Heavy burdens

As I've said before, 2017 seems to have it in for me. I found out earlier this week that a friend (not an extremely close friend, but rather a "close acquaintance") was found dead in his apartment over the weekend, an apparent suicide. Sadly, I was not really shocked nor surprised at the news, and I knew right away that it was likely that it was suicide, knowing how troubled he was.

This person was devastated when I told him the news about my husband a few months ago...and overly dramatic to the point that he was making my husband's death all about him. But that's just how he was. He could also be very charming when he wanted to be; he could be a pain in the ass too. But he was overall a good person, who did not deserve the pain and turmoil he was in which ultimately led to him taking his own life.

Additionally, I have another friend who just vanished a few weeks ago. Unfortunately, I don't even know where he lives, so I can't go look for him. He's in the US illegally, so it's possible that either someone turned him in or he got picked up for something and has been deported back to Honduras. As awful as that scenario is, there are others I can imagine that are much, much worse, so I hope that's what happened. I'll probably never know for sure. But it's been weighing heavily on my mind this week.

I honestly don't know where the strength I have right now is coming from. I think it's a product of the gratitude I feel every day when I remind myself of all that is good in my life. I'm surrounded by people who love me, I have (relatively) good health, I have the dogs, I don't want for anything (speaking materially), I have a roof over my head, I have a steady income...I could go on and on. I think making a list of things I'm grateful for is essential; otherwise I would probably be wallowing in self-pity most of the time. And that's a road I don't want to go down.

On anniversaries (and birthdays, etc.)

Two days ago was our wedding anniversary. I had been dreading that day, as if one arbitrary moment in time we humans feel necessary to mark is more significant than another. I'm an emotional wreck. I have been unable to think clearly or get through a day without crying this week. Yesterday I couldn't even get out of bed until later in the day than I care to admit. Today I've wanted to go home early from work several times just because I can't stop myself from bursting into tears at some random thought, and I'm embarrassed to be seen crying.

But in the midst of all the anger and pain, there have been a few bright moments of delight and contentment. For example, two nights ago two friends and I carried out a clandestine late-night operation to plant a very special rose - one that had been given to us as a wedding gift three years ago - in the park across the street where it will receive care in perpetuity. My husband would have approved of this with whole-hearted glee, something which brought me simultaneous tears and laughter.

Then last night, the simple act of watching TV brought me great comfort - it was me and both dogs all curled up on the sofa; the most perfect scenario with my family, all together. I don't have the words to describe the sense of contentment that visited me, when just for a moment my family felt almost complete even without him there.

I know there's plenty more Grief - with its brethren emotions Denial, Bargaining, Anger, Depression, and Acceptance - yet to come. And I don't know how I'll handle them, but as long as there are at least glimmers of Hope, Joy, Contentment, and Comfort mixed in, I know I'll be able to.

And then there were three...

This has been the year from hell, to put it mildly. I won't go into politics or other things not directly involved in my life, but 2017 has been one of the worst years of my life.

In case you haven't read the rest of this blog, my husband died suddenly in April 2017. This week I had to euthanize my cat, who I've had since she was a kitten. She was 17 years old (that's 85 in human terms), and it was just her time; her body was shutting down. When it got to the point where I thought she was beginning to suffer, I decided it was time to take her to the vet. I held her in my lap, stroking her gently as the vet administered the anesthesia, and she simply fell asleep for the last time.

I was pretty well prepared for this because she had been showing some signs of decline for about the last 6 months. She had lost a lot of weight, and just didn't seem to have the energy and strength she used to have. What I wasn't prepared for came a few days later. I had just woken up, with my two dogs nearby (one at my feet as always, one on the floor next to the bed), and I had the sudden realization that my family had gone from 5 members to 3 in the space of just a few months. For some reason that knowledge hit me hard and I sobbed for a good 20 minutes before I could get hold of myself.

Why did this thought bring so much pain with it? Part of it is that I can be fairly certain that my family will go from 3 members to 2 members to just me in a few years - the dogs are 8 and 7 years old; they aren't going to live forever. And they are so precious to me, both as "man's best friends" and as a direct connection to my husband. How will I deal with it when it's their times? I can get another dog, but not one that knew and loved him.

I know I'm not living in the present with this line of thinking, but I just can't help it sometimes. And of course there's my own mortality, which surprisingly I'm not too concerned about. If I were to die before the dogs, they would be well taken care of by a close friend who loves them and whom they absolutely adore.