a memory

Very much a night of memories.  It's helping me, and once again, this blog is serving as a wonderful therapist.

Several years ago, when older daughter was 9 or so, our Rottweiler became very ill. We had her into the vet, and after much work and many bills, she seemed to be doing better. We were very hopeful, but one day she stopped eating. After 2 days of not eating we realized that she was in a bad way still. The following day, as I was looking out the window at the farm, I saw her suddenly collapse. Then began a terrible series of hours as I rushed her intothe vet and the fact that something terribly catastrophic had occurred as they struggled to  find a functional vein, at first to administer aid, then to give the final dose.

I held my dear dog on my lap as she died, stroking her muzzle the way she liked best. She kept her eyes on mine, as I repeatedly told her it was okay, she was a good dog. I felt her struggling to stay with me, so I said "okay", her release command, one more time, firmly.

I saw the light and life leave her eyes as her body relaxed and her breathing stopped...I sat there, holding the shell of my friend, numb. It wasn't my first time through this, but it was the first time that particular situation had occurred.

The rest of the day was a fog. Breaking the news to my former spouse, who's dog she actually was. Comforting my daughter. Consoling her kennel mate, who began to howl and
who, that night, began to self-mutilate, a condition he had for the remainder of his life.

As bedtime came, my girl and I decided to make a blanket fort in the family room and sleep in it. She surrounded herself with stuffed animals and curled up in my arms. I suggested that we say our prayers, because that's what we did then, but she refused. I didn't scold. I simply began my own, silently.

"Dear Heavenly Father, I'm grateful..."

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't give thanks for that day. So, for the first time, I told God how I really felt.
I felt crummy.
Angry.
I was lying.
Instead, I said that I was NOT grateful, that the day had been fucked in major ways. I told him I was angry, and sad.

And then, I expected to go straight to hell.

But instead, I learned something about  God, or whatever the great grand power may be...

I heard a voice, as loud as a real one, day,
"I know. And I'm so sorry. It was a terrible day, and I wish it hadn't had to happen.  You don't need to try to make it something good. It's okay."

I don't know what it was, except that it wasn't me. And in that moment, God, or whatever, began to make sense to me.

Did you ever wonder why the bible says that Jesus cried when Lazarus died? He knew he could raise him. In fact, it says that he knew that he would.
Do, why did he cry with the sisters?
I think it's because he felt, and knew, their sorrow. If what he was said to be was true, then that's the only thing that makes sense. Isn't it?
Tonight, is like that.
And right at the moment, a dozy bug has hit me.
It will be a night of that.