New Year Musings

Dear UD,

It seems unbelievable that we are starting a New Year that you and Dad will never see;

I have been so sad the past few days as 2016 approached.  

2016, just a number, a New Year, a blank slate,

yet it heralds a time in this world where we must go on without you, 

a path on this earth where you cannot follow,  

a journey we must now make alone.

It doesn't seem right.

I made a 2016 family calendar since you are not here to do it anymore,

and there were too many dates I had to leave blank,

no labels but heavy with meaning,

strong with memory.

January 4^th—the day we lost Dad,

March 1^st—Dad's birthday,

March 15^th—your birthday,

April 28^th—the day we lost you.

The funeral days are sharp yet blurry,

and every day after pregnant with a grief we do not want to birth.

We stumbled through our first holiday season without you,

and most of us became ill,

vomiting up all of our unspoken words and emotions.

But me, I stepped on the cat's tail, on Christmas Day,

fell and fractured my wrist. A trip to the ER

and I came home with a splint on my right wrist.

Shattered lives, shattered bones.

Broken bones, broken spirits.

Losing you was like losing my right arm, and now I am utterly

helpless.

We all feel so bereft, unready, lost.

We miss you both so much.

We wish we could rewind to you.

But time waits for no one so

we are marched into 2016,

a year we are not ready to face,

into a world we are not ready to know,

into a time without you.

Out of the remains of our battered world,

we must create a new normal as our new selves emerge.

But we carry your love, your hearts, your memories into 2016, and

will band together, help each other, and

use the knowledge and gifts that you taught us

to move forward, recover, and become more resilient

as we remember to cherish every

moment and memory

with those we love.

Love, Rach

Once Upon a Time

 Last week, I talked about “real change,” and it’s absolutely time for that in my life.  Over the weekend, I made those lists, looked at my calendar/schedule, and had some heart-to-heart conversations with my girls.  

First thing on the list to de-stress my life is finding a home for Thorin, a place where he will be happy, so I emailed the Australian Terrier rescue.  Same as with Sam, we believe his happiness will only be with someone who actively desires his specific breed and will spend time with him and treat him as part of the family.  On the website, I read reassuring words from Darlene Evans, the President of ATR:  “Rescue is done with the heart.  Sometimes in rescue there are difficult decisions that have to be made, but they are offset by the happy look of an Aussie as he is going off to his new and final home. That is what rescue is all about.”  That is what we want for Thorin.  Within two days, a woman from Georgia called to ask about Thorin and passed his info along, cautioning me that it could be difficult to find someone to take a dog so old. 

By Wed, a woman contacted me who wants to adopt Thorin!  She has had Aussies in the past and loves them and now has a tiny Yorkie, so Thorin will have a pal to hang out with.  The dogs are not left alone more than a few hours at a time and even go on vacation with her and her husband.  They live close to Orlando and would be happy to send us updates and photos of a happy Thorin, and we could even visit him.  This weekend, we will take Thorin to their home and see if it works out.

A huge weight of relief fell off of my shoulders after that phone conversation.  Again, we do not have to say a forever goodbye, which is such a blessing, as this decision is difficult to make.  At times, I wonder if we could work it out somehow.  Thorin, such a sweetheart, follows me around like a little shadow, and we have fallen into a semi-workable routine this week.  When we take him on longer walks, he is less likely to mess in the house, and he still adores car rides with us.  However, it is an added expense, an extra responsibility, and it takes so much time from our already over-busy schedule.  Some days, things appear to flow more smoothly, and it works out.  Other days, it is a real struggle to find time to walk Thorin in the morning or rush back to him after church or work.  Bottom line is that it’s too much right now, and it’s not fair to him to be locked up several days a week.   

Yet I am sad to think of saying any sort of goodbye to Thorin this weekend.  He has been part of our family for eleven years, and we are giving him to another family, which hurts.  At the same time, I realized this week that Lexi was right from the very beginning when she said that God was using the situation with the dogs to help us work through and release some things from our past. 

Once upon a time, we were a family of six (two adults, two kids, two dogs).  In the meantime, divorce, life, circumstances changed our family, breaking it into two separate ones.  It has taken time, but those separate families are healing, learning, evolving, and growing stronger.  Seeing the dogs and having them here in our new life where they don’t really fit anymore has helped us accept the past and our new paths.  Being part of their recovery and healing has brought fresh healing for us.  Saying goodbye to our dogs has allowed us to release the past and some of our expectations of the future.  Finding them new homes where they will thrive shows us our chance to thrive.  We are all going in separate, new directions, but it is good.  And they all lived happily ever after with their new families.

The Visit

Sam and Thorin visited the vet on Thursday afternoon at Coquina Ridge Animal Clinic where she confirmed that they had been neglected for several months but that they were making a strong comeback.  The vet and her assistants adored them and commended us for raising such sweet, good-natured dogs.  They received shots and a checkup.  The verdict:  both are healthy overall, though Thorin needed some antibiotics and skin care because his rash was worse than Sam’s.  I am relieved to know that they are on the mend and mostly healthy, and I am grateful that we had the privilege to be part of their recovery.

We decided to try another experiment and left the dogs home alone on Sunday, so we could all attend the church service.  Again, we shut Sam into the bathroom and Thorin in the kennel, both with rawhide bones.  This time, we moved a bench in front of the door of the kennel to hold Thorin in, and we hoped for the best.

The message was exactly what we needed to hear!  Currently, Church at Viera (CAV) is doing a series on Ordinary Heroes, and last Sunday’s message that we missed to stay home with the dogs was about those silent heroes who help others and share their gifts in service (like the ones who helped us in the past week—many from our church!). 

This week’s message was about “The Jethro Principle” in Exodus when Moses’ father-in-law counseled him to delegate so that he wouldn’t burnout.  The preacher broke it down into two parts:  What’s not good (experiencing burnout, trying to be a superhero, and neglecting family) and what is the right thing to do (each do what he/she does best, enlist competent people of character to do the rest, and break down the span of care/responsibility to reduce stress).  He suggested we prioritize, work smarter, and look to God for His power/help.

In the car afterwards, Lexi and Laina shared what they learned from the service, and we all agreed that adding the responsibility and focus of the dogs to our current life was in the “not good” category of trying to be superheroes, experiencing burnout, and even neglecting some aspects of our family. We still don’t have a solution we like, but we have to do something.

We stopped at the Avenue to meet a homeschooling mom for a conversation where I offered my expertise as a reading, writing, and English teacher as well as my experience as an unschooling parent.  It felt good to give back. 

Three hours after we left, we arrived home, and again, Thorin greeted us at the door, wagging his tail, proud that he’d escaped the kennel.  He’d pulled down and chewed on one of the blinds and ripped open a new sack of cat food, which was strewn all over.

I don’t know what to do or what to say, so I will end with some Chris Tomlin lyrics (the last song from today’s service), “I lay me down. I’m not my own. I belong to you alone.  Lay me down. Lay me down.  Hand on my heart, this much is true.  There’s no life apart from you.  Lay me down.  Lay me down.”