the vet did it right

This past weekend my little puppy dog, Ollie, became really sick.  He collapsed late Saturday night and was so lethargic I ended up calling the on-call veterinarian around midnight that night.  After staying up all night spoon-feeding the little pupsters, I found myself sitting at the emergency pet hospital on Sunday morning waiting for the veterinarian to run some tests for Ollie.  His bloodwork came back normal and the veterinarian said it was kind of a mystery what had happened overnight.  She threw out some possibilities like liver failure, liver stent, hypoglycemia, or possibly poisoning of some kind that his bloodwork did not pick up.  Partly due to my lack of sleep and partly because I was truly frightened that something serious could be happening with my little buddy, I started to tear up there in the vet's office.  She suggested that I possibly leave Ollie there for the day so they could further observe him, since she really could not yet give me any diagnosis or rule out something life threatening, but she wanted me to decide.  At that suggestion I actually did begin to cry.  This sweet lady obviously was concerned for me and my puppy and so she leaned down and said, "why don't you call your husband?  Maybe you can talk it over with him?"  I sat there, frozen, and just looked at her.  She continued, saying, "sometimes it can help to just talk over the options with someone."  Sigh.  Yes, it can definitely help to be able to talk over the options with someone and this sweet veterinarian meant well, but what a thing to say...  Why do people just assume I am married?  I did not have my children with me and I do not still wear my wedding ring (in attempt to avoid this very exact situation!).

After a moment I collected myself and I replied by saying, "My husband died last summer and I bought this little puppy right after he died to keep me company.  I kind of need you to tell me what is best for him so that he will be okay."  And then I sat and waited for the shock to hit her face, which is always the next step when I tell people my husband died.  Then after that one of two things always happens next - the person I am talking will will be so incredibly uncomfortable that they avoid or ignore what I just told them and instead attempt to carry on an awkward "normal" conversation -or-  I will then be hit with a string of "I'm so sorry" condolences followed by a game of 20 questions.  It seems like the former situation would not happen often, but I am surprised how that is actually the more common reaction.  People will hear me say that my husband is no longer alive and have no idea how to respond, so they will simply say, "oh" and then keep the conversation going like I never said anything odd or shocking or uncomfortable at all.   Something along the lines of, "Oh, well, I see, then your options for the dog are to either take him home and supervise him or leave him here for us to monitor," etc...  Or if the person I am talking to is more the 20 question kind of person, I will get a response like, "Oh, I am so sorry, so, so sorry, what happened?"  And then I am the uncomfortable one now having to explain my story to some stranger when I just may not really be in the mood to go through.  It is exhausting to share my story.

And please don't  misunderstand, I know people mean well and I know they are not trying to be rude by avoiding a conversation involving death and I know they are not trying to be nosy when they ask me a zillion personal questions about the death - they simply do not know how to respond.  I honestly have to think back to the times I tried to talk to friends or acquaintances who had just experienced a loss and I am POSITIVE I made some of these mistakes.  If you are one of those such people and you are reading this, please accept my sincerest apology -  I truly had no idea how to relate to your pain or your situation, so I obviously did not know what words would help or hurt.  So I can and do absolutely understand why or how others unintentionally say the "wrong" thing to me.  And I hold absolutely no ill will.  I see your hearts and I know your intentions are good.  But, still, there is a very predictable pattern to what kind of answers I get.  So I had just told the veterinarian that I obviously could not call my husband and I waited to see if today would be the option A response or the option B response.  But this sweet lady surprised me with an option C response!  I wanted to share this because it was absolutely the best way to respond to a person experiencing loss. 

She looked me right in the eye, sat down, and said, "Oh my goodness, that is just horrible.  Absolutely horrible.  I am so sorry I said that, how insensitive of me.  You know what, we are going to do whatever is best for you with this dog.  If it is best for you to have him home with you, then let's absolutely get him ready to go home and you can bring him back in at any point that you feel worried or you feel he is not improving.  My door is open 24/7 if you need to walk back in at ANY point for us to take a look at Ollie."  This sweet lady then went on to ask if I had kids, we talked about our kids, and she asked about Ryan - not how he died or what happened - but she asked about his life, like what did he do and how were my kids with him and then we each talked about our husbands.  She was amazing.  The first thing she did was acknowledge that this sucks - she said "that is just  horrible."  Yes, it is absolutely horrible.  Someone acknowledging the fact that my husband is not alive and I can not call him for advice when I am upset is horrible.  She did not attempt to divert the conversation away from Ryan, nor did she say anything cliché like "I'm so sorry for your loss." She did say she was sorry, but she was apologizing for assuming I could call my husband - she was not saying she was sorry for me.  Nor did she ask what happened.  She simply sat with me, acknowledged the pain, and then she talked with me like another caring human about my husband's life.  His life!  Her husband is a firefighter and so she could relate to being married to someone who serves.  She was compassionate and sweet - and she was able to share that compassion with me in the span of maybe 10 minutes of her time.  She did not spend the whole morning talking, she just simply and truthfully was present and honest with me - and our short interaction meant the world to me. 

I share all this because I wish I had known years ago that this is the most comforting way to respond to a person hurting.  Acknowledge their hurt, be present and real, and talk with them about life, not death.  I love to talk about Ryan's life - what a great dad he was, how intelligent and caring he was, how honest and selfless he was, how committed he was to serving, his sense of humor and wit - I love to talk about those things.  I grow so weary of talking about his death - answering the "what happened" and then having to "put on" the sadness of the situation as I tell the painful story.  Ryan's life is 39 years of events; his death was one horrific day.  I carry the sadness of that day with me 24/7, I do not need to pull it out for others.  I much prefer to "put on" the joy and talk about Ryan's memories.  So, please, please, if you all are talking to someone experiencing a loss, before you default to option A or option B, realize that there is an option C.  It may seem uncomfortable or scary to you, but confirming how horrific a horrific situation was is simply the truth we live with every day and we appreciate the acknowledgement more than any other cliché sentiments, no matter how well-intentioned they may be.  And asking about joyful memories is what we crave to hear and share - these two things are absolutely what the person hurting wants and needs to have expressed to them.  The veterinarian lady got it right and she made a huge difference in my day, not only in cheering me up but also in demonstrating how best I can talk to and interact with others who are hurting. 

And to update, my little Ollie is doing much better.  He bounced back by Monday and is now fully back to his spunky little self again.  His regular veterinarian ran some further tests yesterday, to check liver function and such, in an attempt to rule out any major health problems.  I am still awaiting the results.  If they all come back normal, then the most reasonable explanation is that it was a one-time event.  Perhaps he got into something he should not have?  Or ate something when out on his walk that I did not notice?  We may never know.  But at only 5 pounds in size, it would not take much to affect him.  I am keeping a close eye on the little guy and praying that his tests all come back normal, but in the mean time the children and I are just happy to have our little cuddle monster feeling better.  And I am thankful for caring, compassionate people who instinctively know best how to take care of both my little puppy buddy and my own hurting emotions.

Little puppy not feeling well 

Ollie at the pet hospital 

Perky puppy feeling better

waves 🌊

Up and down and all around.  That has been the roller coaster of my emotions inside my head this past week.  On the outside I probably seem just fine, but the inside has been a bit of a jumbly mess.  I think part of that discrepancy is that it has been over a year since Ryan's death so when I do get hit by a grief wave, no one sees or suspects the cause anymore.  And I often do not feel comfortable verbalizing the emotion to others, for prideful fear that I have "worn out" this grief thing with most people.  I will selfishly admit there are even times when I wish I could go back to the beginning of this journey, just for an hour or two (certainly not any more than that!), but so that I could sit in grief and self pity, being surrounded by those who upheld me and were my strength when I did not have any.  There is something appealing about selfishly taking an hour to just give up trying and let others take over for a little while.  Others held me up when I was completely unable to stand, but now I can stand.  It is the ugly voice of fear and doubt that tells me how nice it would be to "take a break," let others do the work for me, and bask in self pity for a bit.  But I also know it does not work that way.

A friend of mine recently contacted me because she knew someone who had just tragically lost her husband.  She asked if she could put me in contact with this lady.  I, of course, said yes!  I vividly remember that desperate feeling of wanting (of needing!) to connect with someone who had walked this horrific road before, just to even know there was some glimmer of hope that this road could somehow even be survived.  A year ago it did not seem survivable.  So I contacted this precious lady, a newly widowed mama of young children, and as I listened to her put her emotions to words, I could relate to every. single. one. of. them.  The rawness of her grief and the apparent hopelessness of a sorrow so deep were intimately familiar to me.  Those first days and weeks feel like you are drowning in an ocean of tears with no land is in sight.  And sometimes you begin to think you do not even want land to ever come within sight because climbing up on it would be way, way too difficult.  Grief is consuming and hard and scary.  All that is familiar to me, yes, so deeply familiar, but it also is not defining me.  I realized that although I could instantly relate and even feel the rawness of this precious lady's grief, I am not in that place of drowning anymore.  I have not been for awhile.  It is more like I have a memory of that drowning that I can easily pull to mind and feel again, but it is not where I currently am.  I could see a different glimpse and a new perspective of my progress forward by entering this sweet woman's pain and remembering.  I could more clearly see that I am indeed in a place that a year ago I did not even think was a possibility, let alone would become my new reality.

So this, now, is a weird place to be, certainly not in the depths of raw grief anymore but still living with these subtle, almost gentle, waves of grief that I ride in and throughout my daily activities.  Grief no longer has the effect of consuming me but has, instead, become a part of me - a part that I just carry with me wherever I go and that sometimes gently nudges me to tears or frustration (or even anger) with a memory, a situation, or a stressor, but most of the time just silently hangs out with me.  And at inconvenient times I want to wish it all away, but really I know I have made peace with it - I acknowledge it and I let it reside in my heart.  Grief is a part of me.  A part that is there, even in the midst of the joy, love, and laughter that by some glorious miracle found their way through the murky waters of my sorrow and back into my life.  I see that and am largely okay with that.  And I am thankful.  I can say it is well with my soul.

The part that is the hardest for me, the part that is not "well" or even "okay"'though is when that ugly grief monster affects my children.  This past week I watched my Charlie miss his Daddy with an ache so incredibly deep that it hurts my heart in words I can not describe.  Ryan was Char's best buddy.  And he is gone.  I almost wonder if Charlie is not accepting that fact, or possibly if his heart is trying to and it is a battle he does not want to enter into.  I am not sure.  But Charlie is very emotional this week.  It makes my heart so sad to watch and it makes my heart so mad that he is even in this situation.  It makes me sad-mad.  Why should an 11 year old boy have no memories of his Daddy past the age of 9?  Why should a little boy feel that he is continually losing his Daddy as memories fade?  Why should the camo bear on his bed and the silver dogtags always hanging around his neck be the only physical things he can cling to when he just so desperately wants an embrace from his Daddy?  Why should I, his mama, have to watch helplessly knowing I can only attempt to fill what should be the double role of "parent" for this aching boy?  How does a mama make it all "okay" when it truly just isn't?  

It is like I can handle the waves of grief, I have learned to ride them, I have accepted their presence, and I am comfortable (most of the time) with their being a part of me.  But how, oh how, does one teach their baby boy to stay afloat on those ugly, mean waves?  They seem too big for my little guy to have to go through.  And that is just plain hard for a mama to watch.  Please keep my little Charlie man in your prayers (and Katherine too, but she is largely "okay" in this current season), that God comfort aching hearts and give my little guy the courage, strength, and skills to navigate the road of grief he has to walk.  And pray that his mama use the right words to minister to his heart in some way that is soothing to his aching heart. 

Charlie spending hours of his summer at the beach with friends

Boys out riding the waves

never too foggy for friends to have a beach day

Colossians 3:1-17

"If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.  Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth.  For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.  When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.  Put to death therefore what is earthly in you: sexual immorality, impurity, passion, evil desire, and covetousness, which is idolatry.  On account of these the wrath of God is coming.  In these you too once walked, when you were living in them.  But now you must put them all away: anger, wrath, malice, slander, and obscene talk from your mouth.  Do not lie to one another, seeing that you have put off the old self with its practices and have put on the new self, which is being renewed in knowledge after the image of its creator.  Here there is not Greek and Jew, circumcised and uncircumcised, barbarian, Scythian, slave, free; but Christ is all, and in all.  Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.  And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.  And let the peace of Christ rule in your hearts, to which indeed you were called in one body. And be thankful.  Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly, teaching and admonishing one another in all wisdom, singing psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, with thankfulness in your hearts to God.  And whatever you do, in word or deed, do everything in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him."

I begin my studies this month at Renovare, and today I became a little overwhelmed with how I am going to juggle all the things on my plate.  I even began to question whether committing to starting "school" with this course of study for the next two years was the right decision for me.  What if it is just too much?  Especially when my big huge packet arrived today with our first month's coursework...  But right at the heart of that large packet was the suggestion to read, study, meditate on, or even memorize Colossians 3:1-17 throughout the month of August. We students were encouraged to let those words guide us going forward as we begin our studies this month because those verses are the core foundation for our two years of spiritual formation.  
And my jaw dropped open - and I started to cry.  Right in the center of those foundational verses is Colossians 3:12-14 (Put on then, as God's chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassionate hearts, kindness, humility, meekness, and patience, bearing with one another and, if one has a complaint against another, forgiving each other; as the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must forgive.  And above all these put on love, which binds everything together in perfect harmony.).  Those three verses were the ones Ryan and I picked out to be recited at our wedding and that then hung on our bedroom wall for 15 years!  I really felt like in that moment of realization, that both God and Ryan were comforting me and encouraging me to go forward with this program, in love and joy and thankfulness, knowing that God and Ryan are both cheering me on from heaven.  I know our purpose in meditating on and studying that part of the third chapter of Colossians is to focus our attention on God but I did not realize how lovingly our God would bless me back or speak so directly to my heart through those familiar words.  Today is August 1st, day one of program study, and my anxiety over how I will balance everything just melted away and I am smiling, through my tears, knowing Ryan loved me and does love me and that God is leading me down a new path, one where He can fully create a compassionate and loving heart inside of me to bind all things together in His perfect harmony.  And I am thankful.  So thankful.