Okay

Yesterday, my dog died.

He was fourteen, and he was old, and he was sick, and it was time to let him go. We miss him lots.

And I am okay. All day people were calling and checking on me, and I am just so completely okay that I don’t know where to put that okay-ness. But there it is, out there in the world, with all the other weirdly misplaced items like floral rompers and acid wash jeans and high-waisted cut-off shorts with the pockets hanging out in the junior section of every department store.

One of the things I am learning about life is that when something sad happens, it is alright to be sad. Isn’t that amazing? I grew up in an environment where if someone was sad, they were shunned, or hurt, or blamed, or neglected. And so I think I had about 35 years worth of sadness to catch up on.

It’s been a bit like using one of those Biore nose strips for the first time, where you go, “EWWWWWWW BARF I CAN’T BELIEVE THAT WAS IN ME WHERE DID IT COME FROM?” Except with tears instead of clogged face pores. (I am the queen of the metaphor, no?) I cry and cry and I don’t know WHY, but then I feel so much better.

Yesterday, when my sweet, sweet Malcolm dog died, I was sad. Gregg was sad. The boys were sad. My kids are teaching me how to be sad when a sad thing happens, and then to let go and live. Kids are amazingly smart like that. They’ve got it all down, and it’s our job as adults to pay as close attention as we can, to figure out how to get back to that place where we knew how to just be.

So, there it is. I am doing a lot to keep my head above water, including more drugs, more therapy (today my therapist clapped and said “yaaay!” after I described how I left the house without cleaning all the dishes and the world did not end!) (it seems that keeping a tightly controlled environment and life was one way I coped with being abused for so long), and so much running that my legs feel like they are going to fall off. 

I’m also trying to not look 50 steps into the future. I don’t make plans farther than the weekend, but mostly not into the hour. I don’t know what I’m going to do with my life. I don’t know if I want to continue this blog or my book or writing, or become a chicken trainer with the circus, or sell fruit on the side of the road, or become a puppeteer. I have absolutely no clue anymore. And for the first time, instead of feeling scary, it feels good. Or at least okay.

I hope you’re okay, too, and hey, thank you. Thank you so much for your thoughts and your prayers and your concern. I can feel it. It helps. Everything helps. Thank you. You are an enormous blessing in my life.