Who Rescued Who...

Five years ago not much could make me happy. 

Most days I was doing good just to put one foot in front of the other. 

In the midst of the sadness, anger, and tears

I remember one thing that could always put a smile on my face…

Our family pet, my "baby brother", Duke.

I mean, who can't muster up a grin when in the presence of an adorable puppy?!

He was tiny, clumsy, and had ears soft as velvet.

As he grew - so did my love for him.  I needed him.

“Dogs have a way of finding the people who need them and filling an emptiness

they didn’t even know they had.”

Fast forward to December 12th, 2013 - and Teddy Bear did just that.

Again, he was tiny, clumsy, and had fur the same color as the hair on my head!

The moment I first saw him, I just knew in my heart that he was supposed to be mine.

Sweet, sweet Teddy.  He was a bundle of indescribable happiness!

I had never had a dog that was all mine before.
And, I'm not going to lie...the responsibility scared me at first.

But, I have found that I love having something to care for.
Here you have this living, breathing creature that depends on you for literally everything.
Feeding them, bathing them, cleaning up after them...
Opening the doors and throwing tennis balls for them...
(And for retrieving said tennis balls when they get stuck under the coffee table!)
Teaching them that the roads are bad and ice cream is good...
Taking them on adventures...
Caring for them.  Protecting them.  
And most importantly - loving them.

When you think about it, there isn't a whole lot your dog could do without you...

But the return.  Oh, the return...
A stillness in your soul.
Unconditional love in your heart.
A smile on your face.
And, sunshine on a cloudy day!

I don't think there is any question as to who rescued who...

“The one absolutely unselfish friend that a man can have in this selfish world, 
the one that never deserts him, the one that never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog.  
He will kiss the hand that has no food to offer. 
He will lick the wounds and sores that come in encounter with the roughness of the world.  
When all other friends desert, he remains.” 
– George Vest

Dear Critics...

The way time marches on after a loss is stunning at first...

It's a slap in the face - to log into Facebook, to watch the news, to go to the grocery store... Everything else carries on as it was before, except for you.

You are changed...  Your life is changed... 

The reality is that no matter how bad your heart is broken, the world doesn't stop for your grief.
 

Time heals all wounds.  Isn't that what they say?

I've often wondered about the origin of such an empty promise.

"All wounds" - those are pretty good statistics...

Statistics that I don't agree with...and a much-overused phrase that I've grown to despise.
 

Sure, time is a big factor in healing physical wounds.

The body has an amazing ability (along with time) - to heal a scrapped knee, a bruised arm, or a twisted ankle...

But, obviously those aren't the type of wounds I'm talking about...
 

I'm talking about emotional wounds. 

Wounds that can't be fixed with Neosporin, a Band-Aid, and a little TLC.

Wounds that are most certainly still felt day after day after day.

In my opinion and from my experience - it's not that time heals all emotional wounds...

but, that with time you learn how to cope.
 

That "time frame" is different for everybody.

Maybe it takes a few weeks.  Maybe it takes a few months.

Maybe it takes a few years.

Maybe it takes a lifetime.
 

It has been brought to my attention that some people don't understand why I still grieve over Jordan's death.  They don't understand why "I'm not over it yet." 

"He was your ex-boyfriend when he died."

"It has been four years."

"You're married now."
 

How insensitive?  How simple-minded?  How hurtful?

Do I think of Jordan / his accident / and his death often?  Yes.

Do I sit around and cry about it every single day?  No.

When certain dates roll around does it bring back memories, feelings, and emotions?  Yes.

His death was unexpected and tragic.

I wasn't prepared for it.  No one was.

It was the first time in my life that I'd lost someone I loved and cared about in that manner.

I'll be the first to admit that Jordan and I had a love-hate relationship, that at times could have given any daytime soap opera a run for its money!

Ex-boyfriend or not - he was still my friend.  One of my best.
 

Yes, it has been four years.  2014 will be five years.  2019 will be ten years.

I didn't realize that there was some kind of set-in-stone countdown as to when and for how long it's considered "okay" to grieve, or cry, or reflect, etc., etc., etc. - over the loss of a loved one - whether it's a parent, a friend, a pet, or an ex-boyfriend...
 

Yes, I am married now.  I'm married to a man who is understanding and compassionate.

A man who knows my past, my deepest hurts, and my biggest fears.

A man who will wipe my tears away after a bad day.

A man who loves and accepts me - every part of me.

A man that I am beyond thankful for and that I love very much.

 

But, it still confuses me...and downright ticks me off that people would be so shallow to think that somehow four passed years and a marriage certificate are supposed to (apparently) erase the past...or ease the pain...or make me magically "get over it."

I wish it were that easy...

Everyone is entitled to their own opinions...

There are billions of people in this world, and no two are exactly alike.

Everyone feels, thinks, copes, reacts, and handles life (and death) differently.

 

Sure, it's human nature (for whatever reason) to sometimes question the way someone else is living, or the decisions they make, or the way they handle a situation...

And, I think that is okay.

 

But, I have a problem when the questioning and curiosity turn into judgment and criticism.

What is there to positively gain from judging, insulting, or belittling someone / something you simply don't or can't understand???

 

Am I saying that I have never wrongfully judged someone?

No, not at all. 

I'd be a fool to try and convince anyone that I've never said or thought something about someone that I had no right to say or think.

But, I've learned a thing or two in the past couple of years...

I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of the ignorance.

 

It's so unfair, mean and hateful...and most of all - heartless...

And it hurts...  It hurts really, really bad...

 

Just because I live / think / cope differently than you - doesn't make me wrong.

And, vice versa.

 

There are and will continue to be so many situations in life that we just aren't capable of wrapping our minds around unless it directly happens to us.  It is impossible to look through someone else's eyes or "walk in their shoes" exactly the same as they do...

 

I'd also be a fool to think that we will ever live in a world without critics.

Without bullies.  Without hatred.

Without unnecessary judgment...

 

But, I guess if life were that easy...and that perfect...

...and everyone lived in peace...

...there would never be any valuable lessons to learn or evil to rise up against.

 

I've heard someone say before that their most successful and fun days in life have seldom helped grow their character...  But the times of deep pain and struggle have grown them extensively.

 

When you think about it that way...even the days (and people) that feel so difficult can be gifts.

We, you, and I - can grow through adversity.

Hardship is a part of life.

We all experience it to one degree or another.

Remember that.  Think before you speak.  And have heart.

This Day - Four Years Ago...

I've sat here for what feels like forever, trying to find the words, but even now, words mostly won't come...and they certainly don't come easy...

 

Today marks four years since Jordan's accident. 

Four years...

How can it be that long already?  How can it be that short?

Strange how it seems like a lifetime ago, and yet it seems like just yesterday, all at the same time.

 

June 14th, 2009 is engraved in my brain.  The days that followed are still so vivid.

I find myself shoving feelings down - pushing them back through the cracks when they threaten to spill out.

Like right now.  I feel like my insides, my heart...could explode.

I'm fighting the tears with every ounce of strength I have in me.

 

Memories flit across my mind.  Flashbacks haunt me.

I remember the phone call.

I remember listening to the devastating news.

I remember not understanding what I was hearing.

I remember hitting the floor like a ton of bricks.

I remember crying like I'd never cried before.

I remember praying and begging God to spare Jordan's life.

I remember feeling completely and utterly helpless.

 

To relive it is gut-wrenching...

and I'm all out of words...

 

Changes...

Everyone, at some point in their lives has gone (or will go) through something that has changed them.  Changes that are good or maybe not-so-great, some temporary, some permanent…  My point isn’t really focused on the day to day “crises” that happen.  Those, most times, come and go, you deal with them, you adjust, and you move on.  I’m talking about a change so huge that it actually takes your breath away, literally hurts -mentally, physically, & emotionally-, day after day with no end in sight.  A change so huge that you can’t wait to go to sleep at night so that your mind is temporarily unaware of what has happened, yet you dread the thought of waking up the next morning to the agonizing pain again.  Pain so deep, that you feel it will NEVER go away and never get easier.  Yes, I am speaking from experience; and yes, I have undoubtedly lived through a change like that…

 

. . .

 

I was 25 at the time, living life to the fullest, had my own place and the best friends a girl could ask for.  Life was pretty much perfect and [I thought] I had it all figured out.  Then June 18, 2009 happened.  I had faced death before, just not of the same nature.  This was unexpected, tragic, and it stopped me dead in my tracks.  I was numb and in shock.  I questioned reality.  I felt unbelievable pain and guilt.  The tears were uncontrollable.  My life had been turned upside down, and it was chaotic and scary.  I was no longer the generally upbeat and fun girl that most people knew.  I was exhausted 24/7, mentally spent, and depression hit – hard.  I wondered how I was ever going to get through…  I constantly felt low, and my emotions fluctuated all over the place.  I was simply in survival mode…putting one foot in front of the other and trying with all I had to make sense of everything I was feeling and thinking.  I really didn’t want to hear about how it was all part of God’s plan and how “everything happens for a reason”…  I knew what people meant…but at that moment, you don’t want someone justifying or trying to help make sense out of something that doesn’t make any sense to you.  My faith had been shaken, my life was in shambles, and I was angry – very angry – with God.  That anger and rage would rush over me and it would come out of nowhere.  I felt like I constantly had a dark, dangerous funnel cloud over my head and I never knew when it was going to hit the ground.  I knew that this “new me” wasn’t the easiest to be around, and that hurt my heart even more.  I was so incredibly lost…  This went on for several weeks; actually, for about two months, before I finally broke down to my mom and confessed that I (obviously) wasn’t doing well.  Admitting that I needed help was really hard and difficult for me.

. . .

As a young teenager, I had seen a psychiatrist, only once, for a completely unrelated (health) issue.  That whole experience left a “bad taste” in my mouth about the psychiatry field and for a while, all doctors in general.  Although, looking back, I know my parents, doctors, and even the psychiatrist, had my best interest at heart.  However, even with that in mind, the thought of having to go see a psychiatrist or therapist made me feel anxious and nervous.  I didn’t know exactly what to expect…  Was I going to have to lay on some uncomfortable couch and poor my guts out?  Were people going to think I was crazy?  I felt weak, and like a failure – to myself, for not being able to cope on my own. 

My first appointment was an insanely emotional rollercoaster ride.  For one, the resources in a small town are slim and the psychiatrist I was seeing was a middle aged, military veteran – man.  Now, I love a good looking man just as much as any other woman with a heartbeat…but, I’d rather eat dirt than to sit in his office, with a runny nose from crying and mascara all over the place, trying to explain my inner most feelings out.  His questions dug deep and I was forced to “relive” what had happened in order for him to understand why I was there in the first place.  It was frustrating, hair pulling, enlightening and exhausting all at once.  I say “enlightening” because I learned that the feelings and thoughts I was experiencing was completely normal.  I wasn’t weak or a failure, and I most certainly wasn’t “crazy”… 

In my case, I was to see him monthly so that he could monitor the medications he prescribed, and I was advised to see a therapist on a weekly basis for as long as it was thought necessary.  Finding a therapist I felt comfortable with was a train wreck at first.  After much trial and error, and 3 therapists later…I finally found “the one.”  She was middle aged, seemed sincere, and she too, had suffered a similar loss like mine many years ago.  She could relate to my situation and oftentimes, could finish my sentences when I wasn’t able.  Each visit with her was draining – in every single way – because, just like with my psychiatrist, I was forced to think about the accident and relive the past to a degree…but, in doing so, it helped me release more and more of my bottled up emotions. 

I remember sitting in her office, tissue box by my side, when sounds and cries I’d never heard before started pouring out of my body…  I confessed that even with the help of therapy sessions and popping an anti-depressant every day, I still wasn’t coping well.  I still felt at rock bottom.  Uneasy, I described the flashbacks and nightmares, the uncontrollable mood swings, and the feeling of gasping for air that I was experiencing.  I told her how my concentration and interest in daily activities was basically nonexistent.  I felt detached from everything – family, friends, my work…and the worst of it all, was the intense fear I had of losing someone else I loved.  I was terrified that every said goodbye was going to be the last.  If I could have had it my way, I would never meet anyone new again…because that meant I was opening myself up for more pain if something happened to them…  It was then, that I was diagnosed with Posttraumatic Stress Disorder, a condition that is common following a traumatic event.  My anti-depressant meds were changed and the dosage bumped up – significantly, and I began taking a medication for anxiety. 

. . .

Adjusting to a new normal isn’t always easy.  After a while, I became somewhat numb to the pain; most likely due to all the medication flowing through my system, masking my feelings…  My way of coping on a daily basis was basically to try my damnedest to avoid any and every thing that I knew would trigger an inner demon or the “water works”…  My motto for life was to simply live – day by day – one step at a time.    

March 8, 2010, not quite nine months since Jordan’s death, I was told by an ER doctor that I’d quote, “cheated death twice” – by surviving two blood clots that had made their way into my lungs.  Excuse me, what?!?  An incredibly sweet, loving wife, and nurturing mother of two small children that I knew, had just passed away days before from a blood clot…  Why did God take her and not me?  In a sense, I felt undeserving and guilty that I had survived and she had not…  She loved her babies more than anything, she’d never be able to watch them grow up, and they’d never know her…  My life was, and had been, in turmoil – for months, at that point…  I remember feeling angry with God – again.  I couldn’t understand why I had been given a second chance…  Why me?  Why wasn’t Jordan or Jessica given a second chance?  On one hand, I was so confused; but, on the other, deep down, I was thankful. 

I was far from being out of the dark tunnel, but I saw a glimmer of light.  There was a reason why I was still on this earth, and I realized that I could let this ruin me, or I could let this experience work its magic within me.  Knowing that I could have easily been here one minute and gone the next, changed how I saw (and continue to see) the world and life – that it’s all impermanent.  I knew there was so much more to life and I didn’t want to miss it. 

Shortly after being released from the hospital, I went to Lowe’s with my then-boyfriend.  It was almost spring time, the weather was warming up, and the outdoor garden department was bursting in color.  I remember standing there in amazement trying to take a mental picture of how gorgeous all the flowers were.  I began touching and smelling some of them…and the tears started flowing…  Thinking back, this is the first time I remember crying; not sad tears, but happy tears.  There I was, in the middle of all the hustle and bustle from others’ excited for sunshine, I stood a sniffling mess – and I didn’t care one bit!  I was alive, I was grateful, and I never wanted that moment to end...