. I never really looked forward to this. Okay, it gets worse, I kind of dreaded it. Yes, I hoped my children would find a life mate and yes, I hoped they would marry in a somewhat traditional manner, but I never daydreamed about planning their weddings. I know moms who do. I know moms who only have boys and regret that they won't ever be planning a wedding. Not me. I anticipated a lot of contention, stress, worry about money, extra work, etc.
But guess what? I've found there is some of that but not even close to the degree I worried about. What I've found instead is that planning your daughter's wedding is just what these other moms dreamed about- a special life experience that occurs once ('cause it better not happen again!). A time in your life that is set apart from all others. I shouldn't have worried but I admit to sometimes being a "glass half empty" kind of gal.
So there you are. Your daughter is engaged. The toasts have been made, the good news has been passed along to friends and family, congrats shared with the future in-laws and then reality sets in. Okay... we've got to plan this thing. First, a date must be set. Sounds simple? Nope! You have to take into account the bride's family, the groom's family, extended family, weather, site availability and a reasonable amount of time to plan without undue stress. The groom wanted to get married sooner rather then later. The bride wanted cooler weather and the church wasn't available until the latter. So, the bride won and September 5th it is.
After some initial hustle, there was a lovely lull in the spring. All the most important components were in place and there was no need to start in on the million minute details. The details I had been dreading for months. But before we knew it, we were four months out and once again we're thick in the middle of it, with numerous phone calls back and forth, errands to run, decisions to be made, problems to be solved. In addition we are on a tight budget and working hard to stick to it. This means we have to be creative. We're making the invitations, programs and table decorations ourselves. Fortunately Ali's future sister-in-law designed the invites and is actively overseeing their completion. This is good, for we are not a crafty family.
Actually, I can be creative when I get inspired. Problem is many of my inspirations come in the night- late in the night. I find myself stumbling around in the dark, looking for a sticky note and pen. When I wake in the morning my scribbles are not exactly legible but usually adequate enough to spark my memory. Happily some of those inspirations have panned out and I believe will make the day even more special.
After the flurry of the last few weeks, important decisions have been made, the budget is still in tact and I think, once again, things will slow for a bit. My plan for the next months is to be so on top of every detail that all goes off as expected but I am savvy enough to know all about "best laid plans"...blah,blah,blah.
Amazingly, in the midst of all the work , and the occasional headache and grumpiness, I find I am getting a tickle in my stomach; a tickle of anticipation. My lovely daughter is getting married, family is coming from afar to celebrate and it is indeed a wonderful thing. Let the fun begin!
VSL
The joy in Ali's voice when she finally got that ring on her finger was precious. Voice trembling, she called late on a Saturday night and told us they were on their way over. It was near midnight. Her dad and I made ourselves presentable, looked for something suitable to toast the occasion and patiently waited for them to arrive- beaming all the while. Joy ensued and all in attendance congratulated the happy couple.
Now here is the "bad mommy" part. I never really looked forward to this. Okay, it gets worse, I kind of dreaded it. Yes, I hoped my children would find a life mate and yes, I hoped they would marry in a somewhat traditional manner, but I never daydreamed about planning their weddings. I know moms who do. I know moms who only have boys and regret that they won't ever be planning a wedding. Not me. I anticipated a lot of contention, stress, worry about money, extra work, etc.
But guess what? I've found there is some of that but not even close to the degree I worried about. What I've found instead is that planning your daughter's wedding is just what these other moms dreamed about- a special life experience that occurs once ('cause it better not happen again!). A time in your life that is set apart from all others. I shouldn't have worried but I admit to sometimes being a "glass half empty" kind of gal.
So there you are. Your daughter is engaged. The toasts have been made, the good news has been passed along to friends and family, congrats shared with the future in-laws and then reality sets in. Okay... we've got to plan this thing. First, a date must be set. Sounds simple? Nope! You have to take into account the bride's family, the groom's family, extended family, weather, site availability and a reasonable amount of time to plan without undue stress. The groom wanted to get married sooner rather then later. The bride wanted cooler weather and the church wasn't available until the latter. So, the bride won and September 5th it is.
After some initial hustle, there was a lovely lull in the spring. All the most important components were in place and there was no need to start in on the million minute details. The details I had been dreading for months. But before we knew it, we were four months out and once again we're thick in the middle of it, with numerous phone calls back and forth, errands to run, decisions to be made, problems to be solved. In addition we are on a tight budget and working hard to stick to it. This means we have to be creative. We're making the invitations, programs and table decorations ourselves. Fortunately Ali's future sister-in-law designed the invites and is actively overseeing their completion. This is good, for we are not a crafty family.
Actually, I can be creative when I get inspired. Problem is many of my inspirations come in the night- late in the night. I find myself stumbling around in the dark, looking for a sticky note and pen. When I wake in the morning my scribbles are not exactly legible but usually adequate enough to spark my memory. Happily some of those inspirations have panned out and I believe will make the day even more special.
After the flurry of the last few weeks, important decisions have been made, the budget is still in tact and I think, once again, things will slow for a bit. My plan for the next months is to be so on top of every detail that all goes off as expected but I am savvy enough to know all about "best laid plans"...blah,blah,blah.
Amazingly, in the midst of all the work , and the occasional headache and grumpiness, I find I am getting a tickle in my stomach; a tickle of anticipation. My lovely daughter is getting married, family is coming from afar to celebrate and it is indeed a wonderful thing. Let the fun begin!
VSL
Tuesday, June 2, 2009
30 Years Married!!!
Today is my 30th wedding anniversary. That's just crazy because you document the number and acknowledge the truth of the number but it just sounds like we must be a couple old geezers. And, while I don't exactly feel young and I firmly believe life experiences have only made me better, I sure don't feel old. Yet, here we are, 30 years married. What?
I can't even remember what it felt like to be newlyweds. We married young. I was 20 and Craig was 22. We moved three hours away from friends and family and went home every weekend; not yet ready to be completely grown up, still wanting to hang with our college friends and be catered to by our parents.
Weekdays found us poor, in a small apartment, eating budget meals and counting pennies (literally) to go buy an ice cream or some other treat. Weekends found us mooching off our parents and partying with friends. The first year went relatively smoothly. We'd been together long enough that there weren't any big surprises. I was fortunate to have married a man who loved deeply and put a lot of effort into making sure I was happy. That treatment has continued all our married life.
Those early years were full of firsts: first pet, first house, first child (then a 2nd and a 3rd). There was barely time to breathe, let alone contemplate what we wanted out of our life. And, there were tough times. Times when one or the other of us was discontented, stressed, filled with doubt. Is this all there is? Where's the fun? What happened to all those dreams we had? Or, maybe I should say, I had. Craig wasn't (and still isn't ) much of a dreamer. He doesn't need much beyond food, home and family. I think that may be true of many men. While we women suffer needs and wants in a more profound way.
Turning 40 was a hard time for me. The kids were in school and while my job wasn't entirely done, I had no earthly idea what to do next. I was stuck and filled with inertia. An inertia that led me to be extremely discontented. I WANTED MORE!!! That need worked its way into the essence of our marriage and we had to do some serious work. It was not an easy time- lots of pain, lots of compromise, lots of anxiety. And... then it eased. That need to see what else was out there, to move beyond my family. We moved and that in itself was an adventure. An adventure that led to a deep healing and a renewal in our marriage. As cheesy as this sounds, I actually heard a phrase for this. Okay, it was on Oprah, but it seriously made sense. I "surrendered to my marriage."
I think the best advice I could give to those contemplating marriage is that it won't be anywhere near perfect, there will be stagnant times, there will be times you don't even like each other very much but if all the basic components are there (basic respect, love of family, similar values, etc.) yet, you still find yourself unhappy, you may find you need to just surrender to what it is. That means accepting your spouse for all his or her shortcomings, and, once you do that, and once you really accept them, the love will sustain.
Those lessons seem basic and simple but until you really need them and apply them, you don't get it. I learned to love my husband for who he is- warts and all. And, I must say he is one of the best men I will ever have the pleasure of knowing. Not only does he put others needs before his own and love his family deeply but he has evolved into one really cool, smart guy. Despite months and years of familiarity, it's amazing how your spouse can still surprise you.
Recently I had to undergo major surgery. While I was out of it on morphine, my sister observed his care of me. (I was a bit psycho at times). She told me , with a catch in her voice, that she had never seen such pure love. I don't know how I got so lucky or how he's put up with me all these years. Really, I'm not being humble here. I can be seriously high maintenance at times.
....But lucky I got.
I have no idea what the future will bring but I do know that we are in it for the long haul. I know that (God willing) I will be there to see him as a grandfather, I will be there when he retires and I will be there to see him old and bent.
Happy Anniversary my lovely husband!
Lucky Me...
VSL
I can't even remember what it felt like to be newlyweds. We married young. I was 20 and Craig was 22. We moved three hours away from friends and family and went home every weekend; not yet ready to be completely grown up, still wanting to hang with our college friends and be catered to by our parents.
Weekdays found us poor, in a small apartment, eating budget meals and counting pennies (literally) to go buy an ice cream or some other treat. Weekends found us mooching off our parents and partying with friends. The first year went relatively smoothly. We'd been together long enough that there weren't any big surprises. I was fortunate to have married a man who loved deeply and put a lot of effort into making sure I was happy. That treatment has continued all our married life.
Those early years were full of firsts: first pet, first house, first child (then a 2nd and a 3rd). There was barely time to breathe, let alone contemplate what we wanted out of our life. And, there were tough times. Times when one or the other of us was discontented, stressed, filled with doubt. Is this all there is? Where's the fun? What happened to all those dreams we had? Or, maybe I should say, I had. Craig wasn't (and still isn't ) much of a dreamer. He doesn't need much beyond food, home and family. I think that may be true of many men. While we women suffer needs and wants in a more profound way.
Turning 40 was a hard time for me. The kids were in school and while my job wasn't entirely done, I had no earthly idea what to do next. I was stuck and filled with inertia. An inertia that led me to be extremely discontented. I WANTED MORE!!! That need worked its way into the essence of our marriage and we had to do some serious work. It was not an easy time- lots of pain, lots of compromise, lots of anxiety. And... then it eased. That need to see what else was out there, to move beyond my family. We moved and that in itself was an adventure. An adventure that led to a deep healing and a renewal in our marriage. As cheesy as this sounds, I actually heard a phrase for this. Okay, it was on Oprah, but it seriously made sense. I "surrendered to my marriage."
I think the best advice I could give to those contemplating marriage is that it won't be anywhere near perfect, there will be stagnant times, there will be times you don't even like each other very much but if all the basic components are there (basic respect, love of family, similar values, etc.) yet, you still find yourself unhappy, you may find you need to just surrender to what it is. That means accepting your spouse for all his or her shortcomings, and, once you do that, and once you really accept them, the love will sustain.
Those lessons seem basic and simple but until you really need them and apply them, you don't get it. I learned to love my husband for who he is- warts and all. And, I must say he is one of the best men I will ever have the pleasure of knowing. Not only does he put others needs before his own and love his family deeply but he has evolved into one really cool, smart guy. Despite months and years of familiarity, it's amazing how your spouse can still surprise you.
Recently I had to undergo major surgery. While I was out of it on morphine, my sister observed his care of me. (I was a bit psycho at times). She told me , with a catch in her voice, that she had never seen such pure love. I don't know how I got so lucky or how he's put up with me all these years. Really, I'm not being humble here. I can be seriously high maintenance at times.
....But lucky I got.
I have no idea what the future will bring but I do know that we are in it for the long haul. I know that (God willing) I will be there to see him as a grandfather, I will be there when he retires and I will be there to see him old and bent.
Happy Anniversary my lovely husband!
Lucky Me...
VSL
Monday, May 18, 2009
I've got to get a job!
I lost my job on February 3, 2009. Due to budget constraints, the position I held was eliminated. I can't believe it's been nearly four months and still no prospects on the horizon. I'm discovering I'm just not cut out for job hunting. Well, it's not a big revelation. I don't have much experience in that arena, preferring something just fall in my lap.
My work history isn't exactly an example of a highly motivated, career minded person. In high school I started a couple jobs just to quit a few weeks later. Work just cut into my social life. Not that I'm proud of that but it's the truth. In college I needed to provide my own spending money and took a work/study job through the university I attended. I can't say I was a stellar employee. Calling in sick was more than an occasional occurrence but probably a typical one for a college student.
Once I graduated it was imperative I find work to help pay the bills. It was the natural progression after graduation and I wanted to work, to feel grown up and have that extra money we so desperately needed. I also wanted to work somewhere really cool and so landed a job with a television station in the promotions department. I loved the job but still didn't really shine. I did what I had to do and was happy to leave at the end of the day. I ended up being fired when a new station manager was hired and brought along his own staff. It was devastating. I felt like I'd let myself and my husband down. Despite the fact that a fair number of people also lost their jobs, it still felt really, really embarrassing.
Soon after I discovered I was pregnant and began my years as an at-home mom. Now this was something I was good at. I have never been a lazy person, just someone who wants to manage their own life and to create the kind of balance that works for me and keeps me sane. I was my own boss and that suited just fine.
Truth is, bosses aren't my thing. I've always hated the feeling of someone having power over me- the power to tell you what to do, the power to evaluate your performance, the power to make your life miserable and most of all the power to change your life monetarily. So, stay at home I did for close to 15 years. Along the way I brought in extra cash through a variety of meaningless, sometimes humiliating jobs: stocking greeting cards, babysitting and making cold calls to hateful people. Because my heart was never in these jobs, once again I never excelled. But than again, if you ask me, who would want to?
Once my kids were in school I worked for the school system as a reading para. It wasn't a bad job. There were aspects I really enjoyed. In the mornings I left when my kids left and arrived home when they arrived home. I had the same holidays and summers off. It was a good transitional job for someone who had been out of the work force so long.
After a move to another city, I started working part time for the Big Brothers Big Sisters organization. I stayed for 8 years; moving from part time Case Manger to full time Program Director. Now this was a job I loved. I loved the mission, I loved my co-workers, I loved the job description and I loved the challenge. I blossomed and became a hard working, dedicated employee with definite gifts, of which I was proud. And, when it was time to move on I continued in the volunteer management field working for a global humanitarian organization that challenged me in ways I never even imagined. The biggest challenge was leading a group of doctors to the Central Asian country, Kyrgyzstan. Traversing the culture, the language, the egos of the volunteers and being away from home for nearly a month was mind blowing. I wasn't sure my middle aged body could keep up with my much younger co-worker but I did. For this I was proud and came home feeling like I could do anything.
And... then they eliminated my position and threw me to the world of the unemployed. At first I felt shock and dismay. Not only had I lost my job but now I had to do one of the things I hate most in the world- get a new job. Interviewing is so unnatural. You have to be so on, even if you've had a crummy day, even if you aren't particularly interested in the position, even if you just aren't connecting with the person doing the hiring. I don't generally get too nervous. I think that's because I really believe I'm a catch and if these stupid people don't see it that way, that's their problem. See - not a good attitude. But, once again they have the power...
And I hate the fakeness of the whole thing. While on the outside I'm smiling and touting my virtues, on the inside I'm scrutinizing the physical work place, the interviewer, the atmosphere, the job description, the culture. More often than not they fall far short of what I am looking for. Yet the very nature of the situation requires me to act as though I would just love to work for you and your wonderful organization. Usually I leave thinking I did a good job. I looked great, I'm very qualified.They'd be crazy not to hire me. I've worked long enough with all ages to know that hiring someone older and settled with a strong work ethic should be an employer's dream. Well, it should be but the competition is fierce right now and you have to be the cream of the crop to get a lousy low paying, work your ass off job. Afterwards, you wait for the call. The call that in this economic climate rarely comes.
In the meantime, I feel the guilt of the unemployed. Guilt that I'm not contributing monetarily, guilt that I'm not working while my husband does, guilt that I lost my job... So, what do I do? Overcompensate, by getting the house in shape, finally completing those projects you just don't have time to when you work, taking on household tasks that have never been my responsibility- like mowing. I think I've mowed maybe 4 times in almost 30 years of marriage. Now I do it more often than not. Weirdly I like it. I like all the physical things I am doing around the house that I left to my husband. I've actually lost weight just being productive at home. All those hours spent each day at a desk doesn't help with the pounds. I exercise more, I help my kids with their projects. I am entirely accessible to my extended family. It feels great to be able to help, to have the time to help and not be doing it grudgingly after a long day at the office.
I could get use to this life. I love puttering around my house, moving at a slower pace, lunching with friends, answering email promptly, reading more, watching movies, staying up late and sleeping in. Problem is, always in the back of my head is this thought, "I've got to get a job."
So... each morning starts with perusing job sites. Weekends end with filing my unemployment claim and as each week passes and I get more and more accustomed to this new way of living, I realize how hard it's going to be to do the 9-5 thing again and I wake up slightly panicked knowing that a new job is looming. It's not a choice. I have to get a job... Guilt, Panic, Anxiety.
Then a glimmer of hope- maybe I'll win the lottery, maybe one of my money making schemes will come to fruition, maybe my husband will get a huge promotion, maybe, maybe...
Whatever... I've got to get a job. Crap.
VSL
My work history isn't exactly an example of a highly motivated, career minded person. In high school I started a couple jobs just to quit a few weeks later. Work just cut into my social life. Not that I'm proud of that but it's the truth. In college I needed to provide my own spending money and took a work/study job through the university I attended. I can't say I was a stellar employee. Calling in sick was more than an occasional occurrence but probably a typical one for a college student.
Once I graduated it was imperative I find work to help pay the bills. It was the natural progression after graduation and I wanted to work, to feel grown up and have that extra money we so desperately needed. I also wanted to work somewhere really cool and so landed a job with a television station in the promotions department. I loved the job but still didn't really shine. I did what I had to do and was happy to leave at the end of the day. I ended up being fired when a new station manager was hired and brought along his own staff. It was devastating. I felt like I'd let myself and my husband down. Despite the fact that a fair number of people also lost their jobs, it still felt really, really embarrassing.
Soon after I discovered I was pregnant and began my years as an at-home mom. Now this was something I was good at. I have never been a lazy person, just someone who wants to manage their own life and to create the kind of balance that works for me and keeps me sane. I was my own boss and that suited just fine.
Truth is, bosses aren't my thing. I've always hated the feeling of someone having power over me- the power to tell you what to do, the power to evaluate your performance, the power to make your life miserable and most of all the power to change your life monetarily. So, stay at home I did for close to 15 years. Along the way I brought in extra cash through a variety of meaningless, sometimes humiliating jobs: stocking greeting cards, babysitting and making cold calls to hateful people. Because my heart was never in these jobs, once again I never excelled. But than again, if you ask me, who would want to?
Once my kids were in school I worked for the school system as a reading para. It wasn't a bad job. There were aspects I really enjoyed. In the mornings I left when my kids left and arrived home when they arrived home. I had the same holidays and summers off. It was a good transitional job for someone who had been out of the work force so long.
After a move to another city, I started working part time for the Big Brothers Big Sisters organization. I stayed for 8 years; moving from part time Case Manger to full time Program Director. Now this was a job I loved. I loved the mission, I loved my co-workers, I loved the job description and I loved the challenge. I blossomed and became a hard working, dedicated employee with definite gifts, of which I was proud. And, when it was time to move on I continued in the volunteer management field working for a global humanitarian organization that challenged me in ways I never even imagined. The biggest challenge was leading a group of doctors to the Central Asian country, Kyrgyzstan. Traversing the culture, the language, the egos of the volunteers and being away from home for nearly a month was mind blowing. I wasn't sure my middle aged body could keep up with my much younger co-worker but I did. For this I was proud and came home feeling like I could do anything.
And... then they eliminated my position and threw me to the world of the unemployed. At first I felt shock and dismay. Not only had I lost my job but now I had to do one of the things I hate most in the world- get a new job. Interviewing is so unnatural. You have to be so on, even if you've had a crummy day, even if you aren't particularly interested in the position, even if you just aren't connecting with the person doing the hiring. I don't generally get too nervous. I think that's because I really believe I'm a catch and if these stupid people don't see it that way, that's their problem. See - not a good attitude. But, once again they have the power...
And I hate the fakeness of the whole thing. While on the outside I'm smiling and touting my virtues, on the inside I'm scrutinizing the physical work place, the interviewer, the atmosphere, the job description, the culture. More often than not they fall far short of what I am looking for. Yet the very nature of the situation requires me to act as though I would just love to work for you and your wonderful organization. Usually I leave thinking I did a good job. I looked great, I'm very qualified.They'd be crazy not to hire me. I've worked long enough with all ages to know that hiring someone older and settled with a strong work ethic should be an employer's dream. Well, it should be but the competition is fierce right now and you have to be the cream of the crop to get a lousy low paying, work your ass off job. Afterwards, you wait for the call. The call that in this economic climate rarely comes.
In the meantime, I feel the guilt of the unemployed. Guilt that I'm not contributing monetarily, guilt that I'm not working while my husband does, guilt that I lost my job... So, what do I do? Overcompensate, by getting the house in shape, finally completing those projects you just don't have time to when you work, taking on household tasks that have never been my responsibility- like mowing. I think I've mowed maybe 4 times in almost 30 years of marriage. Now I do it more often than not. Weirdly I like it. I like all the physical things I am doing around the house that I left to my husband. I've actually lost weight just being productive at home. All those hours spent each day at a desk doesn't help with the pounds. I exercise more, I help my kids with their projects. I am entirely accessible to my extended family. It feels great to be able to help, to have the time to help and not be doing it grudgingly after a long day at the office.
I could get use to this life. I love puttering around my house, moving at a slower pace, lunching with friends, answering email promptly, reading more, watching movies, staying up late and sleeping in. Problem is, always in the back of my head is this thought, "I've got to get a job."
So... each morning starts with perusing job sites. Weekends end with filing my unemployment claim and as each week passes and I get more and more accustomed to this new way of living, I realize how hard it's going to be to do the 9-5 thing again and I wake up slightly panicked knowing that a new job is looming. It's not a choice. I have to get a job... Guilt, Panic, Anxiety.
Then a glimmer of hope- maybe I'll win the lottery, maybe one of my money making schemes will come to fruition, maybe my husband will get a huge promotion, maybe, maybe...
Whatever... I've got to get a job. Crap.
VSL
Wednesday, May 13, 2009
Death of a pet
Two days ago I found our 12-year-old, Cairn Terrier, dead. It didn't come as a complete shock. She had been slowing down recently, having trouble on long walks, breathing rapidly and suffering a recurring problem with tooth decay. But... it was still a shock. Luring her downstairs in the mornings to go outside was getting harder and harder. I usually had to resort to treats. Clancy loved two things more than anything in the world (including us), food and walks. When she didn't come at the shake of the treat bag, I went up. She'd pooped on the carpet and was lying just inside one of our spare bedrooms. Instantly, I knew she was gone but called her name several times.
What is it about death that causes fear? I felt fearful to touch her, fearful to look into her eyes, to get too close. However, I did need to confirm her death and so poked a toe at her still body. Then came the panicked call to my husband, calls to inform our kids and finally a blanket to cover her body.
My husband left work to come and dispose of her and one of our daughters left work to come too. I was surprised by this, telling her it wasn't necessary. She insisted and told me later that her boss was an animal lover and told her to "take all the time she needed." I had to laugh at that. While I appreciate animal lovers and consider myself one, I don't rate my animals anywhere close to my people. I've seen friends and family go to extreme and costly measures to save a dying pet and pretty much know I wouldn't do that. Well, I say that...
Yet, we are pet people. Always have been. At the time of Clancy's death, we had four- two cats and two dogs. We got our first dog two weeks after we married and have had at least two pets ever since. I can't imagine a house without them, yet I truly get why people don't have them. They vomit, poop, chew, whine, bark, get sick, cost money, shed, tear things up, and the list goes on. Some days after dealing with an in and out meowing cat, pee in an upstairs bedroom, hair everywhere and cat vomit on my new sofa; I don't even understand why I have them. Yet, I can't imagine not having a pet in my home. I love to see a cat curled up in a pool of sunshine and I love the affection only a dog can show you. I laugh at their antics and appreciate the opportunity to care for them, to provide them a home and food and touch.
To make matters even more fuzzy, we have a favored pet. Her name is Bella. She's a three-year-old rescue dog and we adore her. She is the first among all our pets that we've been this nuts about. I think it's partly because Bella came to us at a time of stress in our lives and she helped us through it. But mostly I think it's because Bella is almost human-like with her affection. She literally tries to wrap her arms around you in a hug, she smiles, she loves you with such devotion it brings a lump to your throat. Bella is timid and afraid of men. It's endearing the way she clings close to us like a five-year-old not wanting to leave their mommy's side, when a stranger comes too close. We're her protectors and she trusts us completely. Bella is simply the sweetest, most enchanting dog we've ever had.
On the other hand, Clancy was always quirky, not terribly affectionate and in her later years, very, very stinky. She had recurring tooth decay and her breath could fill a room. I cared for her gladly with the obligation that comes from committing to a pet but I completely admit to not feeling the level of affection for her that I do for Bella. So it came as a surprise how emotional I felt when she died.
There was the actual physical shock of finding her dead, the tears and the feelings of regret that maybe we should have taken her to our vet. And later, the three of us petting her still body, saying goodbye, and telling her she was a "good doggie." We took her collar off and I hung it in the garage with another collar from a long ago pet. My husband and daughter took her to be cremated while I stayed home. I wandered from room to room seeing her in all her favorite spots and, several times, found myself looking at the spot where she last lay. She's my screen saver now; looking up at the camera with a ring of snow around her mouth and nose, dark eyes shining brightly. I'm not sure how I feel two days later. I know I'm not grieving for her in a deep and despairing way. Yet, I do find myself thinking of her and her life and what she brought to our family.
So... another pet gone. And like all of them, Clancy was part of our family history. She came to us as a tiny, little puppy when all our kids were still at home. Specially chosen and longed for by our middle child. Over the 30 years of our marriage, other pets have come and gone and I realize how they have been such an integral part of our family and tracing them traces our history. Like the Brittany Spaniel we got at four months old, at a time when I had three small children and no patience for an exuberant, peeing, chewing puppy. I think I called her "stupid dog" the first couple years of her life. And, our first dog... Just two weeks married I wanted a dog despite the fact we lived in a tiny apartment. Years later, Bruno was lost one Christmas while visiting my parents. He never came home. We had an ice storm that night and felt despairing that he was out in it. There was Max, known best for the world's smelliest farts. We had to give him away when our first daughter was born and he got aggressive around her. Fortunately, we found a loving family. We wondered how long until the farting would begin and if they would bring him back. Then, there are the cats. I won't go into their histories. Suffice it to say that I am the cat lover in the family and if not for me, I doubt there would be any.
Yes, we are definitely pet people. I know we will always have an animal in our home and will remember every one of them.
VSL
What is it about death that causes fear? I felt fearful to touch her, fearful to look into her eyes, to get too close. However, I did need to confirm her death and so poked a toe at her still body. Then came the panicked call to my husband, calls to inform our kids and finally a blanket to cover her body.
My husband left work to come and dispose of her and one of our daughters left work to come too. I was surprised by this, telling her it wasn't necessary. She insisted and told me later that her boss was an animal lover and told her to "take all the time she needed." I had to laugh at that. While I appreciate animal lovers and consider myself one, I don't rate my animals anywhere close to my people. I've seen friends and family go to extreme and costly measures to save a dying pet and pretty much know I wouldn't do that. Well, I say that...
Yet, we are pet people. Always have been. At the time of Clancy's death, we had four- two cats and two dogs. We got our first dog two weeks after we married and have had at least two pets ever since. I can't imagine a house without them, yet I truly get why people don't have them. They vomit, poop, chew, whine, bark, get sick, cost money, shed, tear things up, and the list goes on. Some days after dealing with an in and out meowing cat, pee in an upstairs bedroom, hair everywhere and cat vomit on my new sofa; I don't even understand why I have them. Yet, I can't imagine not having a pet in my home. I love to see a cat curled up in a pool of sunshine and I love the affection only a dog can show you. I laugh at their antics and appreciate the opportunity to care for them, to provide them a home and food and touch.
To make matters even more fuzzy, we have a favored pet. Her name is Bella. She's a three-year-old rescue dog and we adore her. She is the first among all our pets that we've been this nuts about. I think it's partly because Bella came to us at a time of stress in our lives and she helped us through it. But mostly I think it's because Bella is almost human-like with her affection. She literally tries to wrap her arms around you in a hug, she smiles, she loves you with such devotion it brings a lump to your throat. Bella is timid and afraid of men. It's endearing the way she clings close to us like a five-year-old not wanting to leave their mommy's side, when a stranger comes too close. We're her protectors and she trusts us completely. Bella is simply the sweetest, most enchanting dog we've ever had.
On the other hand, Clancy was always quirky, not terribly affectionate and in her later years, very, very stinky. She had recurring tooth decay and her breath could fill a room. I cared for her gladly with the obligation that comes from committing to a pet but I completely admit to not feeling the level of affection for her that I do for Bella. So it came as a surprise how emotional I felt when she died.
There was the actual physical shock of finding her dead, the tears and the feelings of regret that maybe we should have taken her to our vet. And later, the three of us petting her still body, saying goodbye, and telling her she was a "good doggie." We took her collar off and I hung it in the garage with another collar from a long ago pet. My husband and daughter took her to be cremated while I stayed home. I wandered from room to room seeing her in all her favorite spots and, several times, found myself looking at the spot where she last lay. She's my screen saver now; looking up at the camera with a ring of snow around her mouth and nose, dark eyes shining brightly. I'm not sure how I feel two days later. I know I'm not grieving for her in a deep and despairing way. Yet, I do find myself thinking of her and her life and what she brought to our family.
So... another pet gone. And like all of them, Clancy was part of our family history. She came to us as a tiny, little puppy when all our kids were still at home. Specially chosen and longed for by our middle child. Over the 30 years of our marriage, other pets have come and gone and I realize how they have been such an integral part of our family and tracing them traces our history. Like the Brittany Spaniel we got at four months old, at a time when I had three small children and no patience for an exuberant, peeing, chewing puppy. I think I called her "stupid dog" the first couple years of her life. And, our first dog... Just two weeks married I wanted a dog despite the fact we lived in a tiny apartment. Years later, Bruno was lost one Christmas while visiting my parents. He never came home. We had an ice storm that night and felt despairing that he was out in it. There was Max, known best for the world's smelliest farts. We had to give him away when our first daughter was born and he got aggressive around her. Fortunately, we found a loving family. We wondered how long until the farting would begin and if they would bring him back. Then, there are the cats. I won't go into their histories. Suffice it to say that I am the cat lover in the family and if not for me, I doubt there would be any.
Yes, we are definitely pet people. I know we will always have an animal in our home and will remember every one of them.
VSL
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