We made the sad decision to put our dog, Speedy, down today. After watching him deteriorate for the past few months, we knew it was time. His hair was falling out, his skin was en-flamed, his legs shook, and he whimpered at night in an effort to get comfortable. Speedy was 15 & 1/2 years old, and the last of what I call our “fur baby family before we had a human family”.
I could write so much about what I have learned through loving my dogs and cats. Dogs are especially unique in their love for their human companions, and I believe that they are a special kind of gift to this world. They keep our secrets, comfort our sadness, and protect us with vicious loyalty. If only we could treat each other the way our dogs do, perhaps there would be less gossip, less grief, and less victimization in the world.
This morning, I gathered our children and explained to them that when they returned home this evening, Speedy would no longer be living with us, and that we felt it was time for him to be put down so that he would not suffer anymore. Both paused for a moment, and then spoke some wise words to me:
“Speedy will be in Heaven with Cleo and Baby Kitty now.”
“His skin will get better, and his hair will grow back.”
“God will take care of Speedy.”
After listening to them process their impending loss, I realized that their words brought great comfort to me. It was a difficult day, but the vision of Heaven that the kids put in my mind infused my thoughts.
In Heaven, there will be great joy, and the grandest of reunions. In Heaven, sickness and frailness, and all of the things that make us physically and emotionally ill, will be gone. In Heaven, we will rejoice with our Heavenly Father.
Today was one of remembrance of the sweet little puppy that bounced his way into our lives. It was one of commemoration about the many years he greeted us at the door, slept next to my feet, and gave us moments of laughter. I was also reminded that the years may seem long, but time with each other, truly is short.
It was also a day of a grand envisioning of what Heaven will be like, and of the blessed assurance of Eternal life.
Thank you, Lord, for gifting me with Your wisdom and promises through the soft-spoken words of my children.
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I have to admit that I was anxious about taking my son to school today. I just wanted to grab him and run back out of the building, or stay with him all day. I prolonged our usual walk to the cafeteria where he goes before school starts. I hugged him once, went back for a second and third hug, and then turned around and hugged him for the fourth time while whispering in his ear that I love him.
For the first time today, I gave second glances to people I have not seen before in the school. I noticed how many doors there were, and wondered if they were locked. I imagined where my little boy would hide if he needed to. I wanted to ask about school security, evacuation plans, etc, but, I could tell the principal and teachers were all probably preoccupied with the same emotional anxiety that I was feeling.
I’m not the only one who felt this way today. Most of the mom’s I spoke to were ready for the hour to come when school was let out. I was anxious to pick him up, embrace him, and get him in my car. I kept up a quick pace from my car to the door, and just couldn’t wait to lay my eyes on him. After seeing him sitting there in line waiting for me to get him, my pace quickened, I called his name, and wrapped my arms around his shoulders while walking him out. He sort of gave me that “uh..mom…?” look, but I didn’t care. I wanted him out of the building, and back in the warm secure place that we call home.
I’m struggling a bit to not write about the shooting tragedy, or to keep it out of my mind. This shooting is no less tragic or no more tragic than any other violent act in our country, but this one…this one cuts right into the heart of us all. Perhaps, it is the age of the sweet babies killed, the way it happened, the lack of security in our school systems, or the lack of professional, affordable mental health services. Or, perhaps, and I say this with caution, it is the plethora of available weaponry on our streets. Maybe, it is all of these things combined.
As a professional in the field of social work, I have worked with mentally ill adults and children. I have worked with at-risk youth, adolescent sexual perpetrators, and drug addicts. I have tracked down homeless people, or those with-whom society doesn’t care about. I have been cursed at and threatened by angry clients. I even had a somewhat mentally unstable man, high on pain killers, pull a handgun from behind his back and show it to me while I was doing a routine well-being check on him.
When I was a new case worker, I was told that I should step aside when I knocked on the door of a potentially angry client so that if the person shot at me, he or she would miss. I was also told to always know where my exits are, and to never turn my back on someone. Just last week I read an article about a young social worker who was chased down after a home visit, and brutally stabbed to death by a mentally unstable client.
I keep hearing all this talk about “changing the way things are done”. If politicians really want to understand persons with mental health problems, at-risk youth, or the desperate struggles of parents and the “system” trying to heal and help these folks, then I think they should join us in the field sometime. I think they should have to listen to the screaming and cussing phone messages of angry clients left on voice machines. I think they should have to assist in finding a home for a youth who has severe mental health issues with violent tendencies. I think they should have to accompany parents who struggle to get their children the help they need because of lack of funding.
I say all of this to not lay blame for what occurred, or to turn this into a political issue. I don’t want to believe that this is only a gun issue either. It is an issue of a young man who may or may not have gotten the help he needed. It is an issue of a mother who most likely desperately struggled raising a troubled son. It is an issue of young persons slipping through the cracks, and desperately needed funding being slashed. It is an issue of safety in our schools. This is also an issue of the heart, and the lack of empathy or understanding for those on the outside of what is deemed as socially acceptable.
I think those in charge of writing policies, adding or cutting funding, and lobbying so passionately for what they believe in, should join social workers, teachers, counselors, and parents as they work tirelessly to fix the most complicated of problems. I’m certainly not an expert on mental health, gun laws, and politics. I’m just a mom who fears that my children are growing up in a less safe and more complicated world that I grew up in. I’m a mom who wants people that need help to get help. I’m a mom who yearns for real change, the kind that creates a world that is more loving, and accepting of others, to happen. The ones who lost their lives last week deserve for us all to ponder carefully on these issues with sensitive hearts and open minds.
Our children, and our children’s children, deserve it as well.
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Gosh, this was a hard post to write. I stopped, stared at the image of my cousin above, typed a little, and deleted a lot before finally deciding on how to write about her. My cousin has been gone now for quite some time. This week marks the 16th anniversary of her death. It was an extremely painful experience to lose a best friend and someone who I essentially grew up with.
Most of my friends and co-workers do not even know. It is not that I have forgotten about her…I just cannot “go there” very often. I am extremely blessed with amazing friends, but there will always be that space that only Kelly filled. The vast majority of my early life memories involve her. Cousins really do become children’s first friends.
She was only 23-years-old; yet, had many sorrows and troubles. Addictions and sadness plagued her, even though, there was a tremendous amount of sweetness, tenderness, and love buried underneath all of the dirt of life. She battled addictions for several years and though she wanted to live a full, healthy life, I think that the struggles she had were just too great for her. So much life has happened since hers ended, but she is never really too far from my thoughts.
My last words to her, while she was conscious, were “baby steps, Kelly, baby steps.” I was trying to get her to slow down with her eagerness to get out of the hospital. I knew she needed to just put one foot in front of the other and that starting a new, healthier life would be much more difficult than she probably imagined. “Baby steps”….I regretted those words. If I had known those words were my last to her, I would not have chosen them.
Moments before her death, I ran to the chapel at the hospital and pleaded with the Lord. I was not an active Christian at the time and had a lot of confusion, but I still believed in a Heavenly Father who heard our cries.
“Lord, please God, I will do anything. Please let Kelly live. Please God….she needs a miracle.”
These words stumbled off of my clumsy lips that were quivering and drenched with tears. My broken and trembling body laid over the back of the pew. My hands were clasped together and I was reaching out to the cross before me. I was alone in the chapel begging….it was just me and God. It was me bargaining for Him to deliver a miracle to my near lifeless best friend.
Soon after, this I heard my name and turned around. In the doorway, my aunt stood there shaking her head with tears rolling down her cheeks.
“She’s gone”
….silence.
….numbness.
I got up and nearly ran right into a lady wearing a white jumpsuit. I remember her brown hair for some reason, but I do not remember her face and did not know she was even in the room. She said to me, “I heard you pray and wanted to let you know that your cousin is going to be okay. It is all-Saints day.” She hugged me and I walked out of the chapel. I was not Catholic (still am not), so I really did not know what she meant, but something about my encounter with her felt good.
Several months after my cousin’s death, I prayed that God would allow me to see Kelly one more time so that I would know she was okay. My prayer was answered in a dream. We were driving around in a car listening to music just like old times when she was breathing Earthly air. No words were spoken, but I could “hear” her say “I’m okay Caroline. I’m okay.” There she sat glowing in all white with that beautiful smile on her face. There was great peace in the car and I remember not wanting the ride to come to an end. I woke up and even though it pained me to realize she was gone, I just knew that she was at peace and with the Lord. I have not dreamed of her since then, but that is okay.
I believe the Lord did grant her the miracle I so pleaded for on that fateful day. You see, Kelly had been rendered unconscious just a week or two prior to her death. She miraculously came to, asked for forgiveness, recommitted her faith in the Lord, told her family and friends that she loved them, laughed, hugged, and then passed away. That was her miracle.
I too was touched by a miracle on the day Kelly died. My aunt who ran into the chapel to let me know Kelly passed away does not remember the lady in the white jumpsuit. She told me there was no one else in the chapel with me when she came in. In other words, I believe my miracle on that day was an encounter with an angel telling me that my sweet cousin was going to be okay even though she would be leaving the Earth.
Kelly never had the opportunity to become a mom, graduate from college, start a career, own a personal computer, use a smart phone, or travel to some far off exotic place. She did not get to stand next to me at my wedding, attend my adoption hearings, and watch how my story of infertility unfolded. I know she would have been so in love with my babies and would have cherished them as much as I do. I believe a part of her will always be with me during all of the moments I share with my children.
I look forward with great anticipation and joy at the reunion I will have with her in Heaven. I look forward to breathing in the same celestial air that she is breathing and to shine with her in the glory of the Lord. But, for now, I will continue to hold her in that quiet space that belongs only to her. I will continue to think of her every time I see tulips and daisies. And, I will continue to rejoice in the miracles that occurred during that week when Kelly danced her way into Heaven.
Love You, Kelly
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Recently in the community I live in, there has been several tragic situations that have led to the deaths of children. One toddler passed away following a valiant fight against cancer. His family’s faith and their bold witness of it is extremely humbling. Yesterday, two mothers buried their children at the same time. All three siblings, their father, and a family friend died in a plane crash just minutes away from the local airport. Just this weekend, I learned of a former classmate whose 18-year-old son passed away suddenly.
My heart feels so much sadness for these mothers. I cannot imagine the despair they are going through. I have known the pain and the notable silence of a life without children that my barrenness once caused. But now that I am a mother, I cannot even wrap my head around going from sitting in a home that used to be filled with the chatter of a teenager engaging in an energetic conversation, a television in the background blasting a video game, or the imaginative sound effects children make when they play, to sitting in that same home that is now silent. I cannot fathom what it must feel like to walk into a home that once housed children with great dreams, loving embraces, and inquisitive yearnings about life, that now houses empty spaces, thick tears, precious (yet painful) memories, wounded hearts, and sorrowful aches.
Sometimes I long for just one moment of complete silence in the home or the car. Sometimes I wished my little ones could dial down the volume a bit; or at least, maybe not like the sound of their own voices quite as much as they do. These recent tragedies in my community have helped me to keep it all in perspective though.
I will take the squeals, the laughter, the “I’m gonna tell mommy”, the fights, the cries, and the constant chatter. I will take the background noise of a television that is too loud, or the bang of a drum from a little boy who thinks he is rock star. I will take the non-stop questions of soon-to-be 4-year-old who still thinks it is never too early to get out of bed in the morning, or implores for her questions to be answered.
Actually, I am not just gonna take it. I am going to embrace it. I am going to remember the gift of noise. I am going to be grateful for my Heavenly Father who has given it all to me.
I am going to embrace the noise.
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I remember the day of September 11th when time seemed to freeze on the image of those two proud, tall, and shining buildings crumbling to the ground. I remember the image of people running with anguish on their faces and their bodies covered in ash. I remember people begging for their loved ones to be found. I remember wondering how humans could have so much hatred in their hearts that they would choose death over life. I remember the day of September 11th.
But…it is the day after September 11th that I remember as well. I remember waking up, running to the television, and desperately hoping for a little good news. I remember praying and pleading that more survivors were found over night. I remember laying on the couch in a fetal position sobbing over the strangers whose lives were gone, feeling the heart-break for the families, and knowing that life would never be the same.
I remember getting ready for work, hopping in my car, and driving as if in a quiet trance. Going to work after such a tragedy did not even seem right. I was in graduate school full-time while working part-time at a pizza cafe, so asking people if they wanted cheese on their salad, pepperoni on their pizza, or a refill of their drinks seemed so trivial compared to the visions blasted on every television screen around.
I remember being annoyed by a group of ladies who seemed to be completely oblivious to what had just occurred. They were laughing, telling stories…you know….just having a “girls’ lunch” while the rest of the folks in the restaurant spoke in hush, softened voices. I wondered if they were purposefully ignoring the news or if they did not see how that fateful day affected everyone.
I’ll admit that growing up in the middle of America caused me to get a little used to things happening far off in the big cities or on the coast-lines. This time though was different. I remember calling my mom and telling her, “I think life in America will never be the same again.”
Out of my own ignorance or false sense of security, or whatever it is one might call it, I never really thought an attack would happen to us. But, it did. I also knew that it was now just a matter of time before we would be headed off to war. To be honest, this broke my heart and scared me a little as well.
Yes, I remember the day after September 11th.
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We made the sad decision to put our dog, Speedy, down today. After watching him deteriorate for the past few months, we knew it was time. His hair was falling out, his skin was en-flamed, his legs shook, and he whimpered at night in an effort to get comfortable. Speedy was 15 & 1/2 years old, and the last of what I call our “fur baby family before we had a human family”.
BARREN TO BLESSED 