Beauty In Imperfections

“If I know what love is, it is because of you.” – Herman Hesse

When we were so much younger.

I’ve been spending a significant amount of time with The One. There have been so many moments with him where I’d think to myself, ‘This is perfect’ that I stopped counting. Simple things like lounging on the couch with our dogs, talking about our future and hopes in life, and sometimes just curled up next to one another in silence. I couldn’t think of a thing in this world that would bring me more happiness than life as it is now.

I never thought I’d be one to believe in things like Fate or Soul Mates or even that a single person could bring so much fulfillment to the life of another. I believe it now.

I’ve been working on something for The One. As I’ve been going back on our old memories – I saw nothing but love and kindness in the photos and words we exchanged. This project has actually been a little difficult, because I frequently find myself on the verge of tears.

 I met The One when I had just moved to Portland and felt like my life was unravelling before my eyes. I moved to this city with a fiancé. We moved in with my relatives. Shortly after arriving I was diagnosed with PTSD. I had no idea what was going on, only that I was not well. My relationship began to fall apart. My fiancé couldn’t understand and my family blamed me for the relationship failing. There were so many elements to that part of my life that were very wrong. I was alone, trying to get help and needed a friend more than anything.

The One was the first person who asked me if I was okay. He was the first person to see that I was very sad underneath the facade of happiness I showed the rest of the world. I was entirely alone in what I was facing emotionally. He was the only one in my corner; he was the only one who cared about my emotional wellbeing. The One was also the first person I opened up to regarding the dynamics of my family and my relationship.

Fast forward several months later, the fiancé broke things off. He finally moved out of the home I shared with my relatives. In his wake, he left a string of lies that painted me in the worst light possible. My relationship with my family has never recovered – if there was ever a relationship to begin with.

The One was still my only friend – and bless the guy for sticking by me when I had nothing but awful relatives to deal with. He accepted me as I was – and that was a form of acceptance I hadn’t experienced in a very long time. We dated and we fell in love.

Before anything else, he showed me compassion.

We were young and had a lot to learn about life, each other, and ourselves. After about 2 years we broke up. We got back together again, and broke up. We’re back for round 3. I think we’re ready this time. At least I can say that I am this time.

The One told me that it feels different this time around; he doesn’t feel any resistance from me this time. He’s right. It’s not that I never wanted to be open with him – it’s just that I didn’t know how to love a person in that way. That was something I had to learn on my own by forcing myself to look inward and begin to deal with the past that I had shoved down as far as I could for too long. I had to face that ugliness myself. It was difficult. It was lonely. There was times I thought it wasn’t worth it – but in hindsight I know it’s made me better for it.

I learned to be vulnerable in front of another person. I learned to communicate. There was a night when I was out with The One. I was triggered by someone. I then had to lean over to The One and explain to him what was taking place, because I had no idea how it would manifest itself. As we were walking to the car, I explained the thought process that takes place in my mind: a grappling with fear, anger towards the person who caused me fear even though it was no fault of his, and a multitude of other thoughts that cause me to question my own character. Mostly, I felt fragile and broken.

There was something about the way The One touched me that night that reclaimed that cracked part of my psyche. He drifted off to sleep and I sobbed tears of gratitude knowing that my journey of fear and self-doubt is nearing an end. He holds up a mirror and encourages me to see myself as I really am – and he has a pretty high opinion of me.

Over the last year or so I think I nearly gave up on having the life I had hoped for. I didn’t think I’d have children, I didn’t think I’d have someone with whom to share life – yet now that we’re giving it another shot, I know these are things I wouldn’t want to do with anyone else.

Over the last year or so I’d not only given up, but told myself that happiness wasn’t in the cards for me because I was too broken and flawed. A good friend shared some profound words of kindness I’d like to share, “You are far from broken, you are the strongest gal I know. I look at you like the Japanese people look at a broken ceramic bowl. Rather than trying to hide the flaws in the broken ceramics, they would highlight them in gold, baring the cracks and scars and adopting them as part of the ceramic . . . To me, you are far from broken; it’s the broken part of you that I see strength. There is perfection and imperfection. And that, my friend, is why in a depressing work that was pain and hurt there was you.”

I've actually never seen one of these before I read her words . . .. It's beautiful. Thank you for that image, Friend.

I’ve always thought that scars are intriguing. I have to remind myself that my own scars are just as fascinating. And when I forget, I have friends who offer kind words and The One who tells me things like, ‘You’re not awful. You’re honest.’And it's not through his words, but his essence as a human being that makes me want to be a better person.

I feel small and meek at times. He shows me that I'm fierce and strong. 

I’m really looking forward to the New Year.

“Love takes off makes that we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.” – James Baldwin

They're Only Memories

“Courage doesn’t always roar, sometimes it’s the quiet voice at the end of the day whispering, ‘I will try again tomorrow’.” ~ May Anne Radmacher

My memoriam to the people that gave me the will to keep going is still in the works. I’ve uncovered a minefield recently as a result of constantly peering into the past. This is a section of my life I realized has been a secret I’ve carried most of my life. I never spoke a word of it to anyone. So, I’m facing these things. It’s emotionally draining and feels like a heavy anchor pulling me down a sinkhole. There are times I’ve wanted to walk away from it entirely – but I hear a small voice in my mind that tells me to keep going and finish what I started. I have to remind myself why I began in the first place because I’ve felt like giving up more than once.

This has been a very lonely process, too. I don't think I've ever felt more isolated than I do right now.

I have to remind myself that this is the only way I’ll get better. Yes, it hurts. It hurts a lot. Sometimes the emotion that broke your heart in the first place is the one that heals it. I also have to remind myself that I’m not a vulnerable child not in control of her own life anymore. They can’t touch me now – they are only memories. They are only memories. They are only memories.

Eventually I'll stop running. I'll stop fighting. I'll stop hiding. I'll learn to embrace the things I'm working so hard to only make eye contact with right now.

When I first stumbled upon it, my minefield certainly didn’t feel like distant memories. More so because I was sick and had nothing to do but lie in bed. During my conscious moments I remembered and in my dreams the memories haunted me. That week, in particular was a little rough. I just tell myself to keep going, keep writing, and keep sharing the secrets I have to share. What it all boils down to in the end is that I’m simply afraid of emotional suffering. That’s what I dread most.

Guess who still puts on her happy face anyway?

You know what else is a little rough? Getting back on my bike after being down for the count for about two weeks. I feel like I’m starting all over because the bastard virus attacked my respiratory system. For this situation in life, I’m telling myself that I’ll be Iron Man eventually.

Just kidding! That is not an appealing ambition for me. I’ve actually returned to listening to music again just so I don’t have to hear my own suffering of major breath exertion while going uphill. It’s a psychological thing. I feel like it’s not quite so hard when I don’t have to hear how hard I’m working.

One thing I have to start making more of an effort to practice is dancing. Friends keep pointing out that it was something that made me happy. It did. I just have to start moving. I know that’s all it will take. I happen to have a nicely sized patio which I’ve been cleaning little by little. I think I’ll start belly dance again. I’m not entirely sure I want to go back to tango. I think about it from time to time . . . and I’m just not sure. Either way, dancing is something I enjoy and I should get back to it – particularly in times like this when I’m staring my demons in the face and unsure that I can handle anything in my present life.

Maybe someone just needs to give me a kick in the arse.

I feel as though my creative energy has been entirely tapped out. I can’t pinpoint the reason, if one exists at all. I’ve made every effort to cut unnecessary people out of my life who gladly take my warmth, but offer none in return. Despite my efforts to focus more on me, I feel like something major is missing and it’s affecting my capacity to creative, worship, dance, etc.

So, while I invest some time into regaining my physical and spiritual energy, I’ll be reflecting . . .  I’m always reflecting these days as a result of my therapeutic project. Sometimes I wonder if it’s really therapeutic or just plain torture. There have been a few times since I’ve started that I’ve wished my very existence would evaporate entirely. When I’m feeling that down I tell myself there would be no one left to talk about my father, grandmother, and others. Thinking along those lines and comparing the outcomes, I feel it would be far worse to let their memories be forgotten. That’s the main reason I’m still keeping at it even though it hurts.

“Tell your heart that the fear of suffering is worse than the suffering itself. And that no heart has ever suffered when it goes in search of its dreams, because every second of the search is a second’s encounter with God and with eternity.” – Paul Coelho, Alchemist

Quandaries

“The curtain of the universe is moth-eaten, and through its holes we see nothing now but mask and ghost.” Emil Cioran, A Short Story of Decay

I’ve turned over the conundrum of fairness in my mind lately. I wonder if this is a concept that is purely human made, if this is something that actually applies to the Universe, or if we have a flawed perspective how we think this should apply to our lives and what we perceive as a linear pattern set before us by a deity or the Unmanifest. There have been a few studies that barely scrape the surface of the concept of fairness, and none of these seem to give a definitive answer. Some of these studies examine the behavior of young toddlers, concluding that at such a young age there is an understanding of the morality of fairness. There are many theories on this rudimentary understanding of a moral compass: evolutionary for the survival of tribes, cultural and taught by birth through actions of parents and other figures in the child’s life, some even suggest a Western-invented concept that has nothing to do with biology. I’d agree that this is a learned behavior – and yet this concept, in some form, exists in every single culture. Isn’t that something?

My current philosophical quandary is not that the concept of fairness exists, but how it has come to be that we believe it should apply to all aspects of life. I see this belief as something antiquated that was an ideal that I simply needed to hold on to for the sole purpose of my own survival. If I didn’t believe there would be a silver lining in the clouds someday I would have given up ages ago. Perhaps I never understood the concept of karma, but hasn’t there always been a belief that good behavior, a good life, is somehow rewarded? I just can’t believe that anymore. I suppose it’s because I thought that there was some sort of purpose to my life, some linear path . . . . some force behind all that I’ve lived. That doesn’t exist. What takes place in life that is outside of our control is purely random.

There is no linear projection - no path to follow.

When something awful happens our first thought tends to be, ‘It’s not fair.’ No, it’s not. This is simply life. It’s not fair that anyone we love in this life suffers, or has left us suffering by their departure from this world. Would it be any fairer if that fate had befallen someone else? I ask myself that a good deal, and recently saw something that caused me to pose the question again.

Kurt Kuenne filmed a documentary in the wake of his best friend’s death, ‘Dear Zachary’. He intended this tragically beautiful film as a letter to his departed friend’s son, Zachary, who would never know his father. It’s the celebration of one man’s life, and also the mourning of his passing as well as a tremendous loss that should have never happened. It should never have happened because it was preventable and it should never have happened because these are the tragedies in life that make us say, “It’s not fair” and leave us to question that powers that be.  

It made me think of my own father as well. What are his thoughts on what I've done with myself?

I can think of only two people who live on this earth, aside from my therapist, who know the dark secrets my past holds, particularly regarding my father’s death – and that fact that I know I will never see justice for him is one of the many issues I’ve been working through. For those few that know me in this regard and watch this documentary, I think one could easily make the correlation of why this young boy’s short lived life struck such a chord with me . . . .  There were so many parallels regarding his father and mother, his grandparents, custody, and the blatant failings of the legal system. Nothing is perfect in this life. The judicial system exists to protect most, but the same rules don’t apply to all and this is why something so awful was allowed to happen; because it could have been prevented.

I think I can begin to understand how hard my grandmother fought for me. She never stopped, not even when cancer was besting her. I can't imagine the anger and sadness she felt when she would have to look my mother in the eyes, hand me over to my mother, and know that she was giving me to the person responsible for my father's death. I understand now why my grandmother had so much worry for me when I wasn't where I was supposed to me. I can't imagine how she felt knowing she was grappling with the devil and knowing there would never be justice for her son, my father.

Dearest Zachary - you are in my thoughts and I've never met you.

I have often asked myself what my life has exactly amounted to, and if I would have been better off had I not survived . . .  because at times I honestly feel as if I’ve made nothing of myself and perhaps the gift of life was wasted on me entirely. Please don't think me suicidal. That's not the case. It just raises the question in my mind and I'm searching to find what, if anything, of value I have contributed to the world. I wonder about that boy, Zachary, who happens to share the name of my father. I wonder how his life would have formed knowing what happened to his father, knowing who was responsible. I wonder if the outcome of my own life thus far would be any different had I never known that truth about my own parents.

My grandmother, Patricia, in her young years of motherhood. 

My father, Zachary, just as I remember him. Always smiling. 

This is where they are now.

One thing I’ve heard throughout most of my life that drives me slightly batty is, “You’ve had more than your fair share.” I know they mean well. It’s just something that weighs heavy on me because I know how unfair life can feel and the saying almost insinuates that there is still something better, something somehow deserved solely because life has beat me up a bit. Being good, or trying to be good in this life does not guarantee that good things will happen. Suffering doesn’t guarantee that, either. I remember my babysitter telling me frequently when I was a young girl that I was destined for great things because I had suffered so much. At the time her words were encouraging. Now I feel as though I’ve somehow failed.

It’s during these times in life I work harder to count my blessings because sometimes they are hard to see. It’s far easier to see what is going wrong in life and how unfair it is that someone I loved died; someone I loved lost a battle to cancer, someone I love may not be here much longer because of Alzheimer’s. It’s during these times in life I am grateful to those who know who I truly am and remind me of that.

I have known someone for many years of my life. We lost touch because that’s what happens in life and since we’ve reconnected we’ve been solid ground for one another during our transitions and doubts. I’ve shared with her my spiritual journey of working with a psychic and being protected and guided by the Wolf Spirit through that amazing journey in the spiritual realm. My beautiful Sister reminded me of who I was, who I am now, and what I can be. I’ve re-posted those blog entries due to her words of encouragement . . . . . because these things we experience, even if only small glimpses, really are something amazing and of value – if not to the individual, than perhaps to someone else hearing the story.

We run and howl together, even if from a distance. 

On that note, Beautiful Sister – if you’ve ever doubted (as I have) your purpose in life, how you fit into this world, know that you are the world to me. You remind me that I’m strong, loved, and still evolving in this life. Our spiritual journeys are never over, just as our journeys in life are not. Even though we’re separated by many miles, you emanate such a radiant light in my life. 

Heavy

“Though I live, yet am I not, since my sweet hazel-nut has fallen’ since my dear love departed, bare and empty is the dark world.” – Muireadhach Albanach, Irish Bardic Poetry

Sometimes grief is so heavy that it's hard to even breathe

After the death of a loved one, we no longer walk the same earth as everyone else. Part of us lingers at the frontier of death’s domain, looking into its unknown distance for signs that the soul is safely over, or for comforting messages that will assure us that we are not really, finally alone.

The sudden loss of someone vital to our life’s story means that our own story may be whirled out of context into total disorientation or petrified into a stasis wherein time no longer runs at the same speed as it does for others. Since every daily action, every piece of forward planning, necessitates the painful realization of how different life will be from now on, how lonely, how impossible, time and our progress through it alter our perceptions completely. Personally, I feel as if my perception has never been the same.

The world felt big, empty and dark for far too long.

Have I mentioned how much I love my job? I do very much and my favorite part is the few friendships I’ve made with folks who are healing from such an intense ordeal. A patient shared something written by his son that described knowing, but not wanting to acknowledge that his world would never be the same again. This part really hit me, “There, I felt that dark, dark little weight. It was in the corner of your heart, where what you find distasteful, what you hate, goes. I pushed it away, didn’t want to feel that weight, didn’t want there to be anything wrong.” On a brief side note, those words were written by a young teenaged boy. If you’re not amazed you should be.

I kept turning that passage over in my mind, struck by how he managed to capture that heavy sense of dread one feels with the loss of someone so integral to your own existence. I remember how I felt when I found my father dead. Even as a girl so young, I knew that something was wrong, something was about to turn my entire perfect world upside down and I was very upset. After beating the walls in an attempt to wake him I fell to the ground in an exhausted slump, crying. I felt so heavy. I felt that weight. I remember when I was told he was gone and I still couldn’t quite grasp the finality that he would no longer be there to sing to me, to hold me, to tell me everything would be okay.

I reacted similarly at his funeral. I just couldn't let him go.

As I was remembering these events in my life, I was walking with the hound through a cemetery near my apartment. It’s a beautiful place. I felt myself tear up. This time it wasn’t so much of a longing for my father, but a sadness I felt for that little girl who knew she would never experience that kind of unconditional love again – the little girl who was left alone in the world. I was grieving her experience.

I wish I could tell her that it will be okay. 

I noticed people around and quickly told myself to push those feelings down and bury them. I’m now slightly chiding myself for that. I was in a cemetery; people grieve there. Even if I wasn’t in a cemetery and needed to ball my eyes out, so be it. I don’t care if the world looks at me as if I’m a madwoman. I can’t live my life burying feelings forever.

As we continued walking a dog ran up to me that had a striking resemblance to Cassie. This made my eyes tear up again. She’s been on my mind lately. Such a sweet, beautiful little being that came into my life and changed it forever.

One of life's greatest gifts: My sweet little girl who never posed for the camera.

I keep reminding myself to stay in this present moment, reflecting gratefully on who is in my life here and now. The love of my life is a basset hound and I get the best greetings when I get home every day. I have friendships that I value and am learning to cut out what is emotionally and psychically damaging to me. I am close to my brother and know he’s always in my corner. My growing women’s hiking therapy group where we vent and let our dogs run free. And then there’s this guy who grieves as I do and we’ve spent our time encouraging and building up the other. The companionship he’s given me over the last few weeks is unique and meaningful.

Learning to treasure the memories instead of reliving them.

These are the things that deserve my focus. Of course those that have parted from my life are not forgotten, I’m simply making a conscious decision to remember them and simultaneously being done with grieving because my memories of them are what's important now - not that they are no longer in my life. I still hope to see them in the next one. 

Patterns and Reality

“The best thing about dreams is that fleeting moment, when you are between asleep and awake, when you don’t know the difference between reality and fantasy, when for just that one moment you feel with your entire soul that the dream is a reality, and it really happened. “ – James Arthur Baldwin

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning today. I had been dreaming of the Beloved . . . . again. I don’t know why. I haven’t figured out what exactly it is that he represents to me or if there is some part of my subconscious, heart, soul or any combination of those things that keeps trying to hold on to some small piece of him. I threw my head back on the pillow trying to get back to that moment. It was gone. While I dream of him, I’m not seeing reminders of him everywhere I turn. Truth be told, I’d rather not spend too much time reading into it so this doesn’t turn into Haunting Part II or some other bizarre form of obsession along those lines.

I locked him away somewhere inside my memory. It's not that I want to forget - I just want to let go. 

I finally saw my therapist after a six month break with the exception of one visit after Cassie died. I didn’t have health insurance. I was working as a temp. I just couldn’t afford to see her. I only made a point of seeing her after I lost my wee little lass after my co-worker insisted. For the record, she was right. It did make me feel better; it also helped me put all of that pain and longing into words. I can smile about her now. I can speak of her fondly without crying. I do still miss her, but it no longer feels like my soul was split in two by the world’s dullest knife.

What I’ve managed to hash out through therapy are some blatantly obvious things and some aspects of my life that I still don’t quite understand. Psychologist, sociologists, attachment theories and others tell us that the bonds (or lack thereof) that we form in childhood determine our relationships in our adult lives. History repeats itself and this is one of the reasons we see women returning to abusive relationships. No one can quite explain this phenomenon. There are many ideas – but for now we just know that it’s a relationship of causality.

This is one tiny little piece of the puzzle.

I used to think life was too short to not take a risk. I think the key is knowing what risks are really worth it. For now, I’ll take the mundane. Mundane is good.

Simplicity. Nostalgia. Predictability. This is what I want right now. 

The good news is that it’s not set in stone. We’re not doomed to a life of misery if we were unable to form meaningful relationships with caregivers as children and infants or were neglected, or abandoned. What frustrates me is that I know I have a tendency to fall into the same pattern. It’s like I’m stuck in a repeating orbit. I know this about me, yet find myself in the same situational pattern over and over again. Relationship wise this has manifested in forms of toxicity such as possessiveness, jealously, abuse, negligence, and sometimes even bullying. I eventually recognize I’m in a bad situation and quickly get myself out – I just fail to see the early warning signs. They do exist; I’ve just been oblivious to them. This is my current therapy project. I’ve been in this same cycle for my entire life. I’d think I would have learned to hit the eject button by now. I guess I’m on the lower end of the learning curve.

I've been told by more than one person that I should read this book. Not sure if I want to - even if it is for my own good. 

While I educate myself on recognizing early warning factors, I’ll be focusing on the good people in my life and the non-threatening males that allow me to be myself, most of which I've met through tango. Those are the types of people I want to surround myself with; there is no judgment; there are no expectations; they value my friendship and that’s all there is to it. I recognize I need to be cautious with this as well. I would never want to ruin a friendship by giving the wrong impression. Tango has social rules. It’s assumed that something is going on between two people when ‘x’ amount of sets are danced with one another.

If only tango were so simple . . . . If only life were so simple. I think I'd be set. 

On days that I just want to be comforted by friends that make me feel at ease, I have to be careful. I would never knowingly hurt someone I care about - or anyone for that matter.There’s a balance somewhere. I’ll find it eventually.

“Let go of your expectations. The Universe will do what it will. Sometimes your dreams will come true. Sometimes they won’t. Sometimes when you let go of a broken dream, another one gently takes its place. Be aware of what is, not what you would like to be, taking place.” – Melody Beattie

My Heart's Delight

"Without you in my arms, I feel an emptiness in my soul. I find myself searching crowds for your face - I know it's an impossibility, but I cannot help myself." - Nocholas Sparks, Message in a Bottle

My heart hasn't felt so heavy in a very long time. The last month has been consumed with worry, regret, many trips to the vet, and, eventually, an extended stay in the pet hospital. Then she was gone - and a part of me is with her wherever she is right now. 

The last photo I took of my sleeping beauty.

I'm fortunate to have so many people in my life that love me - and if I didn't have them, I would fall into despair; and that's a really hard place to come out of once one falls into that black hole. I'm trying to stay positive and focus on the good things that are occurring in my life.

Several weeks ago, Cassie began moaning as if she were experiencing a great deal of discomfort. It went away for a few days and I thought it may have been some sort of intestinal issue or minor injury from one of our weekly hikes in the woods. She began moaning again and she sounded much worse. It was awful and I didn't know what to do for her. My family insisted that I go to work while they take her to the vet. I wasn't happy with this decision, but they didn't give me much say in the matter. 

There were many trips to the vet with no real progress on bringing Cassie any form of relief from the obvious terrible pain she was experiencing. My initial thought was that her pain medication for arthritis was causing her discomfort. Her health had dwindled so rapidly and that was the only recent change that came to mind. I don't know what conversation took place between my family and the vet, only that she came home with an antibiotic due to a suspected infection in her intestinal tract. It was doing no good and she was obviously still in pain. I decided to take the reigns and asked my boyfriend to take her to the vet because I knew he would treat her exactly as I would and do whatever it took to get to the root of the issue. 

Cuddling up next to Cassie.

For the entire duration of this ordeal, I could barely manage to fight tears. I thought she was dying; I said I thought she was dying. I was told to be optimistic - perhaps there was a light at the end of the tunnel. I tried to think there was hope, but deep down I knew she was slipping away. Death and I have known each other for a very long time. I felt it and now I know why I was so upset when she first showed signs of discomfort. 

She continued to show signs of distress. My boyfriend booked the first available appointment her regular vet had available: the day before Thanksgiving. I left work early that day and was told last minute that my boyfriend wouldn't make it because something had come up on his end and there was nothing but bumper to bumper traffic. I lost it. I yelled - and I am personally grateful that he was not in close proximity to me when I found out he would not be able to deliver my dog to her appointment. 

He made arrangements to take her to a clinic closer to where he lives. Because of traffic, it would take me over an hour to get there. He sent me a text that said it's okay; it would be an hour before they can see her. My response? No. It is NOT okay. I was still in a rage when I finally made it to the clinic. 

The vet said it looked like Cassie had diabetes according to her urine and blood sample. Their x-ray machine broken down, so they charged me $200 for their work and sent us to the hospital up the road who performed the very same tests again and came to the very same conclusion: Cassie had diabetes. What baffled everyone was her sudden weakness and struggle to hold herself up and walk. Initially, this was attributed to diabetes. Cassie would need to stay for a few days to bring her blood sugar levels back to normal. 

The quote for the necessary treatment was a little over $1900. Having spent several hundred dollars on her care already, I certainly didn't have that kind of money. I applied for Care Credit and was granted a credit line of $2400. While all of this was taking place, I was keeping a close friend of mine up updated regarding Cassie's condition, the vet's suspicion, and my application for Care Credit. She sent me a text that said, "Please don't worry about money. We will cover this. We just want you and Cassie to be okay." I didn't know what I could have possibly done in life to deserve friends who treat me so well and I said as much. Her last text to me that evening said, "Good things happen to good people." For what felt like the hundredth time that day, I cried. However, this time it was out of gratitude and relief. 

A close friend, benefactor, and second mother to my two furry babies.

Over the days that followed, I made visits to Cassie as often as I could. I saw her the next evening and was told beforehand that she was responding well to insulin and eating regularly. I was dismayed when they brought her in to see me. She could barely hold herself up. I laid next to her on the floor, holding her in my arms and stroking her fur. I couldn't stop crying. Still, even Cassie tried to reassure me. Every so often she would look up and wag her tail. I would have stayed with her all night if I could, but eventually I had to leave her. 

I received a call from the pet hospital the next day. I was told she had an unknown neurological condition effecting her spine in two separate places. The diagnostics alone (not including any treatment) was $3000. I didn't have anything left on my credit line; the pet hospital used every last cent of it. I was so upset I couldn't hear anything else the vet said to me. I called my boyfriend and asked him to come see me. I didn't want to be alone and I knew I needed to tell my friend and Cassie's benefactor that the outcome did not look promising. Once again, I thought this was the end. Once again, I was told to be optimistic. 

I remember putting my jacket on. It was the same jacket I had worn the night I laid with Cassie on the vet hospital's floor. It was covered in her fur. I started to brush it off and then I started crying and had to stop. I couldn't bring myself to clean it off any more because I felt like it was the last piece of her I had. 

My friend and her husband are two of the most generous and genuinely good people that I know - and people like that are a rare find in life. Their friendship and endless support has seen me through some rough patches in life - and they give me tough love when I need it, too. They told me they would look for a specialist for Cassie and they would cover the expenses. They just needed to get a couple of recommendations. 

My last visit with Cassie at the hospital looked promising. She was chipper and holding herself up. The staff said they wanted to keep her one more night just to be on the safe side because her glucose level wasn't quite where it should be. The boyfriend would pick her up the next day and take her home with him so he could give her the undivided attention she needed and make sure she got her medications on time. I didn't want her to stay for more tests. I didn't want her to be poked or prodded, or stuck in a cage surrounded by unfamiliar people. I just wanted my baby girl home. 

Jail breaking Cassie from the pet hospital. 

She surprised us on her last night. She walked across the room - and before that she had only been able to manage a few steps before collapsing from exhaustion and pain. My boyfriend and I both thought she would pull through. I left that night. I had work the next day and had missed a considerable amount of work already due to unpaid days off for Thanksgiving holiday and my inability to work my weekend jobs because I was just too sad, too exhausted, and too worried. 

It was about 4am when I got a call from my boyfriend. Cassie had a seizure. He was taking her to the hospital. She was not responding as anticipated to the dosage of insulin prescribed by the vet. Cassie left us not long after my boyfriend arrived with her at the hospital. Part of me wishes I had been there to say goodbye - but part of me knows I would have lost it when she breathed her last breath. The thought of it leaves my heart in pieces. I never knew how much love my heart held for her until she was gone. My boyfriend got an imprint of her paw and a lock of her fur to give to me. That's what I have left of her - that and the memories. 

I received a text later that day from my friend with information about the specialist. I just couldn't bring myself to tell her that Cassie was gone and it wasn't until the next day that I sent a note to her husband about what happened and that we were having a small service for her if they wished to attend. 

My boyfriend stayed up late making a coffin for my little girl. He planted tulip bulbs above her grave and a stone was placed to mark where she lays. It was beautiful and dignified - a gathering suiting to my dainty little lady. 

My emotions have ebbed and flowed since we buried her. I spend time at her grave every day. My other dog, Merlin, seems to be just as sad as I am. I pretend to be happy. I pretend to hold myself together - but the facade falls apart the moment I'm alone. I was told that I saved her. The truth is that she saved me. I was in a bad situation and when she came into my life she gave me something worth fighting for - because I didn't value myself enough to get out of the abuse. I wouldn't let her be mistreated and that's why I got out of that nightmare. That's what she did for me. 

"No matter how little money and how few possessions you own, having a dog makes you feel rich."  - Louis Sabin

She also taught me that trauma does heal. Someone had badly abused her and then abandoned her in the neighborhood in which I was living. She was cautious and afraid when she first came into my life. In the end, she was loving and joyful. She came to be so loving and so trusting that the hearts of the staff treating her at the pet hospital are mourning with mine.

I remember when she came into my life. It was spring. She had been sitting near the same tree for several days; someone had left her there and she was patiently waiting for their return. They never came for her. I called to her and she followed me home. She was half starved and uncertain. Her brown eyes stared into mine with trepidation and gratitude. After two bowls of food and several baths she settled in. She was still wary - she would run and hide every time I brought out a broom to sweep the kitchen floor. Over the years, she learned that she didn't have to be afraid of that anymore. 

"A dog is the only creature on earth that loves you more than you love yourself." - Josh Billings

In stark contrast to what was undoubtedly a traumatic past, she emerged as one of the most loving and sweet natured dogs I have ever had the privilege of having in my life. I will miss her endless dog kisses, her excitement over long hikes with her 'pack', the way she pointed every time she spotted a squirrel and her loving, gentle, nature. Mostly, I miss her presence. I'm told eventually I'll remember the good times and I'll start to feel better. I've never forgotten the good times or the funny aspects of her personality, but that doesn't make me feel better right now.

I've set a limit on wallowing in grief before I start forcing myself back out into the world to make myself happy again. And, yes, happiness can be forced; I've succeeded in this numerous times. In times like these, I think it's necessary for survival, particularly when it comes to me. I can't let myself fall into despair because I'm not sure I'll come out of it this time; I just can't wrap my mind around the fact that she's gone. So I'm choosing not to ask myself what I could have done differently or better. I'm just allowing myself to be sad for a while. 

I know she had a good life with me and I know that death is inevitable and unfortunate. I know I did everything I could to save her. Still, none of this has brought me any comfort. In time, I know I can reflect on my life with her and be grateful for the many life lessons I learned through her. Precious little girl: you are missed and you are loved. 

"When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight."  - Khalil Gilbran