Grief

Watched the movie "First Man" on November 12, 2018.  The ending made me cry.  As Neil Armstrong released the bracelet of his daughter, Karen, into the depths of the moon crater, I was struck by how much it reminded me of what grief really feels like.  Grief feels like falling backward, spinning in the darkness.  To feel it means you aren't sure you'll ever stop falling or spinning.  To go through it means you have to test whether both are possible.

Living in the Now 4/13/2018

Living in the Now:

Wake Up!!!!  Hey you!  It's been almost 5 years since you wrote anything!  A lot has changed.  Have you changed?  Ressurecting up a practice I started in the summer of 2012, when some normalcy began to return to my life, I think it's important to look back on what made us happy, and what we enjoyed about the every day.

1.)  Playing Kingdominos at lunch at Front Room Pizza, with my co-worker.  I could literally play board games for hours.

2.)  Reading a new book and making some progress!

Relishing a Normal Everyday experience:

Working hard on a problem at work.  I was getting some traction on solving the problem, breaking it down into smaller pieces and understanding those pieces more thoroughly.  

Snuggling on the couch with my 7 year old German Shepherd, Kahlan.  

Losing again

Last night I lost my 6 year old German Shepherd to Bloat.  Words cannot express how much I will miss her and how surreal the whole situation has been.

Intuition.  I should have listened to it.  When she threw up for the first time and was all hunched up, I should have known.  When I started to think to myself, "maybe she is pregnant somehow" (with the way that she blew up over the course of the evening), I should have known.  When she was wandering around and off into the darkness like an animal that is waiting to die...I should have known.  Intuition.  I have a lot of it, but I have turned that valve for some reason.

Last night I left the vet's office with no intuition.  I thought she would be good as new by morning and that I would be $4000.00 lighter.  The phone call within an hour and a half of leaving the office (because they made it sound like there was no problem), to recommend Euthanasia was crushing.

I fell asleep crying and woke up several times in the middle of the night like that.

Somewhere around dawn, I had a very real dream.  Mira was in my bedroom.  The entire room was lit up as though I had more lamps than I actually do.  My Mira came to me.

She walked around the corner of my bed and I greeted her as I always do.  I scratched under her chin and lifted her chin up to look into my eyes.  "Mira, I thought you had died.  I am so glad you didn't.  I am so glad you are here.  Thank you, Mira" I said to her as I wrapped my arms around her neck.  Of course it was just a dream.  But I thank her for coming to me one last time.  I will miss her the rest of my life. 

She has taught me a lesson about the phrase "going to".  We were "going to" compete in Rally.  I was "going to" start training her on Monday.  She was "going to" eventually compete in obedience.  "Going to". 

Last Year At This Time

Growing up, my mom always kept a record of the year.  She would write down everything on the free insurance calendar that came in the mail.  Everything from our first day of school, to Doctor's appointments, or extracurricular activities.  I wonder if she still has all of those old calendars.

I used to save calendars; like the one that I kept for the first year after my divorce.  It's interesting to read what appointments I had or which activities I participated in.  It's interesting to read how I was discovering myself.  This blog was in a sense a record of that self-discovery of myself as an individual.

And then, it turned really wrong.  I fell back into old patterns.  Patterns of allowing myself to be controlled.  Patterns of "standing still".  Patterns of putting my head in the sand.

So it's time to take a look back and see where I was last year at this time.  Or last month at this time.  Or last week at this time.  And decide if this is really where I want to be.

I have a feeling that in some ways it is and in other ways, it is not.

Fear

Why am I scared?

My entire life, I have lived with anxiety.  Anxieties that manifested themselves as a child as an irrational fear of the dark; an irrational fear of getting ill and dying; an irrational fear of going to hell.

My anxieties kept me from experiencing "normal" childhood on some level.  My body's way of dealing with these anxieties was sleepless night and a weak stomach that would often dump itself.  I had to turn down offers to go to sleep-overs or just not pursue friendships that might result in such offers.  I was afraid I would be sick or need my mother.  She was the only one who made me feel safe.

Tonight, I am faced with those same anxieties.  I sprained my ankle last week.  I rested my ankle all week so that I could attend this dog show in Grand Junction this weekend.  Driving over on Wednesday evening, I think my wrap was a little too tight.  I woke up this morning with it itchy and burning.  But...instead of assuming that it will heal and go away; instead of assuming that each day will be better, I began to imagine all sorts of possibilities.  What if I have damaged the skin tissue?  What if I get a blood clot and die.  What if I have done nerve damage (unlikely considering I never lost feeling in my toes) and will always feel this pain.  Why don't I wonder if perhaps the irritation was caused by the brace rubbing up against my leg.  Or what if it was caused by the wrap rubbing on the bare skin of my leg?  Why don't those seem like possibilities?  Instead I turn to fear.

I really don't want to die.  And I don't want to be injured.  I am scared to be alone and that I won't be cared for.  I am afraid to be in "real" pain.

I am hoping tomorrow, when I wake up, that my leg feels better, and I won't wear the brace on my bare skin.  I am hoping that all of the bad things in my mind, will melt into the background, and that I can enjoy these last few days in Grand Junction.