Time Marches On

One of my dearest friends called me at 7 this morning. I don't often talk on the phone, so when I saw I'd missed her call, I knew I had to call back and the chances were 50/50 it was bad news or something wildly exciting. I took a deep breath and pressed the button. She answered and I heard the tears choking her voice. I knew.

Her last beloved dog, her sweet baby, the one I'd just held on Saturday night... had passed away.
Ashleigh and I have been friends since high school. We have lots of history and she's become part of the fabric of my family. She's never wanted children of her own, she's always had dogs, and her love of animals became her career. She left the corporate world she'd entered after college to start her own business; dog training and pet sitting. In a few short years she'd built a wonderful reputation and staff that has given her the life she's desired.
She had 3 sweet Boston Terriers. They were her world, and she's been the best dog mom. Over the last few years as they got older, the inevitable came. First one, then a year or so later the next and now, a year and a half after losing the second, she lost the last sweet pup- this Easter Sunday; three days before my friend's 40th birthday. For her, it's crushing. Her dogs have been her constant companions. She's known the time was getting short with Lila (the last dog to pass) because she'd been elderly and fragile over the last year or so, and she was 15. Logic told her that the end was near.
I listened to her cry and also find moments of laughter in our conversation. She told me she knew it was silly, but she was angry at God that he took her now... that He hadn't prepared her intuitively that it was coming. That she hated saying this because she felt dumb, but she hadn't lived in a house without a dog for 17 years and it felt weird. I cried with her, and assured her that it most certainly was not dumb and to stop beating herself up for her broken heart. To let it be as it was, and to feel all the ugly things that kept pushing themselves up into her throat. I told her I'd do whatever she needed; I'd invited her here for this coming weekend to take her to brunch in celebration of her 40th birthday, but let her know that I'd do anything. I'd go to her and sit with her and listen, if that's what she wanted, I'd have her come visit me and just be there for her as she talked, or not, if that's what would help; I'd take her to a beautiful brunch and not talk about it at all, if that would be best. I reminded her that she had no obligation to respond to my texts, but I'd be checking in. Told her if she couldn't find the emotional energy to respond for two weeks, it was ok- because I get it. Sadness, grief, depression....it can suck all emotional drive right out of you, taking with it the good intentions of calling, texting, meeting up, even reaching out. I've sat there for months; and thankfully, beautifully, I've had friends and family who continue to check in... even when I've been so tired and spent that I either couldn't respond, or couldn't offer much more than a "thank you. I promise I'm still here". She told me that the permission to just.. be.. meant the world to her. We exchanged "I love yous" and hung up.


As I was driving to work this morning, the Andra Day song Rise Up came on my play list. I was thinking of Ashleigh and her broken heart... the music faded into the background and my mind began playing scenes of my life like a movie... I could see my friend in her sweet country cottage, puttering around her house with tears sliding down her face. Lying down on the couch, or her high, antique bed with the family quilt, tissues in hand.. her heart aching and stomach churning.

The next scene was of another dear friend. She just got married to her love a little more than two weeks ago.

Lori was married before, and the good that came from that union was two amazing kids.. but not much else.  I've watched her come from despair and a broken heart that was numb and walled off, to a vibrant woman with a new home, new career, a beautiful blended family... and this weekend.. the addition of a precious, sweet, fluffy puff ball of a puppy. She's sent pictures of her kids snuggling the lovable fur baby- pink spotted belly peeking out from snow white fluff, puppy breath bathing their faces, and a wiggling tail that announces his excitement and love for his new family.



I posted on IG a couple of days ago about how sick I've been. I woke up on the day of Lori's wedding feeling like I might die. It hit me out of the blue and was horrible- I felt awful physically, and felt cheated out of feeling good and strong to be able to celebrate with her and dance and be fully present like I'd wanted to be on her special and important day. It's been more than two weeks and despite two urgent care visits, multiple medications, and time... I haven't kicked it. One of my IRL friends replied on my post that she "just wanted to hold me". Sweet, right? Most definitely, but, I was beyond humbled. This sweet friend is valiantly battling stage IV cancer.. and was showing up with compassion for my two week long illness frustration. When I responded that I was humbled by her response she replied 'nah, we both have our own full plates, I'm praying for you'.

My mind flashed to last night.. I was sitting on my counselor's couch.. talking through some of the junk I'm working on; free to be unedited, and swinging from laughing to crying, cursing, to listening to her responses. It truly is therapeutic for me, and I'm grateful for a therapist who helps me navigate some of life's landmines. It is a sharp contrast to the sessions I'd had with my ex husband... when nothing was authentic, and I would sit perched tensely on the edge of an overstuffed chair holding my breath and praying for a break through.

My brain shifted to scenes of my brother and his wife curled up on their couch.. watching their newborn son coo and squirm, and their toddler run matchbox trucks along their living room rug. My newest nephew is only a few weeks old, and holds the elixir of potential and life within the scent of his soft neck.

That vision flashed quickly in contrast to another precious friend who has been caring for her elderly mother for the last few years.. watching her go downhill in every way as my friend  resides in perpetual anxiety that she'll get a phone call from the assisted living home delivering news of a fall, or health emergency, or even of her mother's passing. My friend visits her mom several times a week... never knowing the mood she will encounter from her when she arrives- and bracing herself for the tiring, honoring, exhausting, dignity-giving tasks of bathing, grooming, listening, and spending time with her.

There is something emotionally powerful that washes over me in the wake of monumental events; weddings, babies being born, deaths and funerals- the events of raw humanity that tear away the nonsense of every day life that bogs us down and breaks off our connectedness. The events that pause time, intertwine our souls, heralding the intrinsic connection we all share of joy, and grief, and pain. The longer I walk this earth, the longer I parent people who are growing into their own, the longer I watch friends celebrate, and hurt, and wander through relationship deserts... the clearer the reality of connectedness becomes. The shared experiences we all have of victorious overcoming and devastating losses. I've quoted Glennon Doyle (speaker and author) several times before- and her coined word comes to mind again this day- life is incredibly brutiful. A commingled experience of brutal and beautiful- for every one of us. As my emotions wax poetic today, my prayer is that each of us would find the peace and rest in the knowledge of this brutiful life, and that we continue to honor the connections woven into our own life's journey.

Because I Need to Be Here Again

**I haven't posted in so long because I've allowed myself to be intimated. I hate that feeling of powerlessness, and so I will come back and post again, if only to scratch the surface of my blog once more and find the groove of the habit I turned from when I was confronted about the things I write about. 

Yesterday I went back to Old Rag Mountain to hike. I love hiking. I love being in the woods and the mountains, and the sounds and smells and hard work feeds my soul. Old Rag is a really challenging hike. My friend Susan and I finished at 13.5 miles round trip. Not a single mile is flat. It's a half marathon up and down a mountain. About two miles of the hike is hand over hand rock climbing and rock scramble. It's tough, strenuous, and the summit gives you some of the best views in the entire state of VA. My sweet friend Susan was a rock star. She's a gorgeous southern belle with the tenacity of a mountain lion. She has MS and lupus, but almost never shares that with anyone. She never wants anyone to count her out, or give her pity. She's beautiful and strong and wise. I adore her to the moon and back. She's ten years older than me and has been through hell and back, but you'd never know it. Her beauty isn't only on the outside but pours out of her heart. I was thrilled she agreed to go with me. She rocked the trek. We talked several times about how the hike was a parallel to life. We spend miles and hours going up the mountain with tree cover over head and treacherous rocks at our feet. We have our heads down not because we want to miss the incredible beauty around us but because it is necessary to keep ourselves safe.

The rocks and twists and turns on this hike can injure very quickly and with no cell phone signal and miles from ranger help, it's imperative to be careful on the trails. But after you're almost ready to lie down and sleep from the sheer effort given, the trees part and you make it to the summit. You are literally in the clouds looking over the valley. The sun warms the rock face, and hawks circle the peak. It's incredible. It's so like life- we work so hard not knowing if the end will be worth it and yet somehow it always is.

We had several run ins with black bears. That was one of the most surreal moments of my life. We had been warned by a friend of hers to carry mace or bear spray but I shrugged it off. I had never seen any bears on that hike before, and naively thought the presence of humans would deter close encounters. I was so very wrong. We saw a mama bear and her cub, and later another cub on the trail ahead of us- knowing mama must not be far off. The adrenaline rush was overwhelming. The trails on this mountain don't allow for running, and the reality of no cell signal means any injury or attack leaves assistance several hours away. It was a bizarre cross between wanting to stand and watch the incredible creatures and the heavy awareness that both of us are single mothers of four children and having our faces ripped off by an angry mama bear would be a disaster for our families. I felt alive and terrified all at the same time.
The incredible thing about a hike of that magnitude is that all of life's problems and frustrations melt into the vastness of the mountain. I suddenly feel insignificant and fragile, and closer to God who designed each animal, rock, and plant. The older I get, the more I discover who I truly am, and dirt and nature invigorate me to no end. I'm thankful I have a new hiking buddy. I've waited years for someone who wants to be outside like I do and climbing those boulders with her was a slice of heaven on earth.
I can't wait for our next adventure- this time with bear spray on hand.