Processing out loud

I am processing a lot this month. I've been processing a lot this last year, really. I knew this week was coming, was prepared to give myself space and grace for the grief I knew would hit me and yet still somehow I am blindsided by its severity. Perhaps because it's compounded by everything else I'm carrying lately, but I think it would have taken me out regardless. I'm hanging by a thread to function throughout the day, especially this week as May 31st looms ahead.

One year ago today was Run thrus at CPE Agility Nationals. Poppy and I had worked hard to achieve this goal AND it was in my home state, it was a perfect opportunity to see the people I loved and experience an event of this magnitude for the first time. Jojen was still alive one year ago today, although he had some GI issues, we were hopefully the meds would start working.

Tomorrow marks one year of my very first day of competition and Jojen spent the entire day in the ER with my husband. Thankfully my mom came so I wasn't alone that first day but it was still riddled with balancing worry over Jojen and focusing on joy with Poppy playing a sport we loved. 

Weather wrecked the next days competition schedule, outdoor rings flooded and all runs got moved inside to two rings, then Jojen died, in the ER, without me. We left that night without finishing our Nationals experience.

Losing Jojen would have wrecked me, no doubt, but the way I lost him, the way he died, is not something I can ever get over. I knew I wouldn't have him forever, his heart murmur was slowly progressing, even on meds. He had developed some neurological symptoms we were still assessing. That was precisely why I brought him north with me. I knew it would be the last time the people that knew and loved him, and knew and loved me, would be able to see him, I just didn't know I would be leaving without him.

A dog like Jojen, so pure in hear and spirit, who never had an unkind thought in his head, who lived to love people and any other thing he came across, deserved to go in the most peaceful and loving way. He deserved to be held by me, looking at me with his big brown eyes, trying to convey all the love he had for me as he quietly passed away. I deserved that too. I can't get out of my head that he was in a strange vet clinic, surrounded by strangers, kind, but still strangers, and died in a cage. They tried to resuscitate him, but it was instantaneous. I know logically that could have happened here with me too, but even that would have been better than this. He deserved to be held and loved as he passed, not to drop on a cold metal cage floor. That's the part I will never reconcile and will always take me out. 

I've said it so many times before, as have those that loved him, to know Jojen even for a minute was to fall in love with him. He was the happiest, most gentle hearted, loving dog I will likely ever come across. I would like to think he'll come back to me someday and I'll have a second chance but I know souls that pure are rare.

How incredibly lucky have I been to have had two such souls grace my life. Cosmo and Jojen were the same, in different bodies. Both wove themselves into the fabric of my being and their losses have gutted me. I hope Beanie has taken them both in and is protecting their gentle spirits, as he did in life, and will keep them safe and together until I can be with them all again. The only thing that gives me solace is looking back over photos of Jojen's life and seeing how incredibly full it was. How many adventures he went on, how many people he got to smother with kisses and all the animals he got to help raise and love. It was a good life for a dog that deserved only the best. I just wish the end could have been worthy of him. I know he's not holding a grudge about it though and maybe, just maybe, he did it for me. Maybe he knew it would be so much worse for me to see him drop like that. I can't know and it's selfish to think, but if any dog would do that for a human, it would be him. 

On losing someone I never had

 My dad died yesterday. That's a heavy sentence to write and even in writing it I'm not telling the truth. I didn't have a dad, I had someone that contributed to my creation with my mother. He was more than a sperm donor but not even in the ballpark of a dad. And still, when I found out he died, I fell apart. I sobbed, and sobbed, and then went a bit numb. Steve came home to comfort me and take care of me because I was useless. This morning I was still discombobulated (I love that word) but a thought occurred to me; my life will in no way, shape, or form be changed by his death. I will not reach for my phone to call him when something good (or bad) happens, I won't be sad on holidays because he's not there, I won't miss hearing his voice or advice...I never had those things to begin with. His death has zero impact on how I will go about my life and yet I am still so incredibly sad. His death will absolutely have an impact on the family members who had all those things with him, and for them I am also sad. My grief is complex and atypical. 

None of this is for sympathy, it's my process to write about things I can't make sense of. I definitely think this grief makes no sense and yet it makes so much sense, make sense? LOL, I told you, I'm discombobulated! 

It's confusing because I have not seen nor spoken to my dad since I was 18, I'm 51. I reached out as a teen a few times and each time was a worse experience than the last until I'd finally said enough. I never tried again. However one of my biggest goals growing up was to become an adult with money so I could "save" my dad from his alcoholism and have him back. I had spent time with him as a kid, I knew him and I knew his absence. When that dream died, my next thought for years was "I'll never know if he's died, will anyone think to find the daughter he left behind/abandoned?" That may be why I reached out to my aunt, his sister, about 8 or so years ago. I wanted to connect with her, I had fond memories of her and always was cared for and felt safe with her. I was never safe with my dad, he didn't hurt me physically and still I was never safe. Those stories are not for public consumption and would serve no purpose but to hurt the people that knew and loved him, they know he let me down, they don't need particulars. It was never a question of whether I was better off without him in my life, I absolutely was, but that father wound runs deep and that fact never mattered.

I spent far too many decades of my life trying to make every man around me love me, the good, the bad and the ugly, when really I just wanted that one unattainable one to. (Therapy has done wonders!) I could have reached out when I reconnected with my aunt, but when she told me he'd been sober for 7 years and he never reached out, I realized it wasn't worth my time, he still didn't want a relationship. He's had all this time, as have I, to reach out but hasn't. All he had to do was ask his sister to talk to me, broach the idea, but he didn't. To her credit, she never pushed, I am so grateful for that. It gave me the space to connect with her without the pressure of having to connect with him.

When my aunt called to tell me he was sick, I really debated with myself on whether I should reach out or not, or if he did what I would do. He never did, I never did, and life just moved on. So now, I can drive myself crazy with the old "should'a would'a could'a" Maybe if I had reached out he could have said the things I needed to hear and I could have said things too. Maybe it would have given us both peace at the end? Maybe I should have asked his sister if he wanted to see me. None of that happened so I will never know if he would have wanted to see me or continued the rejection. All the therapy in the world can't prepare you for repeated rejection from your dad, my self preservation strategy was to not give him the chance. And now, there is no other option. 

When I think about the sadness I am dealing with, and the grief of his family; siblings, nieces, and nephews; I realize there is another sadness, that of him never having known me. I came into this world hardwired to love and need him and he missed out on that. He missed out on seeing my first steps, I was an early walker, missed out on seeing me lose my first tooth, win spelling Bees, sing in choir, give really great hugs and love really big and loud. Honestly, a lot of people missed out on that but him most of all, and that is also incredibly sad.

I am mourning the lost ideal, one I never had but knew could have been there. I am mourning the loss of possibility. I am mourning for the little girl that wanted to save her dad. I am mourning for the teen that was rejected time and again. I am mourning for grown me who has seen what fatherhood should look like (thank you Steve) and knows she will never have I am mourning the loss of someone I never had. 

Rest in Peace Larry.