Tribute – don’t eat that

How do you capture a broken heart in a blog post?  How do you convey the tears that are still unshed and building up behind your eyes?  How do you write about a grief so raw?

On 11/2/18, Otis passed away.  For those of you that don’t know Otis, he was our beagle.  We got him when he was a few days shy of 6 weeks old.  I don’t recall why we got him so early, other than I think they were just ready to have those puppies gone.  We loved him from the second he was handed to me and nuzzled under my chin whimpering.  We had him 15 years.  782 weeks and 4 days that he was on this Earth and that much time that he wormed his way into our hearts and lives.

After he passed, several people said they felt like they knew him from my posts on social media.  He was always a source of a funny story or crazy antics.  He was a source of amusement to a lot of people.  To us he was family.  He was the glue that held us together during times we couldn’t get out of bed.  He was the laughter in our house when all we had were tears.  He was 15 years of routines.  He was the constant in our lives.  He was our everything.

I have several blog post that I have been trying to get updated and posted.  Then this happened and I stalled more than usual.  I have started to write this post a million times and haven’t been able to come up with the words.  I keep writing about his last week with us, and his last days, and his last minutes.  I just can’t get through it.  I keep writing about what he meant to us and fall short.  So I decided until I can post those things, I will write about some of his antics.

Everyone told me after he died that they knew he crossed the rainbow bridge and was playing like he never played before.  I sort of agree.  I kind of feel like heaven to our beagle and his mischief soul would be eating things he shouldn’t and not getting in trouble.  I was thinking about that the other day and made a list of the things Otis ate while here.  So my post today is a tribute to my sweet puppy and the things he ate.

This is not a complete list but the things we could remember.  This does not include things that he ate off the floor while we cooked, or dropped while we ate, or the things he ate while in my parents presence that they didn’t report.  Reading through this list makes me feel like an irresponsible pet owner. In our defense we always tried to push things to the back of the counter.  We always tried to puppy proof the motor home.  He was just so patient he would wait on that one slip up to go for the goods.  He knew better and we always had to tell him, not yours and don’t eat that.  Sometimes he would tell on himself and would come up to us and put his head down and lean into us.  Other times he would excitedly jump up and down pawing on us like come look what I did!

• Ham (Stolen off plates, platters, floors, hands).
• Ham biscuits (He stole those when my grandfather passed away.  He snuck in the kitchen after someone brought them and took two before I noticed my dad laughing because he knew what he was doing).
• Chocolate Covered Cherries (He snuck those while we were in the motor home at the Charlotte races.  They made him really hyper (like psychotic) and he threw up).
• M&Ms (Dark chocolate.  Ate those while with my parents.  He was so sick.  Several after hours calls to the vet.  A trip to Walmart at 3 AM.  He got a few other M&Ms here and there, some fun packs etc, but never an entire large bag).
• Chocolate Chip Cookies (He snuck one from my purse – left over from lunch.  He stole a few off a plate off a counter).
• Ressee Cups (He stole those out of my mom’s purse – it was her emergency chocolate).
• Hersey Kisses (He stole those after our wedding.  They were part of our favors.  He opened some of them and ate just the chocolate and on some he ate the foil.  He pooped foil for a week).
• Hersey Kiss wrappers (He would steal candy wrappers all the time.  He loved the foil from Kisses).
• Life savers (He stole these after our wedding too.  They were also part of our favors).
• Coffee beans (He opened my brother in laws Christmas gift and ate some coffee.  I also had a center piece for a table that had coffee beans.  When I would mix them around to make the aroma spread through the room and beans would fall to the ground he would gobble them up).
• Tortillas (My parents went to Sam’s and got the largest size bag of soft tortillas.  While unattended in the motor home he grabbed them opened them and ate part of them.  He flung the rest of them around the motor home).
• Spaghetti (Same trip as the tortillas – he grabbed the unopened noodles off the counter and had a fun day).
• Gravy (Also in the motor home at the race, he jumped on the counter and licked the gravy spoon and the left over gravy after breakfast).
• Bible (Bought Andy a brand new Bible (The Message) and Otis shredded that thing).
• Norman Rockwell Book (Chewed on the spin of the book.  We still have it and laugh each time we see it.  Granted Andy was so mad when it first happened).
• Rainbow flip flops (Andy’s pair.  Andy was mad).
• Boxers (He always would grab a pair of Andy’s boxers and chew on them.  Right out of the laundry hamper or the dryer he didn’t care).
• Socks (This might have been our mistake.  His first toy was a sock tied in knots.  He loved grabbing socks and chewing on them.  It was a challenge to put shoes on around him, when he was a puppy he would attack your feet trying to get the sock).
• Plant (He dug up our “love fern.”  Andy gets made when I call our plant that, but I find it hilarious.  Watch How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.  He pulled it up while he was locked in his crate.  He bounced his crate across the kitchen and grabbed the plant and dug it up.  Twice).
• 3 crates (He chewed on 3 crates.  To the point that we had to have metal welded on, chains applied, and locks attached).
• Towels (Too many to count. When we first started crating him we tried to put them in there so he would have something to lay on.  He shredded each and every one).
• Blankets (He destroyed several.  He dug a hole in a few while playing with Andy.  He also shredded some that we tried putting in his crate).
• Abercrombie Coat Zipper (Andy’s coat.  He destroyed the sipper.  Luckily the coat is still wearable, but just doesn’t zip).
• Suite Coat (A Christmas gift for Andy from me.  Otis ripped the pocket off the coat, making it trash.  It was a really expensive suite that was bought with pennies saved at a time we didn’t need to spend that kind of money.  I was the most mad about that one).
• Candy wrappers (He would find any and all candy wrappers.  Sneak them off the end tables by the couch, out of the trash, if there was a candy wrapper around.  He found it and would try to eat it before you noticed).
• Snotty tissues (Yes it is gross.  He loved a tissue full of snot.  Cold season was his favorite time of year.  He would sneak into the bathrooms and look for tasty treats.  He would come back wagging his tail with tissue stuck in his teeth.  Most of the time we would flush the tissues, put it in the kitchen trash which was in a cabinet, or elevate the small trashcan where he couldn’t reach it).
• Gum (He would get this out of my purse especially if I left him in the car alone.  Or he would find it in the car because Andy would leave some in his door some of the time).
• Sour Patch Kids (After the M&M incident mom was more careful with leaving chocolate in her purse.  At the race she assured me her purse was puppy safe.  After 10 minutes he could sour patch kids in her purse.  He loved them).
• Cough drops (He also loved eating cough drops when he could find them usually stolen out of a purse, a coat pocket, the bed, off the dresser).
• Bread (This is not limited to just slices of bread, but entire loafs of bread.  He would steal them off the counter and off plates while we were trying to fix sandwiches.  He would grab the loaf off the counter and hid in the kitchen eating his loot.  He preferred homemade over store bought, but he would eat it all).
• Fried Chicken (He stole dad, mom, and Candy’s left over chicken off the counter and ate it all.
• Hamburger buns (Stolen off the counter)
• Bag of brown sugar (Stolen off the island in the kitchen.  I put everything out to bake cookies and ran to answer my phone which was in the living room.  Came back and got another bag of sugar out because I didn’t see the other one and thought I hadn’t set it out.  I Heard something weird and looked on the other side of the table and his little beagle face was covered in brown sugar.  He ripped open the bag and there were clumps of it every where).
• Futon Mattress (He dug several holes in several futon mattresses.  It was part of his separation anxiety and his humans didn’t realize what we could do to help at that point in time).
• Soap (He ate an entire bar of soap after we put him on anxiety medicines for his separation anxiety.  It gave him the munchies and he ate an entire bar of soap.  He was so sick for a day.  He puked in the bed twice that night, and was miserable the next day).
• Pizza (He convinced his cousin Haley the dog to get it off the counter – he was still a young puppy and couldn’t reach it.  They shared an entire large pizza).
• Carpet (He dug up and chewed the carpet at two houses.  Kingsport Hwy house in TN and Clayford Ridge house in NC).
• Door Frames (He ate door frames at 4 houses.  Clayford Ridge, Kirkcaldy Lane, Amber Mist Lane, and Kingsport Hwy).
• Window sills (He destroyed several in the Clayford Ridge house and chewed on one at Amber Mist Ln).
• Blinds (He destroyed several sets at Clayford Ridge.  We have one set in our house now that has an Otis tooth puncture mark in it).
• Toilet paper rolls (He only did that once, maybe twice.  But he shredded an entire roll of toilet paper).
• Magazines (As a puppy he shredded and chewed on a handful of magazines).
• Fried pickles and tater tots (He stole my parents left overs off the counter).
• Finger nails/toe nails (Gross like the tissues, but he would go through the trash and get them out.  Makes me gag thinking about it).
• Hair (Technically he wouldn’t seek out the hair, but in digging through the trash could end up eating some).
• Ravioli lid (The week before he died he snuck a lid out of the trash and enjoyed licking it clean.  So thankful he didn’t cut his mouth).
• Blue Marker (He turned his white fur blue for a few days until it wore off).
• Glasses case (He got it out of my purse while he was looking for food, and it now has his teeth marks on it).
• Napkins in cars (He loved napkins in cars.  He would find them and shred them in the car).
• Treat Jar Lid (My mom got him a nice treat jar with a wooden lid.  He got the lid off Andy’s desk and chewed part of the wood off and left his bite marks all over it).
• Electric cord (For a long time he was terrified of cords so we assume he got zapped when he chewed it).
• Water bottles (Or soda bottles.  Otis would chew on the lids making them come off.  He didn’t care if there was liquid or not, he would still take the lid off and spill stuff everywhere).
• Trash (He absolutely loved going through the trash can.  It was like the best scavenger hunt ever).
• Trash (Not in a trash can.  If you left a cup on the coffee table and it had ice cream in it, or a yogurt container, of a bowl that had peanuts in it – you better believe he would get it before you cleaned up).
• Trash (One time he drug an entire trash bag into the guest bedroom and hid it so he could go through it later.  We put it by the door to take it to the dump.  Went outside to pick up trash next to the road to take when we went.  We came back inside and the bag was gone.  Otis was sitting on the couch looking guilty, but we couldn’t prove anything.  We searched the house and couldn’t find it.  We gave up, knowing he would lead us to it later.  Later that night he snuck off and we heard the rustling of a bag.  We went in the guest bedroom and on the other side of the bed partially shoved under the bed was the beagle and a giant trash bag that he was going through).

I know that I am forgetting things.  Probably hilarious things.  He was a sneaky little critter that wanted to explore the world with his nose.  His nose normally led him to something he thought he could eat.  He is missed, his antics are missed.  I have had a cold and my little trash can of tissues makes me choke up thinking about all the times I had to pick up shredded tissues.

8 days

**I wrote this in the days following Addy’s funeral, but until now didn’t feel like posting**

addy’s life was short.

there is no way around this subject.  her life was short.  8 days to be exact.

while you may not agree with the next several thoughts, you have to allow me to believe them because i do.  we don’t have to agree, but we can respect each other.

when addy was born the odds were not in her favor.  she was 12 weeks early, she had the PDA, she developed the infection, and she had the massive brain bleed.  if she only had any one of those things (instead of them all), this story may have played out differently – but we will never know and playing the what if game is pointless.  with all of those complications we believe there is mercy in her passing.  we obviously didn’t want that to happen and we wanted the outcome to be different, but we were constantly reminded that we are not in control.  death is some times the most compassionate thing that can happen to a person, and we believe that to be the case in this situation.

even though the birth mother changed her mind hours before addy’s death she wanted us to be at the funeral.  we got an e mail from our caseworker with the arrangements.  we knew we wanted to go to support the mother and her family, we wanted the agency to know that we really did care, and while addy was alive i spent a lot of time with her and wanted to say goodbye.  so for us we knew that we would go.  we wouldn’t attend the grave side service, but we would go to the funeral home.  since the birth mother hadn’t told a lot of people that she was giving the baby up for adoption we didn’t want to go to the grave side service where people talk to the people around them afterwards.  we didn’t want to just say we were “friends” because we didn’t want the follow up questions.  the safest thing to protect the mother and the best thing for us was to just go to the funeral service at the funeral home.  when we got there we signed in and found a seat.  shortly after we sat down the pregnancy counselor came over to us and we stood up and hugged her.  she slipped something in my hand and told me that the mother wanted us to have it.  it was a tiny knit hat that belonged to addy, they also gave us a card signed by the people that worked at the agency.  i gave her a card and a flash drive of the photos that i had taken of addy to give to the mother.  we spoke with our caseworker and gave her a hug.  a few minutes before the service started the birth mother came over and gave me a huge hug and the dad came over and shook our hands.

i don’t love funerals – besides the obvious that someone is dead, but because i don’t feel like funerals capture a persons life.  i have been to a few funerals that have made me feel closer to the deceased, but most of the time i feel like funerals paint a picture that isn’t an accurate image of that person or their life, or that they are so far off on who that person was to the people they have left behind.  i will say that this funeral was no different.  it was painful.  i mean no disrespect for addy, her family, or the preacher that performed the funeral, but it was the worst funeral i have ever been to.

to begin with, it was a funeral for an 8 day old baby.  it doesn’t matter that we were connected through the adoption process and that she was so close to being ours, it would have been horrible even if that wasn’t the case.  it honestly felt like a pre-memorial service for pat summit (she was eulogized more than addy was).  i liked coach pat as much as the next person, but the tiny little body up there wasn’t pat summitt, it was addy.  the other thing that stuck out to me so much as being terrible was that in talking about pat summitt the preacher continued to say that millions will remember pat, but no one will remember addy.  that her life meant nothing.  she was insignificant.

maybe we misunderstood the point of what the preacher was saying, but we both would have misunderstood the same way, because we were both very upset when we left the funeral.  during the funeral andy’s hand would grip mine a little tighter and i returned the gesture each time something didn’t sit right (at one point in time it was just a continuous squeeze).  we couldn’t  believe some of the things we heard, and granted at a time like this it is hard to know what to say, but I feel like other things could have been said.  i silently prayed that the preacher would step aside and ask if anyone wanted to come to the front and say a few words – because i would have gone.  i thought about the fact that most people didn’t know of the adoption plan and thought “i don’t care, addy deserves better than this.”  he never left the podium, and never gave me a chance to speak. so allow me to say what i feel like should have been said in the first place.

one thing that the preacher did say was this: “how do you eulogize 8 days?”  that is how he started his sermon and that grabbed me, so i will keep that.

how do you eulogize 8 days of life?

you shouldn’t have to.  it isn’t fair and it is hard for us to understand why things happened the way that they did.  we can sit here everyday and say it was all part of God’s timing, but that implies that God was ok that her life was cut short.  or the implication can be made that he planned on her life to be short for a “greater good” or to “teach” someone a lesson.  i have a hard time believing that some people are born to die to show other people something because that would imply that their life is expendable – that God doesn’t value their life as much as other lives.  i don’t believe that we are God’s pawns that he just kicks us off the chessboard whenever he feels like it.  i just don’t believe that.  i understand from a physical stand point why addy died.  i know that she was early and that she was very sick.  i understand that her chance of survival was slim with all of the complications – so her death wasn’t a complete shock to us.  what i don’t understand is the spiritual side.  i don’t know why we were chosen to be part of her 8 days.  my heart tells me that there is a reason, but i can’t figure it out – and possibly i will never know the reason – and i have come to believe that this is ok.

addy came into this world with a dramatic flair – butt first; however, that first breath of life was her own.  she was a 13.75 inch long, 2 pound 10 ounce miracle.  for weeks before her birth she was our miracle.  her short life was full of tubes, medicines, tests, needle sticks, glow lights, beeps, and monitors.  her cry was never louder than a kitten’s meow. she never found her voice and we will never know the depth of it.  she never got to sleep in a real bed, only knowing the warmth of the incubator.  she will never know the silence on a starry night gazing at the moon, she only knew the beeps, constant noise, and bright lights of the nicu.  despite never holding her, and never being able to be that close to her, i was able to pick up on her scent.  the “new baby smell” that everyone talks about.  when i left the hospital after she was born to go to the hotel, i fell asleep with my hands next to my face drinking the smell in.  the smell that i associated with dreams coming true, hope, and our miracle. the smell that a few days later, triggered the tears to fall as i leaned my head against the incubator praying that the doctors were wrong.

it is hard to imagine what kind of person she would have been.  in her short life you could catch glimpses of characteristics of who she might have been.  when she was uncomfortable or in pain she put her hands to her face covering her eyes.  when she was completely relaxed she would hold her ear or put her hands above her head.  her heart rate reacted to music showing that she enjoyed music.  she would have liked to have been snuggled because she always responded to touch.  she was quick to grab your finger and to latch on and squeeze.  but beyond these things we will never know addy as being beyond 8 days old.  we can imagine who she would have been, but because her beginning was brief and the ending came too soon we will have few thoughts of her growing and living beyond the incubator and the nicu.

she was surrounded by love before she took her first breath.  her birth mother loved her enough to do the adoption plan, andy and i loved her more than any words i can express, our families loved her, and friends loved her.  she was a little girl that was never at a loss for love or prayers.  they poured in for her.  the nurses and the doctors loved her too.  i walked in several times to see the nurses talking with her and telling her that she was beautiful.  she might have just been their patient, but the love in the nicu was palpable.  addy received more love in her short life than some people get in a life time and for that i am thankful.

while her life didn’t reach millions of people (maybe not even hundreds of people) she touched lives.  deeply.  the people that she leaves behind have felt her presence deep within our souls and we mourn the loss of sweet addy.

and while i still don’t understand the “purpose” in her life cut short and i don’t believe that God “caused” this to happen to teach us something i do believe that we can use terrible things – this death – to find beauty.  we can find beauty in the fact that she wasn’t alone and that she died being loved by many.  personally, i am holding onto the beauty that this experience has opened my eyes and proved that i can love a baby that isn’t biologically mine.  there is beauty that relationships were strengthened surrounding the birth and death of addy.  the beauty that God never left us throughout this entire process.

i will never believe that she was put here as a dispensable life.  for some unknown reason her life was an essential part of our story and of our lives.  there is a part of addy that will remain in my heart, and i hope in the hearts of others, forever.

how do you eulogize 8 days of life?

her life was short and and her death won’t affect millions of people.  her footprint might have been tiny, but in the 8 days she was alive she left a mark – her mark – an impact and love that was immense, beyond measure.

goodbye sweet addy, goodbye.

desparation then devastation

there is a time in my life where I need to realize some truths and accept them.  I am working on this – every day.  there is a long list and I don’t feel like this is the time to divulge that list in it’s entirety, but rather just glance at that list.

with the infertility journey and the adoption journey one of the truths that I have learned is that in the grand scheme of things I have no control.  I have no “real” say in my life.  yes I make decisions about what I am going to wear, what I am going to eat, what I am going to do, but this journey has opened my eyes that I can’t control everything, despite my best effort I just can’t.  I can make lists to control the happenings in my life (and the organization of my home), but in reality I don’t have control – just an illusion of control that I cling to with every breath.  if I had control I would have said “listen ovaries – you have one job – it is time to do it” and it would have worked.  if I had control I would have looked at my doctor and said “you have no option but to make this procedure succeed.”  but I don’t have control and I am learning – still – that there is nothing that I could have done differently or additionally to change the course of our journey.

this is where I feel like I should say “in reality we don’t have any control because God should be in control of our lives.”  whereas, yes I agree God should be the center of our lives and our decision making, this isn’t that type of post.

as stated in my last post we have been officially waiting for a year.  we have been passed over numerous times – for an entire year.  with that type of response or in this case lack there of,  I can’t help but think.  that thinking often leads me down a dark and narrow road full of doubt and sadness and longing.

a road that causes my imagination to run wild with “what ifs” and “what is.”

what if we are never placed?  what if I never get to be a mom and andy a dad?  what if I have robbed family of having the experience of us as parents?  what if andy will really one day regret not taking the “out” when he could?  what if he starts to resent me?  what if my life never feels complete?  what if that longing and desire never goes away?  what if I never get to experience all the things that fuel my fears?  what if I sink into misery and allow me not being a mother to destroy my soul?  what is so wrong with us that we haven’t been placed?  what is it that caused people to skip over our profiles?  what is the big picture and can I survive not having the control to understand right now?  what is the reason God gave me this desire to be a mother and paired that with bad ovaries?  what is the point – is there a point?  is this some sort of punishment from above?

that dark road is sometimes dotted with street lamps – glimpses of hope, answers, or things that get me back to the sunshine.  talking with other people that are waiting to be placed and hearing that they have the same fears – that I am truly not alone in some of those thoughts.  when andy tells me that he loves me and doesn’t resent me despite all the reasons that I have given him to feel the other way.  when I know someone looks at our profile and passes us by because they want a family that already has a child.  a beautiful sunset or sunrise over the mountains.  street lamps that brighten up my mind.

but sometimes the things on my road aren’t street lamps, but rather lanterns.  a little light that shines bright enough to tide me over.  not nearly as bright as the lamps, but still light enough to get me through.

these things usually show up right before I have a breakdown full of complete and total doubt and tears.  when I feel like I have come to the end of my road.  when i start to question why we are doing what we are doing.  when I am grasping at straws.  desperation for that normalcy and control.

desperation: a state of despair, typically one that results in rash or extreme behavior

synonyms: hopelessness, anguish, agony, distress

usually my desperation manifests in lists.  lots and lots of lists.  I clean things and organize things.  I constantly am trying to reorganize and make better.  trying to drown my thoughts with lists so that I can’t do anything but focus on what is in front of my face.  I write, take pictures, and create new projects around the house to occupy my mind.  it helps.  in the process of focusing on anything else, those doubts and sadness ebb away.  that longing is still there, but without the doubt it just turns back into “just waiting.”

once I realized that we had been waiting a year and that we had to update a bunch of our paperwork I started to feel overwhelmed and to be honest – sad and a little (ok a lot) mad.

**side “semi relevant” note**

there are times where I start to wonder if God is “doing” this to us because he thinks I would be a terrible mother.  or that other people think I would be a terrible mother so God is like “i agree.”  there was this time that I was with a group of people (and a young baby just a few months old) and everyone, except me, was being called away for just a moment.  the parents were trying to decide who would miss out and stay to give the baby the bottle.  I offered since I was not leaving and both of the parents looked at me like I was crazy.  like if God didn’t trust me with a baby, they weren’t going to either.  the parents exchanged looks and did let me feed their baby the bottle, but their looks and doubts just fueled that thought process.  it is possible that I was over sensitive to the situation and that I misread the looks and the hesitation, but in the moment those looks emphasized that God thought I would be a terrible mother and everyone agreed.

**end semi relevant side note**

so in my sad and a lot mad state I found myself thinking back to those events, of possibly not being trusted to give a baby a bottle, and to the thought process that God thinks  I would be a terrible mother.  my thoughts are fueled by fear of the unknown and once it takes root desperation sets in.  hopelessness overcomes rational thought and where my behavior isn’t always rash or extreme my thoughts tend to become that way.  I found myself on my dark narrow road, running.  running into the darkness looking for a street lamp to ease off the desperation.  I found a lantern.

at dinner saturday night dad told me that he was going back to the farm.  there was a calf down and he was going to have to bottle feed it.  I had been a hermit in my house working on various projects and told him I would be glad to go with him.  andy ended up getting home before we left to go to the farm and he joined in with us.  we loaded up our gear and headed into the muddy abyss.  the calf had gotten stuck in the mud and was weak but drank the bottle (and a little more).  dad made sure that it was in a nice bed of hay and warm and we left.

sunday after church, dad, mom, and I gathered our gear and went back to check on the little calf.  as we drove up he was stretched out and his head was semi back  I leaned forward and said – “doesn’t look like good news,”  dad agreed.  as we got a tad closer he blinked.  I was ecstatic – he was alive.  we gave him another bottle and repositioned him to be more comfortable and in more warm hay.  dad decided that the little guy needed to be moved to the barn.  later sunday gene (live in farm hand/manager) was able to take the tractor and get the little calf to the barn; however, his mother was no longer interested in following her baby or the tractor to the barn.  it was left to us humans to nurse him back to health.  after youth on sunday andy and I headed to the farm to check on the little guy.  he was in the stall with his legs tucked under him and he was dry and warm in his bed of hay.  I sat on a bucket and fed him his bottle and he was my little “mud pie.”  cows normally moo but a little cow with pneumonia purrs like a little kitten.  he was given several shots to make him feel better.  I rubbed his fluffy little head and ears and told him that I loved him.  I put my hand under his chin and lifted his head up and made eye contact with him and told him to have a good night and that I would see him Monday.  dad sent me a message Monday morning that he drank his bottle and that he wanted to stand up but was still too weak.  he was still purring a little bit too.

I told andy that mud pie had to live.  he became my desperation.  I didn’t have a list this time, I had mud pie.  he had to live.  he was my way of proving to God and to the rest of the world that I can take care of a living thing.  that I could give a bottle and love.  that I could be passionate and that I could be the role of a mother.

Monday night after work I went to the farm and got there before my dad got back.  I went into the stall and mud pie was in a weird sling that dad and gene strung up to help insure that his legs were getting blood flow.  I grabbed my bucket and sat down in front of him and rubbed his head and said hello.  when I was rubbing his neck he leaned into my hand like a dog would do.  I told him about my day and he listened – he is after all a cow that couldn’t go anywhere even if he wanted to.  I noticed he wasn’t purring as much and was tap dancing with his front legs.  I informed him that he had to get better.  he had to at least try.  he mooed at me.  it was a moo filled with passion and anger and rebellion.  a moo that told me that he was a fighter.  after that I talked to him about my desperation and I rubbed his ears and he semi mooed in understanding.  dad showed up and we gave him his bottle and he drank most of it, but it was too early to let him out of the sling.  so we came back a few hours later and freed him and propped him up in his bed of hay.  I told him good night and we turned the light off bathing the stall in darkness.  my Tuesday morning update was about the same as the morning before.  Tuesday after work we went to check on him and dad said that he had been in his sling but was out for the night.  I walked into the stall and found little mud pie snuggled in his hay.  he tried to stand.  I tucked his feet under him and held his head up and talked to him while he drank his bottle.  we made eye contact and I told him how much I loved him and what a good and handsome boy he was.  we had to go to a meeting and I knew we wouldn’t be back Tuesday night so right before we left I went in and rubbed his head, told him good night and sweet dreams and walked away from my little mud pie.

Wednesday morning I got my morning update.  the subject of the e mail was mud pie.  I opened my e mail and read “I am sorry!  We tried.”

devastation: severe and overwhelming shock or grief

I sat facing my computer and silent tears escaped the rims of my eyes rolled down my face.  I reminded myself to breathe and stared at the words.  mud pie was gone.  my lantern burned out.  my desperation morphed into devastation.  I was devastated that he was gone and that my attempts failed.  I couldn’t even do right by a cow.  I couldn’t save him.  my thoughts quickly went down the road that maybe God is right, maybe I am not fit to be a mother.

Wednesday night, with those thoughts circling in my head, I curled up in bed and cried.  my eyes filled with tears that rolled down my face and puddled on my pillow, followed by choking sobs.  a soul drenching cry.

I woke up Thursday morning with a throbbing headache – remnant of my tears from the night before.  as we drove to work I watched the clouds play on the tops of the mountains and with no other rational thought – other than it made me smile, I had found my street lamp and was finding my way back to the main road.

it was during this time of desperation that I realized a few things.  one is that I have no control.  I can cling to the illusion as much as I want, but it will always just be an illusion I create for my peace of mind.  another is that this process, from start until present, is just a constant ride of ups and downs: the waiting, the emotions of being rejected, the unknown, the way a person will walk by with a stroller and my heart almost leaps out of my chest, the looks of pity from other people, the hope that we will be the family that we always envisioned.  something that is difficult to explain and difficult for people to understand is that sometimes there are no words to make me feel better about this stressful time of just waiting and of the unknown.  that sometimes even the most rational comments and insight will not sound rational to me.  this time, my little mud pie, taught me that in my times of desperation, stick to the lists.

tragic end and a reasonable excuse

so last week we had to say goodbye to my computer.  it was in the shop for a few weeks and deemed dead.  i was very thankful that they were able to save all of my pictures and documents.  i don’t know what my excuse was before my computer crashed but i have my pictures back and a new motivation to keep things updated – for now.

nov. 2013

 November was a long month in many ways.

my mom and dad both have birthdays in November.  dad the 5th and mom the 18th.

(my mom was awarded nurse of the year!  ok maybe not but she should be!  she was awarded for being at the hospital for so long)

i cried my first time (maybe second time) at work (i mean really cried) because i was so angry at a mean person who wouldn’t stop yelling at me it just frustrated me to tears.  it was also a time i was reminded at how awesome it is to work with wonderful people.

one morning we got a call that my aunt ann passed away.  November 19th.  (i am going to get on a soap box for a few minutes…sorry in advance – listen to your doctors and communicate with your family).  ann was my only “real” aunt.  my mom was an only child and my dad only had the one sister.  sure i had several great aunts but she was my only real aunt.  i have so many memories of her – good and not great.  i can remember when we stayed in tn for part of the summer that sometimes we got lucky and would go to her house to eat dinner and spend the night (if my grandparents had meetings).  we would make personal pizzas from scratch and would set up our tables (ironing board with a sheet over it) and would watch movies with her.  it was something that we didn’t get to do often, but will and i enjoyed it when we got to.  i remember baking with her growing up.  i remember helping at the green house when i was little (planting and helping deliver).  i remember many conversations with her and her support.

there are some iffy memories in there too that aren’t as positive…i remember the time that i offered to help her at the green house after we moved and she snickered and laughed at me because it “wasn’t my thing” and the unending comments about city people and country people.  but in a time of mourning and death i think it is customary to try to push those out of ones mind.  looking back those things don’t change the fact that she was my aunt and i loved her and i will miss her.

the other day we were standing in the green house and it was very surreal (as death is to me) knowing that she isn’t coming back.  i looked around and part of me was mad that she didn’t take care of herself better and that she wouldn’t listen to what the doctors told her and she was so guarded with her personal life that nothing we could say would change her mind about that.  that was who she was and at her funeral that was the message that we got.  even in her stubbornness she was who she was.  in those moments of anger it made me think of her funeral and at her funeral we laughed.  we told Jamie to keep it light and real and he did.  it was the most beautiful memorial service and the perfect send off.  in the good and not great, and the anger and laughter, and expectations met and not met there was love and at the end of the day that is what i choose to cling to.

my aunt was an organ donor at the time she passed away and i was the one that talked to the screening people at the donation organization.  i am an organ donor because i like the idea and thoughts behind it.  i will be honest i never really knew what that meant.  i never really thought about what that means for the people that are left behind.  while i understand completely the need for the questions i was asked, somewhere in the middle of the million and a half questions i thought i have no idea on some of these answers.  on my soap box i would like to tell everyone and anyone who will listen – talk to your family…make sure they know your history and wishes as detailed as possible.  after i got off the phone (an hour conversation) i was exhausted.

will came for the memorial service (actually the service was delayed 10 minutes waiting on him since his plane was delayed.  we took him to the farm and it was so funny.  the ganged up on him and tried to take the treats.  i will post pics of the farm in another post.  but here are a few with the family.

it snowed.

church harvest auction with guests jed and lisa.

thanksgiving happened. it was later this year and to be honest it was bad.  it made me lose a week before Christmas and that was so bad.  we went to charlotte for thanksgiving and it was great to see family and friends.  andy was glad to see tall buildings.  we got to see cj and ellen which is always fun and an adventure.  i had another allergic reaction to thanksgiving dinner but i was prepared and had medicine on hand to stop the itching.  i think i have it narrowed down to what dish i am allergic too, but still researching that.  who knows?!  cj wanted to take pictures with my camera.  i only had a mild heart attack when she almost dropped it so from now on if she has my camera the strap has to stay around her neck (she is ok with this).  she took mostly blurry photos and picks of people’s knees but with a little help she can center people and take a good photo.

we also went black Friday shopping.  it was great to be so close to stores…

we also got our tree from the church and brought it back to tn with us.  it was really funny watching all of the cars go back towards charlotte with trees from the mountains and we left charlotte and took our tree to the mountains.  it was very scary for me.  i had a slight freak out when we left charlotte and could envision our tree rolling off the top and taking out all the cars around us.  so i kept an eye on it.

we made it home with no trouble.

the only other thing i can think of is that andy trashed ace of base (i love ace of base and am still slightly upset over that) but, that pretty much wraps up an exhausting November.