Take 2 doggies and go back to bed

bushes

Gentle Giant and Other Brother Coon Cat exploring the world together

Here I am again, God, typing in the dark at 4am.  There’s so much to say and I don’t know where to start.

You just started. 

Why don’t people understand?  Spirit is a gift that comes in 4 feet or 2.  Is there really a God?  Because if there is one why are each of us imprisoned in flesh?

I’m here. 

So am I, but I can’t say that means much.

You told your friend Kayuk that it helps to write out the storm.   Don’t just sit there, write it out.

I checked the barometric pressure and it’s normal.  It’s usually quite low when there’s a hurricane approaching. I used to love that new storm feeling when your stomach gets that tiny twinge inside it and the sky becomes darker.  I picked up a stack of papers on my desk a few minutes ago and it was so wet the pages were drooping!

Looks like you’ll need a bit of “blunt” today.  You’re feeling lousy.  Write out why.

All right.  I ate too many potato chips.  Are you happy now?

And….

And I’m grieving.  It’s not depression, I don’t need pills for it, I just need time.  The hardest part isn’t the grief I feel, but watching the 4 other puppies moping around.  The Gentle Giant was dad’s best friend.  It hurts to see so many of us creatures trapped in flesh feeling like our hearts were cut in half with a machete. 

Keep digging.  There’s more inside,  deeper.  You have to clean out this wound and treat it for infection.

All right!  I know what depression looks like.  I watched family go through it…that black hole that you can’t dig out of no matter how hard you try.  This isn’t depression, it’s grief.  You don’t throw a pill at grief and frankly there are a lot of people with depression who are made worse by the stuff.

You’re avoiding what’s obvious to anyone reading your blog.

Grief has sucked the humor right out of me.

A little tough love here.  DIG DEEPER!

This is the first time I’ve hesitated, not because I don’t want to go into how I feel, but it’s like I have a bad case of word constipation.  There’s so much to do and I’m feeling like the world is about to crash around everybody, not just me.  This isn’t a personal thing.  It’s like the emotional barometric pressure of an entire world is so low it’s just inviting a hurricane of grief.

When you don’t try, your words flow better.  Please continue.

My parents lived through the great depression.  That was a tropical storm compared to what’s coming.  They knew how to live without running water, electricity, indoor plumbing and the internet.  They didn’t have property taxes…

I’ll spell it out for you.  At this moment in time, you are overwhelmed.  There are too many thoughts coming at you too quickly.  Let it go.  Let it all go!

I had a dream decades ago.  It was spring or summer, somewhere in the upper artic.  We were living in primitive homes and watching the waters roiling.    That barren bit of land strewn with rubble was one of the few livable places remaining on Earth.  Everything else was contaminated by war and greed.  Why is it that the stark, foreboding and hopeless feeling of that moment in dream doesn’t compare to the dream I had last night.

You don’t like Pizza?

You already know that I love pizza, but it doesn’t love me.  I can’t even remember the details of the dream, just that I’d ordered pizza, couldn’t leave my house and needed to get the pizza to my kids who were around the age of 10 in the dream.

The first dream was about turbulence in the water.  It was outside of you.  The second dream had turbulence inside of you.    Continue thinking it through.

When my 2nd husband died, my in-laws needed someone to blame.  It couldn’t be that fact that he was a chain smoker who lit one cigarette with the next, or that he was a brittle diabetic who rarely considered his diet.  His mother said it was all my fault for not making him eat right. My husband was semi-conscious, dying and they had to start in with how many ways I was a bad wife and mother.  Then they accused me of killing him!  When he became agitated, they still wouldn’t stop.  I had to leave his bedside and drive home to our children so they’d shut up.

Some people need to blame the death of a loved one on something.  You were an easy target.

I was hit with grief and despair for months.  I had my own guilt issues to work through.  I didn’t need theirs plopped on top of me like a scoop of arsenic ice cream.

You collapsed from exhaustion.  It was when your parents owned the house you’re living in now.  You had to spend several months with them to recuperate.

I used to hate this house. Now, I don’t want to live anywhere else.

You moved in after your mother passed away and, in all fairness, you never looked back.  You fought for years against the very thing that saved you in the end.

Why  does it feel like… I mean, why don’t I have any energy?

The only thing worse than your own grieving is watching someone you love go through it.

Who would imagine that in his last day of life, both of my coon cats would snuggle against the Gentle Giant? Other Brother Coon Cat rubbed on him and whimpered a meow.  No one understands how much love is inside a cat until they see something like that.

The Gentle Giant was your husband’s best friend.

And when his best friend died, he didn’t just grieve, he became angry.  I can’t console him, or do any more than anger him if I try.  Still, if I compare this round of grief with losing my 2nd husband, my mother and my father, this is like a cold compared to the flu with a side of pneumonia.

Remember the roiling of an ocean in your previous dream?

If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be able to repeat it on paper.

That’s what he’s going through right now.  Don’t listen to what he says, hear what’s under the words.

I’m frightened for my family.  I can’t help anyone or do anything to make it better for them.

You’re not supposed to. Remember the dream you had just before waking?

I’ve had similar dreams over the years.  The first dream goes smoothly.  The second one is identical to the first, but I’ve been through the dream already.  I think I know what happens next and that I can change things to make the dream even better.  But instead, things go very badly.  

You can’t make things better.  You have to let them go through this period of mourning and heal over time.

Some days I feel so ready to move on, to leave this world and to find one that isn’t 2 tantrums away from a piranha feeding frenzy.  Then there are other days where my writing keeps me company.

Writing gives you hope, purpose and an outlet for the events in your life.  Writing helps you to make sense of the world inside you and around you.

It’s the one place where I can control what happens.  It gives me an outlet when I have to let go of the things I can’t control.  Thanks for listening, God, the universe or whoever you are. 

That’s what I’m here for. Now take 2 doggies, go back to bed, and edit this in the morning.

I think I can handle that.