Sad News

I need to share some sad news with you. The world has lost two special souls: Nell Ward, and Miss Maddie from our F Litter.

Nell was an active breed volunteer for so many years, focused on Rescue. She was smart and kind and direct. When I was taking Sydney to Las Vegas for an osteosarcoma clinical trial, Nell (and John) opened up their home to us — Nell was so very generous.

Nell and Claire

She did not know this but Nell was one I thought of over the past months when I sat at my computer and felt like I just could not do a blog post. I did not have anything to give or say — and then I thought about her, living with a degenerative disease not unlike ALS, and how many times she had told me that the blog was a bright spot for her.

There were many posts that were for Nell, and it made me feel better — reminding me in my own dark spaces that I still had things to give and people to care about. Thank you, Nell.

Sparkle, Nell, and I

Some of us schemed together to give Nell the gift of a puppy visit by meeting for a puppy pick-up at the facility where John and Nell lived — in the middle of a pandemic and over 700 miles away from my home. Yes, it was a lot after weeks and weeks of 10 + 10 puppies — but it was so worth it. Capella went along and maybe that was where she heard her calling…

Nell’s last text to me was just days before she died and in response to my blog post about the Lucky Irish Socks and Claire’s High in Trial — she wrote this:

I find it so ironic that the last word in that last message was Maddie…

At the age of 13 years, 9 months, and 14 days Miss Maddie needed to leave — her body was tired and could no longer contain her magnificent spirit.

Her life was so very happy and well-loved with her wonderful, kind, and thoughtful humans. It was a perfect match, from start to finish, and my heart is full of gratitude to Barb and her husband.

Farewell, Miss Maddie…

It is so very hard to lose our beloved friends.

The Inside Self: An Update

I know I am not the only one whose Little Soldiers have been forced to keep moving even though they really need to crumple in small, sobbing heaps and catch their breath. Sometimes we simply must march on.

As some know, my life has taken some unwanted and unexpected turns, as Life is wont to do. The Husband continues to receive excellent treatment/care in Utah and has been evaluated by a national expert in brain issues — he will be followed in the future by that specialist, unless the aforementioned brain/mind issues cause him (The Husband) to make more unfortunate choices and refuse to cooperate.

Yes, it has been tough — complicated and messy and hard in ways I never imagined my life would proceed. How should one feel about spousal betrayal when the actions may well be related to glitches in the mind/brain? How should one react to information that a woman experiencing homelessness — but likely not brain glitches — has used my house and my husband as a crash pad?

I share that info as context but the main point of this post is about what helps. And I share because I know that while your life may not have blown up in such a spectacular way, being human is hard.

So what does help?

It helps when people understand that I do not have capacity. People in the Dark Place just do not have much to give most of the time.

It helps when people — understanding that lack of capacity — do not just give up and go away when they do not hear a response through the walls of the Dark Place, which are very, very thick sometimes.

I received truffles. Valentine chocolates in Berner boxes. An origami beaded crane, representing healing. Sage for cleansing…

Do you know how much those kinds of things mean when you are in the Darkest of Dark Places? I will remember to pay it forward when my turn in the Dark Place is over.

Others have sent emails and notes — not asking for anything but just to let me know that I am not alone.

When someone is hiding out — trying not to move lest the rest of them bleed out — gentle, undemanding, and persistent presence is so wonderful. Those who do not expect anything in return — thank you.

I have taken inventory of everything that has helped me in the past when I have had rough patches. This is a great strategy — if it worked before, it can work again.

Notes from my Perfect Sister.

At the same time, when we need to force broken-hearted Little Soldiers to keep marching, we cannot add more to their plates (there I am, mixing my metaphors again!). And so to do all the self-care things I need plus my job — and just to stay upright — I have had to dial way back on other things.

Truthfully, when you are in that terrible Dark Place, there isn’t much space to do anything but cry and so dialing back is easy — the hard part is not making it worse by feeling guilty for all that is undone.

Undone is okay. In fact, it is necessary. Think of undone — without guilt — as one form of self-care.

Exercise. I know from my past that exercise matters and once again, it is proving crucial. I have a Peloton bike and they should hire me as a spokesperson because I seriously cannot say enough about what that has meant to me over the past months.

The view from the Peloton bike.

I walk dogs. I do strength work, core work, etc. My Inside Self is messy but my Outside Self is in darn good shape!

I process with trusted people. I journal. I make goals so that I can keep some hope alive. I play Zoom cards with my family. I go tracking with Suzanne. I say no to more things than I say yes. I stay focused on TODAY — this minute.

All of that helps. I am intentional about being okay — that is why I am okay.

And I have been taking back the place where the Violation occurred — the walk-out basement. Apparently, the cats kept the poor allergic woman downstairs. Well-played, Cats!

#teammary-ann

I call it the Cleansing Project.

Who knew I was so darn handy?!

Well, yes — messy and pretty novice at all this…

Note to Self: Don’t lean on the wet countertop.

But still — redoing a countertop?! Furniture assembly?!

Okay, yes — there was some blood involved but I DID IT! And not just a couch…

The Guest Suite has new EVERYTHING.

Painting and cleaning and decorating.

Taking back my private spaces that were violated by betrayal and turning them into a place of love and welcome — because when all is said and done, that is how I roll.

When Covid Shatters Lives, Part II

This is a bit of a switch from weeks and weeks of puppies but it is important.

It has been four months and eight days since Clark Osojnicki left us.

Photo of Clark in Montana by the talented Lisa Kaufman.

The Extremely Awful Place seems to start for the close survivors about 3 - 4 months after someone dies and it continues for weeks and sometimes months. Most people, however, do seem to move back to the Dark Place after/around 5 - 6 - 7 months post-death, which feels like relief after weeks in The Extremely Awful Place.

That the Dark Place would feel like a relief tells you a lot about The Extremely Awful Place. It is really, really awful.

The factors that seem to land most people in The Extremely Awful Place at similar times in their grief make complete sense.

The stunned shock of early grief wears off and it is like the nerve endings for life are coming alive again — and they flipping HURT.

No longer protected by that numbness, the reality of what it means to have lost this person is like a sea of flashing bulbs, popping off constantly and creating a new disequilibrium that is blinding and chaotic.

You just want to go back to bed — even when you are actually still in bed.

You feel like you are not real anymore — that you are just going through the motions while everyone else does “normal life” in a way you cannot understand.

And on top of grieving the one who is gone, you add the worry and grief for the parts of yourself that do not seem attached to you anymore.

“What is wrong with me?” you wonder. And you imagine it will be like this forever and that fills you with despair.

And all that is happening at the exact time the groundswell of support that happens following a significant loss is receding back to normal life.

Even worse, many think the bereaved should be better by now. They do not understand The Extremely Awful Place is normal; their judgment adds additional burden and it is crushing.

So what do we do?

If we are the person sitting on that hard, splintery bench in The Extremely Awful Place — and trust me, we all take a turn — do not make it worse by thinking this is a permanent placement (it is not) or that it means there is something wrong with how we are handling grief (there is not).

Keep breathing. Dial back even more. Accept help. Reach out. Tell people who care: “I am in The Extremely Awful Place.” Don’t worry about showers, vacuuming, or anything that feels extra. Just keep breathing.

I promise it gets less awful.

If we know someone who is likely in The Extremely Awful Place — show up. You cannot enter The Extremely Awful Place but you can sit outside. You can send cards, notes, food, encouragement, support, acknowledgment. There is no magic wand but loving presence is actually pretty darn powerful.

Don’t let The Extremely Awful Place become The Extremely Awful and Loneliest Place Ever.

Again, it has been four months and eight days since Clark Osojnicki died.

#team