Happy

Almost two years ago; I made a huge change to my business, one that I knew was right for me but the responses I received were less than enthusiastic. In a world of bigger, bigger, BIGGER; I chose to scale back my business so I could do what I loved again, spend time training dogs and working with people. I had a few moments of terror that I questioned whether or not I could make my living without being attached to a large facility and during every panic, freak-out, cold-sweat flash; I asked to universe for Finn to be healthy and for me to be happy, over and over again.

That winter, Finn was beyond happy, all the time. We still went for long walks, without any concern of time or reserving energy for the stairs. And, when the sun hit the snow just right and I knew I was exactly where I wanted to be; I was able to simply breathe in the fresh air and be thankful for the big, sweet Lug standing next to me, enjoying every step we took together.

It is fairly easy to smile when the sky is crystal blue and "healthy" really means all our parts are working together seamlessly and relatively pain-free. Gavin and I went home to Columbus this week for Christmas. The time always seems to soar past me like a bald eagle; and attempts to see my grandmother or sister, just one more time, before I drive to back Chicago often fail. As I watched my mother take care of my step dad, who she has continuously told me over the phone is doing fine; I ached for both of them because how can one be happy when the one we love has faded? Or when we constantly feel the need to apologize for being a perceived burden to our loved ones?

I remember crying in my car every single time I turned on the ignition because I was mourning Finn long before he was actually gone. And, I knew if I could allow myself that time to be sad, I could appreciate our time together even more. But, I refused to look at pictures of him when he was young and I still have not brought myself to do so. I did not want to feel sorry for myself for missing any moments of youth that we shared or to not see him, love my Lug, for exactly who he grew to be. But, sadness when someone is still here is much harder to talk about than once they are gone.

I have heard so many people say to both my mom and Jim how lucky they are or it could have been so much worse and "let me know if you need anything". I am mystified how she is supposed to respond. Her husband has been through two very intense brain surgeries and is being subjected to chemotherapy, radiation, physical therapy and a life that is very difficult, for both of them. I wonder what their happiness looks like now. They still laugh together and share moments that gives me hope that I will find a human partner who I can share a love so deep. But, so much of who they both were was stripped from them, without warning.

Is it possible to be happy when worry is far more than trivial stresses? I know I did a terrible job of finding my own peace and light last Christmas. My happiness was contingent on whether or not Finn was having a good health day and the strength of the flicker in his tawny eyes that seemed to fade the same way Jim's brightness has also dimmed. I can see Jim misses the vivacious, always willing-to-help, jokester that he has unceasingly been his entire life. Why is it so difficult to talk about loss that is not absolute? To me, it seems like the cultural norm to is chant gratitude for life, any life, even if that life is harder and painful. Please pray for Jim and my mom, they need all the love they can get right now. Gavin did his best to share his love and was so unbelievably sweet as Lil' Big Head gently placed his paws on the side of the bed, not directly on Jim, for my stepdad to tell him to "be a good boy" for his mom. Gavin whacked me with his tail every time they had a moment.