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.

The Risk in Purpose

It's January 7th.  Many people who felt spurred to action a mere week ago are finding it tough to get out of warm beds an hour earlier to exercise their bodies, or are tired of the diet food they've been trying to eat, or gagging on the fresh juice they're making with Christmas gifted blenders.

The sag of January comes in as the shine of December wears off.  We want to do better, but struggle to pull the motivation out of weary hearts and tired bodies.

I don't make resolutions, but exist in a continual place of wanting to do better.  Be more. Accomplish all I am meant to reach.  I try to find the sweet spot between loving who I am in this moment with longing for what is ahead.  I don't often find that sweet spot.

I am reading the book "The Road To Becoming" by Jenny Simmons (formerly of Addison Road) she discusses this place this way:
Perhaps you know what it feels like to dread the day at hand. Your plans have changed, failed, or come to a screeching halt and you are living in the in-between.  Not who you were and not yet who you might become.  (pg. 4) 

I find myself standing at the beginning of a full year stretched out ahead of me and I want more. I know I have purpose; work to do here. With my family, my own life, my relationships.  I have spent the last two years devastated, then healing, then growing, and this promises to be a year of risk. Risk that will bring me out of fear and intimidation into the life created for me to live.

Frustratingly, I also find myself toggling back and forth between grand courage, and crushing fear.  I worry that I will be rejected and will fail, and then I worry that I won't fail and will instead walk into my own purpose.  As backwards as that sounds, it takes great energy, courage and faith to live fully present in your purpose.  It is easier to hide, make excuses, avoid risk and do what everyone else is doing.  I'm terrified to open the door and find my self fully there.

To avoid it, I sink into words from people who are somehow walking in their purpose.  Women who have pulled themselves into public art somehow- from singing, to writing, speaking and creating.  Women who have found a way to get others to hear what they have to say; and I scan the pages, and soak in the words hungry for the truth bomb that will alight my heart and spur me to my own purpose, and yet that reading and scanning, and devouring is only a prolonging of my own work. A distraction bathed in some cloth of worthiness as I try to convince myself the time used will be beneficial to my own purpose.  And another day closes as I look to see my own words were not cultivated on paper. My own heart didn't open to an outsider and risk not just rejection but acceptance. Another day where I hid in the planning and the gonna-get-to-it-one-of-these-days. So today I did it.  I took a baby step in my own purpose. One that can bring rejection, and yet even in that I breathe a little fuller today knowing that this sunset will bring with it a bit of action.  And tomorrow will dawn with the chance to risk a bit more.  I'm headed into my office space where it is quiet and set apart to dream, and write, and ask God what doors to knock on… and tonight I will rest my head on the soft pillow of accomplishment.  Setting aside for a bit what others have to say about finding my purpose, and instead waiting to hear from the one who has purposed me.