One Beautiful Life

Direction

Oddly enough, direction is written on my calendar for blogging right now.  Who knew that last month, when I wrote the themes on the calendar, direction would be who I would be sitting with today.

If you know me or follow me on facebook... you already know I am grieving the loss of my little Chloe... our first foster dog.  I know.  It's a dog.  I feel like people are like "yeah.... get over it already."  I want to... I wish I could... but her absence twirls around me like her precious little spirit did daily.  And tears can not be held.  I am sick with wanting her back.

The whole loss of her seems to be bringing to surface some seriously raw emotion.  Last week alone, we were denied insurance coverage for therapy Abby needs (my daughter), I stepped on the head of a little green lizard in our garage and Don had to finish it off to end it's suffering (I was traumatized... I let bugs go free and actually save things from spider webs), we rescued a third foster dog who is smacked with kennel cough and pneumonia, and I let my little precious Chloe get in the car with another family and leave.

As I grieve her absence, I don't want to be me anymore.  I don't want this heart.  I don't want this pain.  I don't want to care anymore.  All I can think about is changing direction.  I want to be numb.  I want to quit.

It is exhausting.  When I see a dead deer on the side of the road, a dead cat or dog or raccoon... I am flooded with emotion that is exhausting.  When I pass the local animal shelter, I am flooded with panic and pain and hopelessness.  It comes up from my toes and runs through my veins like acid.  I am tired of it.  I am done.  Really.  Enough already.

I was talking/crying with my mother last night on the phone.  She was talking about my compassionate heart and how beautiful it is and all I could think was "stupid"... these emotions that coil around me are stupid.  I mean seriously, there are bigger issues in the world than losing a spark of joy that danced around you each day and filled you with pure innocent delight and love.

I am so angry with myself and I am angry with my husband.  He made me choose.  Yet he "let" me foster in the first place.  And that brings about an entire separate bag of worms... having to "ask" permission to do things I want to do in my life because of godly order in the home.  As I spewed my anger towards him to my mother last night, she reminded me that who I am actually mad at is God since He set up godly order in the home.

So great.  Add that to the list. I am mad at myself... livid actually... that I made the wrong decision.  I, as always, tried to make the right decision.  My husband gave me the choice... keep Chloe and we don't foster/save anymore dogs... let Chloe go and you can help/save other dogs.  "Be selfless for the greater good," I decided.  Yep.  That's me.  But if ever there was a time to be selfish in my life it was THEN.  And I am severely peeved with myself for letting her go.  There.  I am peeved with myself and I can't go back... I can't get her back.  That hurts... hurts deep.  I want to slap myself every time I look in the mirror.

And I am peeved with my husband.  He thinks it is unfair.  But he made me choose.  For that, I am angry.  For the fact he seems to not even GET that I am grieving her... I am angry.

And I guess I am also mad at God.  He set up godly order in the home and as I want to please Him... I give in.  I hate it.  I rebel against it.  It makes me feel controlled.  It makes me feel like a child.  It makes me think I'd be better off without a husband so I could make my own decisions and that is just simply spoiled and then the fact that I even feel that way makes me feel like a spoiled brat and again mad at myself.

And then there is this... I thought God would help me let her go.  I really thought He would honor my heart and give me some supernatural ability to smile and let her go and find comfort in the fact she is with a wonderful loving family.  And He didn't.  Nope.  No He didn't.   I hit... bottom... hard.  There is no comfort.  Only ridiculous deep sorrow.  And memories... memories of her waiting until I stirred in bed each day and licking my face and laying down by my shoulder.  Memories of her twirling at my feet as I got out of bed.  Memories of her following me to the closet and getting excited as I got dressed.  Memories of her twirling in front of me as we walked down the hallway and her pulling on my pants as I walked down the stairs.  Memories of her wanting to come with me every time I went somewhere.  Memories of her crying with delight and bouncing all over me and licking me with kisses when I returned from a conference.  Memories of her everywhere... all... day... long.

And actually, funny enough... since this past week has just been as funny as possible... I was up in the middle of the night Monday night with the new dog, Ferris, who is coughing his brains out.  I had him in my arms around 5:30 a.m. to take him to the bathroom to "steam" him in hopes he could breath better.  As I walked around the corner half asleep, I forgot about the baby gate that was up as part of our effort to keep him separate from our other dog.  I ran right into it, almost flipped over it but then it flew forward and as I compensated from almost flipping forward, I flew into the air and landed flat on my back in the kitchen, on the hardwood.  My literal hitting bottom hard becoming all too real.  I let go of the dog, whom I managed to hang onto, and laid there and cried.  My back, my neck, my wrist, my hip... burning with pain.  And today, as a sweet reminder, I feel like I have been HIT BY A TRUCK.  I can not even move without pain.  In yet another effort to help, I was thrown flat on my back.

So direction... I don't think I can do this anymore.  I don't want to.  I don't want to care this much and hurt this much and be this emotional.  I am done.  I want to change direction.  I want to turn this off.  I want to join another club... the club of  "I don't care anymore."

This is not my typical post.  I hate it when people think I have it together or they say I am so strong.  I am not.  I am not strong.  I am a mess.  And here it is... my mess.  My fit.  My pain.  My anger and my grief... right here... in it's flesh.

And I thought I'd share it... so there is never moment when you think I am anything but what I am... a mess.  A ridiculous mess.