Help for Healing

Bitter & Sweet, living daily with grief


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Taffy

Our girl

Taffy is our border collie mixed with I-don’t-know-what. We rescued her so we also aren’t sure how old she is. Our best guess is about 12. I know she has been our family member 10 years.

I remember we got her on a Saturday. Tim had a wallpapering job that day. He had been a “no” for 8 years or so. No dogs. Absolutely not. Then that particular Saturday, he said, “I suppose you should have a dog or else you might get a different husband.”

He was barely in his car when I grabbed seven-year-old Frankie and told him we had to strike when the iron was hot. At the animal rescue, there were 3 families that wanted her. We were the lucky ones.

Over the years, she also had to bond with our other furry friends.

Taffy, Herbie

In 2015, we acquired Herbie and Matilda. Herbie clearly has always thought Taffy was her best friend. Taffy just found him particularly annoying. Taffy would lay on the floor and Herbie would want to spoon. She figured out quickly that Taffy wasn’t a fan so she would lay slightly away from her. Then he would stretch over and over until she had crept next to him. In about 30 seconds Taffy would move and the process would start all over again. But one of their favorite things was to hang out at the door and bask in the sun.

Matilda, Herbie, Taffy

Besides not cuddling with Herbie, Taffy was also not a fan of playing games and would do her best to stop it.

Taffy

Anyhow, my next couple blogs will probably be about her as well so I hope you are a dog lover.

Why now? Ms. Taffy is on steroids. We are all too familiar with those in our family. She has a degenerative spine. It also appears that she may have a cancerous tumor on her spleen. (The tumor is not a maybe, the cancer is most likely.) Yesterday I found myself thinking that perhaps we are wrong because she seems like her old self. Then I caught myself. Remember what the vet said about our cat Oreo. Remember what Hospice said about Tim. Steroids only provide comfort. Don’t let yourself be fooled. Your loved one is dying.

We are all doing our best to enjoy her company every day. We spoil her every moment we can. She deserves it!

Taffy


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Workaholic

I’ve been labeled a workaholic again lately. It’s not the first time in my life. Over the last handful of years, things had slowed down a bit. I spent a year and a half marketing my new services but it took that long to for it to take off.

Now I’m back in full swing. I know where the work stuff comes from. Straight from my upbringing. Dad never missed work and he was clear without saying a word that working hard was a very highly valued ethic to live by.

I was in a session talking with a woman who is facing that struggle so many of us do. How do you honor your instinct and gifts of helping others with taking care of yourself? How do you not over-extend and over-burden yourself?

Fine line to draw if you ask me. A very fine line.

I’m proud of my work ethic, but as I was mulling it over in my head, I thought I’m really more of a “responsibility-aholic” than a workaholic. My days are bounced back and forth between the several careers I am juggling, but also being a homeowner, a parent of a teenager (academics and sports), caring for an aging (and failing!) pet, being in a relationship and having a balanced social life. Yes, even having a balanced social life I consider a responsibility in order to take care of myself. You can’t help others if you are depleted.

I want to officially coin that term. Not sure if there’s a huge difference between work and responsibility, but it feels like there is at least a small distinction.

I’m on Step One: I admit I am powerless over “responsibility-ism”. Not sure if my life has become unmanageable. I can usually manage ok when my support systems are in place. (Although some of them suffer from the same disease so they aren’t always available.)

Just need to stop and smell the roses en route to my next thing. Today it was stopping to pet the cat for a few minutes when I was making the bed. She is a purring machine so I paused my “list” and enjoyed her joyful personality. Gotta do things like that more often.


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Witness of the Sacred

This weekend I had yet another opportunity and privilege to be a witness of the passing of another to the next world.

She was someone who was one of the moms that “adopted me” over the years, which is so special to me after losing my own. It was quite unexpected which brings its own complications to the grief process. She went in for a simple procedure and something went wrong. It happened to Tim’s mom. It reminds me of Tim’s supposed gallbladder removal and coming out with stage four cancer instead.

I walked away with my faith renewed in Buffalo General. The staff was wonderful. They showed genuine compassion and were straight forward and honest with the family. Professional but human, kind, competent.

Every time I go through a situation like this, I learn a few more things. Sometimes it’s about the medical system, procedures and practice. Other times it’s about relationships, loss, and the blend of unique and universal grief all mixed in together.

I cried briefly, but mostly was gathered together, even though the people I care about around me were in agony with the loss of the most important woman in their life. I actually started to worry, but then I remembered how it goes with me. True to form, in the thick of it I was present to everyone around me. Several hours later when I went to bed, it took about 15 minutes for me to blubber. Tim was ready and held me until my tears were done (for now).

It’s always hard to articulate what this experience is like. Words seem awkward, phrases feel inappropriate. But I was so proud of this family. All conflict was put aside and everyone allowed themselves to bond through their loss. In spite of the suddenness and the shock of letting her go so quickly, all were in agreement. No need to prolong her suffering.

As for mom? Well, it’s my personal belief that she is soaring in heaven with a now perfect body. She is free of aches and pains. I rejoice for her. For the rest of us? I pray for healing because the mourning is great. The hole she leaves behind will never be filled. It may scab over with time, but she is one of those that affect you for a lifetime.

And to her family, I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to be present during this very sacred time. It was an honor to be there, and it will continue to be a privilege to walk this grief journey with you, however little or much you allow my presence. Love and compassion to you all!