When I…

Hello all, I hope that this post finds you all well and staying safe. Thanks for checking out today’s post!

When I think about what is happening in my life and the lives of those I love, I frequently become overwhelmed. Writing helps me make sense out of things that seem nonsensical. Most days during this particular time frame are pretty much nonsensical to me, and I literally end up overthinking every thing. It’s been a tough weekend for me, as are most weekends right now, and I would give almost anything to be able to change things. I’d change things not only for myself, but for the people I love that are dealing with losses and trials of their own. While driving home from visiting my husband in hospice today I realized, for the umpteenth time, just how much being an empathetic person takes out of me. Today, for an hour or two, I would’ve traded myself in for a model that couldn’t feel as much. I’m over that now, but those feelings gave way to so much more than myself. It gets exhausting carrying the weight of so much emotion, and if people like me aren’t careful, we lose ourselves to everyone and everything around us.

When I think about this last week I have to say that it was by far one of the hardest of my life. I never thought that saying goodbye to my son-in-love at the airport would open up the flood gates to so much emotion. I spent the week barely existing, barely functioning. I feel a little better today, but the bruises on my heart will take some time to heal. My heart remains broken, but my mind is a little less chaotic than it was 7 days ago. My youngest daughter and her extended family received some devastating news that set all of us reeling in disbelief and grief. I have spent the last few days praying for peace and healing, for comfort. Healing in this situation will be a very long time in coming, and the acceptance of such news as was received will not happen overnight. So much pain…

When I think about the loss I am facing with my husband, I am so conflicted. So very conflicted. I love the man I have been married to for the past 38+ years with my whole being, yet I am agonized by watching him suffer so. The transition to death is not anything like I think it should be, it’s a very personal and trying journey. The ups and downs of the hospice journey have been confusing, I get angry, I hurt beyond belief, and yet when I don’t receive that dreaded phone call, I am grateful. And I am sad for my husband. My suffering pales in comparison to his, there is no way I can put into words how much watching him writhe in pain hurts me. For him. If I could take it all onto myself, I would. Every damn day. The miracle in all of this will be his freedom from pain, no matter what that freedom looks like.

When I think about the future and what it looks like, I would rather run backwards than look forward. I know I have no choice but to look ahead, as we all know we can’t change the past. Looking forward right now is scary, I know the future holds days of unimaginable grief, struggle and pain. Beyond those things is where I need to focus. Beyond the grief will be healing. Beyond the struggle will be an easing. And beyond the pain will be a new journey that I pray will be honoring to my husband, challenging enough to keep me learning and a new found strength. I already know that I will not be traveling alone, I am surrounded by love.

As always, I appreciate any and all who read this and hope that you find something worth holding on to in my words. You are not alone in your struggles, you matter, and you are loved. Stay safe, be kind and remember to turn your face toward the sun and appreciate its light. And warmth…

Photo by Barb Enos

And so…

Hi again,

And so… I’ve been stuck in a never ending cycle of grief and angst on so many levels that I don’t know how to breathe anymore without struggle. Every day is a new challenge in living, and though I rise to the challenge, I’ll be honest and tell you that I would rather not keep on rising. I am broken. I told my therapist today that I’ve been shattered so many times there are no pieces left. All that’s left of me is dust, and dust doesn’t shine. Dust is easy to overlook. Dust is easily scattered. I want to shine again. I want to feel pieced back together. All I feel is shattered.

And so… I try every day to be realistic, and all I find is that the reality is too painful. I manage, and I think that old say “fake it til you make it” is the way I’m making it through each day. My husband is in hospice and he seems to be rallying at this time. He has spent the last two weeks without eating and barely drank water. The end was on his doorstep. I’ve made peace with his impending death (more than once,) knowing that I would again be crushed, but believed at some point I would be able to heal. Now he’s beginning to eat again, and he’s still dying. The ups and downs of this ride called hospice are so much more intense than I thought they would be. It’s like the Grim Reaper is stalking him… and then backs off. Over and over and over again. How many times can my heart be told he’s on the edge? No matter how “prepared” I am, or even think I am, it’s never enough… I have nothing left inside me but hurt, despair and confusion.

And so… I spend a lot of time up in my own head and need an escape. But, no matter where I go, there I am. I am teetering on the edge of depression and I’m stuck. If I jump in, I know I will have to dig a long time to get out. I’ve been there. I don’t want to go back. I fight like hell, but fighting an invisible force, without strength, doesn’t go well. I can’t let myself go, I have to stay strong for my husband. For myself. I have to fight…

And so… I know that the sun will come up again, it always does. I know that no matter what happens, or when, I am loved. I am supported. I am not alone. I need to stop “shoulding” myself. I “should” be happy he’s rallying. I “should” be grateful for more time. I “should” not beat myself up for being so confused. Or angry. Or sad… What I “should” do and what I actually do are not companions. Not even close.

And so… I realize this post probably makes little sense, but it’s gotta be okay. Making no sense right now is how I roll and it’s how life comes at me. Suffering the stages of grief “should” be easier right now. I’ve been grieving the loss of my husband for almost a year now, but the loss to come is at once unfathomable and impossible to imagine. WTF? Walking out this chapter in my life is more of a crawl. Moving forward has lost its momentum. I’m out of steam…

And so… I am going to bed. I’m gonna put my pajamas on, brush my teeth and pray that sleep comes peacefully upon me. Thank you for sticking with me, I appreciate it so much.

Stay safe, be kind and remember to smile when you can…

Photo by Barb Enos

What if…?

Hi all. I find myself thinking “what if” a lot right now… Let me fill you in.

What if you knew the last time you hugged your spouse was just that, the last time? I’m talking full on front to front hugging, feeling the warmth of your loved one encompassing you and feeling their breath on your neck. Would you hug tighter? Longer? Would you try and commit to memory just how they smelled, like soap and water, or fresh cut grass? I had my last full on hug with my husband on October 3rd of 2019 and I can remember almost everything about that hug. I didn’t know then that it would be the last time those strong arms would wrap fully around me, or that the timbre of his voice was going to be forever altered just 27 days later… We were on our front porch in the early part of dusk and he was getting ready to drive from our home in South Carolina to see his family in New England. I stayed behind because of my job, not knowing that we would never be the same couple that hugged and kissed goodbye that evening. With almost a year between then and now, I wish I had gone with him, but I had only been working at UPS for 4 months, so taking almost a month off wouldn’t have been possible. Hindsight…

What if my husband had gone to the doctor when he called me that day complaining of a headache? Would he have had the same type of catastrophic stroke? Would he have been able to have medications administered that may have broken down the massive clot that formed in his neck and caused so much damage? What if seems like an innocent enough question, but in my reality it’s a fully loaded, assault style weapon. What if I had flown up to New England and dragged him, kicking and screaming, to an emergency room? Or a doctor? What if? What if? What if? I don’t blame myself, nor do I blame him, I just wish I had been able to see the future. I know there’s a reason why we can’t see into our futures, and looking back on the past 11 months has shown me exactly why we don’t get to see ahead.

What if I hadn’t agreed to move back to New England and had stayed in Richmond? What if we went back to South Carolina? Because of Coronavirus and it’s vast reaching destruction, I have no idea what our lives would look like right now. I know that being home in New England, and back in the city of Boston, has been exactly what we’ve needed it to be. I hate that my beloved is dying, I fucking hate it, but I am so glad to not be alone. I have been able to spend time with him this past month and am ever grateful for that. I’m with him every day and will be with him when the end comes. I am not sure when that will be, but it can’t be too much longer for him. He doesn’t eat, he barely drinks anything and is being kept comfortable. He deserves peace. And rest.

What if I knew that I would become a widow before I turned 60? Would I marry him again? I would. I wouldn’t trade my life with him except for the past year. All the turmoil and chaos, all the strife, all the loneliness? I’d do it all again to have my husband in my life. Love is a great feeling, but it’s a decision. A hard one at that. I have messed things up, I’ve been mean and hurtful and cruel to him over the years, as he has to me. But… We have stuck together and decided time after time after time to love one another and I am so glad we have. We don’t have, nor have we had, a storybook romance. Our romance is more like a suspense novel, with some shade thrown in, and the two of us are both aggressively trying to figure things out. We have always said that our relationship is aggresive/aggresive, not give and take. We have always been this. I will miss him so…

What if? A question that begs to be answered by all of us, but very rarely do the answers make any sense…

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Thursday Morning Thoughts…

Good Morning. Welcome to Thursday! This week has gone by pretty quickly, but being a day behind until this morning helped speed things up. I’m caught up with the rest of my life now and having a few laughs at myself. I’m glad I can laugh still, especially as my life is falling apart. I’m holding on by the skin of my teeth, still looking ahead to the sun rising again and bringing me some peace. And moments of joy. Even stolen moments of joy.

This morning my husband is first and foremost on my mind. As always. I find myself cherishing each day, each moment with him just a little more than the day before. As the world implodes all around us, I am becoming more and more insular within. His days are numbered, but how many of these numbered days do we have left? Yesterday he was pretty zombified by the morphine he’s now receiving regularly, and while the situation continues to crush my heart, I am at peace. As is he. To be able to spend time with him in the midst of the pandemic is a gift, and I am determined to make the most of our time together. Watching someone you love transitioning to death is not easy, not at all. It’s like a double edged sword. On the one side we want more time, on the other side we want less suffering. I can’t imagine my life without him, but I can’t imagine him in constant pain and suffering. A complex oxymoron…

It’s a beautiful fall day here in New England and the sun is shining brightly in Boston. While the country I love races towards self-annihilation, I find myself stuck between wanting to scream and wanting to hide. I want to scream because people of color are treated as less than by a broken justice system. I want to hide because the noise of turmoil overwhelms me. Especially now. I want to stand up and fight for what matters to me, and not being able to is a tough pill to swallow. Then I think, “Hey! You are fighting for that which matters most! Your husband.” I am learning a little more each day how to grant myself grace. And forgiveness. And I ask for forgiveness from my friends. Forgive me for not being able to do more, but I know you all understand why I can’t. Thank you.

As you go about your day today, remember to be kind to those you meet. You never know what someone is going through. Kindness matters, and these days it matters more than ever. With so much hatred and discord being spread by people that are in positions of great power, it’s up to the rest of us to hold onto kindness and share it. Smile at a stranger, even though they might not see it behind your mask. They’ll see it in your eyes. Let that car trying to turn left into that parking lot go ahead of you, just because you can. Take a walk and just listen to the world around you. Sit in the sun. Be kind to yourself. And others. We all need more kindness and you could change a life with a simple act of kindness.

My Thursday thoughts could go on for quite a while, but I’m ending here. I’m going to take that very walk I encouraged you to do, and listen to the sounds of the city I love. Traffic, sirens and dogs barking are a given, but birdsong, children laughing and quiet are not. These are the things I will be listening for…

Until next time, be well and stay safe!

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Thank You…

Hi everyone. Another day is upon us all and I want to share my heartfelt thanks to all of my readers, followers and to the world beyond. I don’t have the most successful blog out there, but it’s okay. I want my blog to be something I look forward to writing, I need that more than ever right now. I wish I had the desire to write every day like I did in the beginning, but my life has changed so much since then that I’ve had to completely shift my focus.

Thank you. Those two words never seem enough to say, though most times they’re all we have. There are so many people I wish I could say thank you to in person… I would love to say thank you to the Polytrauma Unit staff in Richmond, Virginia at the Hunter Holmes McGuire VA Medical Center. The amount of love, compassion, patience and expertise poured into both my husband and myself while we were there goes way above and beyond “work.” We were cared for like we were family and the time spent there will forever be a cherished memory. As human beings, we’re not meant to spend our lives alone, and we were not alone there. Though Covid-19 kept me from physically being with my husband during his last three months there, I knew that I was there in spirit. I was included in his life daily and saying thank you just doesn’t seem enough.

Thank you. Those two words have been said more in my heart and mind than anyone could ever know. I have known more pain in the past 2.5 years because of other people’s actions, and if I could, I would say thank you to those very people that hurt us. I know that sounds weird, but the pain inflicted on me and my husband served a purpose that I’m sure was unintended. The most painful thing I’d ever experienced was nothing more than the pouring of a foundation on which to stand against that which we now face. The fact remains that we still feel the pain of estrangement, but the pain of watching the man I love slip away from this earthly life far outweighs the pain of being abandoned by our daughter. We can’t change the past, but we can learn from it and incorporate lessons learned into our present and future.

Thank you. I am grateful to God that I have been blessed with the ability to forgive others. And to forgive myself. Forgiveness doesn’t mean that we forget the wrongs committed against us, it means that we accept what is and that we choose to lay down the weapons of anger, resentment and confusion. I have been able to walk through the angst of what life throws at me because I truly believe forgiveness matters. I’ve had to forgive myself so many times throughout my life for things I’ve said and done, and I know I will continue to do so. Forgiveness towards others is easier for me than self forgiveness, but I still believe in it. When someone wrongs you and you hold onto that bitterness and anger, it hurts you, not them. Forgiving isn’t forgetting, not at all. Forgiveness can help you find peace within if you let it.

Thank you. A simple phrase that packs such a punch. Being thankful and having an attitude of gratitude, even in your darkest times, can bring light to your heart. And life. Am I sad most days right now? Sure I am. I also know I will be for some time to come, but that in time, I’ll be okay again. I’ll be different, I’ll change over the course of time but I’ll try to remain positively changed. It’s impossible to not be changed by the pains life gives us. In the long run, over the course of our lives, pain defines and re-defines who we are and who we will become. I accept this. I try hard to learn from the situations that cause me pain, and since life is nothing more than a series of lessons, I know that what I am learning will have great impact on me. I don’t seek pain or painful situations, but I don’t hide either.

Thank you… for reading this. For sharing my journey. For lifting my husband and I in your prayers. I hope that no matter who you are and what you’re facing that you’ll find encouragement through my journey. The only thing that will save us all is all of us, humankind can save humankind, and I am ever hopeful that we will do so…

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This Hurts So Much…

I am an American. I am a woman. I am a mother. I am a grandmother, I am a wife, I am a friend, I am an Auntie. I am not a punching bag. I am not a fool. I am not a failure.


I am many things to many people, but what I am not is probably more noticeable than what I am. At least right now. It’s not about what I am, but who. Right now pain defines my life, but it’s not always going to be this way and I know this. When you look at me, what do you see? Do you see beneath the surface of my skin? Do you feel sorry for me, or with me? Do you see the way life’s circumstances are starting to show in the lines of my face? Do you see the depth of the sorrow I feel in my eyes? Do you see the silver in my hair? It’s okay if you see all these things, I don’t try to hide them anymore. I hurt. I cry. I cry every single day, I cry myself to sleep most nights while I pray for those I love.


I have been loved and I love with all that I have. There is no way to put my pain into words to make people understand what I am going through. I ache for my daughters, they are losing their Daddy and I can’t take away their pain. I can’t imagine not having the man that is the Poppy to my MiMI, but I can’t imagine him having to “live” in constant, physical and emotional pain with no end in sight. I am so conflicted.

My husband is now in hospice and we are waiting for something that no one wants to wait for. I want to wake up tomorrow and have it be 1993. Our girls were 5 and 10 that year and we were an intact family. I never imagined that all these years later that we would be so broken. Families belong together, not apart. How do I fix this? How do I survive this? How to I protect my children from what’s coming? How to I let our grandchildren know the man their Poppy was? How do I live without the man I love more than my own life? How? I know the why, not the how. It’s all so painful. All of it.

When life gives you lemons you’re supposed to make lemonade, right? Well, this Boston based girl says 2020 can suck those lemons… I am so over this year…

If you’ve read this far, please know that I appreciate you. I wish this were a happier posting, but I am not happy. I’m raw. I’m shattered, and I’m bereft…

Be kind always and stay safe…

Photo by Barb Enos

It’s Not Easy…

Hi All,

Life sucks right now. It’s not easy. Actually, I don’t think it’s supposed to be easy. I think life presents us with challenges to hone our deepest survival skills and teach us what really matters. What really matters? I can only answer that question for my self, and I’m going to try. And keep on trying as long as I am able to.

It’s not easy to wake up every day knowing that I have to face the longing in my heart for my husband. Yes, he’s alive, but the man I loved all these years is gone, both in mind and in spirit, replaced by a man that is so different I don’t know him. At all. The strong, loyal and fiercely protective husband, father, grandfather, brother, uncle, friend is forever changed and forever scarred by the stroke that took him away from those of us that love him. In place of the man I knew is a little boy’s mind full of fear and angst and self-doubt. The heart that beats within his chest is not the same heart, it’s compromised and broken and weakened. He has no quality of life as long as he lives within such a tortured mind and broken body, and I can do nothing to help him except to hold his hand and tell him I love him. And I do.

It’s not easy to know that my husband, who is currently in the hospital, will be going back to his long term skilled care center and once again be forced into isolation. Coronavirus is a stealthy killer, but it doesn’t just kill those infected with the virus, it slowly kills those people that are living alone, forced to be kept from their loved ones in order to “protect” them. Protection my ass… People need love, they need physical touch and they deserve to stay connected to their loved ones. Can you imagine being a caregiver in a nursing home and having to enforce rules that you know are not going to protect your patients? Can you imagine what it’s like to have to walk the halls of a place where people are forced to eat in their rooms, where people can’t commune in what should be a community? Not only do the patients and their families suffer, so do the staff and their families. Failure to thrive is killing thousands across the country and while these numbers are not included in the daily count of Covid deaths, they should be.

It’s not easy to watch the country I love destroy itself more and more every day. As a collective people we are imploding and unless we stand united, divided we will continue to fall. Not all law enforcement officers are bad, not all people of color are criminals and not all caucasian people are racists. The civil unrest and ensuing protests are warranted, the violence and death and destruction are not. Vigilantes? Really? In the 21st century? POC aren’t even safe when they’re sleeping peacefully in their own beds. Breonna Taylor did not deserve to die. Neither did Tamir Rice. Or Botham Jean. Just because someone looks different than you do doesn’t mean they’re criminals. Hell, Tamir Rice was a 12 year old boy, a child, playing in a park. WTF America? Are we so desperate to prove ourselves as a bully nation that we think the loss of life in the black/brown communities across the nation is worth the price being paid? POC are human beings, plain and simple, and deserve to have the Constitution and The Bill of Rights work for them as easily as it seems to for white people.

It’s not easy to be an empathetic person in a world full of cynicism, narcissism and selfishness. It’s incredibly difficult to stay positive when the world around you is always so damn negative. I am trying really hard to hold onto the tender heart that beats within my chest but there are more days than not now that I want to give up. What’s the point of being kind to one another when your kindness is received or mistaken for weakness? I am NOT a weak person, but I am broken. I am not a cynical person, but I don’t trust very often anymore. I am not a shy person, but I don’t want to put myself out there anymore to meet people. The world around me has become so dark and so cruel that I don’t want to participate in it. I want to hide most days from what’s going on around me and that’s not healthy. At all.

It’s not easy to know that someone I care deeply for is now experiencing the pain of seeing her beloved grandchild used as a pawn, a weapon. Really? Another family torn apart because pride and the desire to “win,” is all the involved parties can see. Sure, throw another beloved grandmother to the curb, we’re older, so we don’t matter. As hard as I try I will never understand why the children of my daughter’s generation think grandparents don’t matter. They need to know that the pain they willingly inflict on us will come back to them someday. And when it does, your parents will no longer be able to help you find your way home. Remember this… Karma is a bigger bitch than you, the children that throw their parents away, and she (Karma) will find you. I don’t relish the idea that my own flesh and blood will someday know the pain that I carry every day because of her actions, but she will. I can do nothing to stop it. Again, be careful what you ask for, because when you get it, it’s probably not at all what you want.

It’s not that easy to let go, and harder to hang on. Living in the 21st century is not for the faint of heart and it takes blood, sweat and more tears than a human body should be able to produce. I have cried enough tears since May 2018 to fill the oceans, and know there are many more to come. Hug someone you love after reading this, thank the universe for the breath in your lungs, and thank whatever God you believe in that you can smile through the pain. It’s not easy, but it is possible…

Until next time…

Photo by Barb Enos

If There Hadn’t Been You…

Hi again,

Today’s title comes from a 90’s era country song by Billy Dean. I heard it in my car this morning, on my way home from picking up my pup’s remains at his vet. Morgan is home now, safely ensconced in a beautiful African Walnut urn, next to his former kitty mate, Dexter. I miss my four-legged boys, and try and remember that they both had wonderful lives, were loved and spoiled, and had it not been for them, my life would not have been as joy filled. Rest well sweet ones, until we meet again…

Hearing the song this morning made me think of all the people that have been a part of my life over these 57 full, and just shy of 58 trips around the sun. I think back to the very first memory I have and I was 4. In the Boston Children’s Floating Hospital, (which no longer exists) in an oxygen tent with a terrible case of pneumonia. I didn’t know it then, but the man who was my nurse was considered a trailblazer by many. He was a man in a world that didn’t readily accept men, especially black men. 1968… and only one of those things seem to have changed for the better. Men are no longer seen as less than for being a nurse, but being black is still an issue for many narrow-minded, priviledged people. I was sick. I was very, very sick and this man would hold me in his huge arms, sing to me, rock me and make me balloons out of rubber gloves. I didn’t care then that he was black or male, and I don’t now. 54 years later I am just grateful that he was there. A human being with a gift for compassion was what I needed, and he was that person. If there hadn’t been you…

If there hadn’t been my first best friend when my parents divorced, and my mom moved herself and three kids to the inner city, I wouldn’t have had the most awesome childhood adventures. My best friend was from a large family, still has the most stunning red hair and accepted me as the skinny country kid that had no clue how to make friends. The friends I’d had up until then were basically built in. I still maintain contact with her after 50 years, and if this damned virus ever breaks, I hope to see her again someday. If there hadn’t been you…

If there hadn’t been my middle and oldest siblings what would this life look like? Sure, we have our issues, but siblings are our first friends and they don’t really have a choice about that. Unless of course they’re much older and reach adulthood long before you do. My siblings are mine, and though I wish they were closer to one another, I maintain relationships with them both, just separately. I’ve always thought that after your parents die, who keeps the family together? Siblings do. It takes effort, but we’re all that’s left of our parents, and I am not willing to expend energy on the negative side of sibling rivalry. Heck, my husband had 5 siblings and is now down to 3, it’s sad and lonely and hard. The conflicts aren’t worth the hatred that grows from things unresolved. Eventually that hatred becomes numbness and numbness brings apathy. There are times that apathy can be a type of shield, a protection from the heartbreak of a child throwing her parents away, but it’s not something I want to have to learn. Or to live with.

If there hadn’t been my first serious boyfriend, there wouldn’t have been a future father-in-love to save my life. Literally. I have never had the easiest of lives, and that’s okay. I left home at 15 and ran to my boyfriend’s house, where I was safe and protected from the demons that preyed on me as a young girl. My future father-in-love slayed the demons and he saved all of me. My physical self, my emptional self, my spiritual self. Looking back more than 40 years later, I realize that he loved me then, and I think he knew his youngest son would become my husband. He died in1999, and I sure do wish he could’ve lived forever. Or at least long enough to know the joy of being a great-grandfather. “Bumpa,” we sure do miss you.

If there hadn’t been all the amazing friends I’ve made over the years, I wouldn’t be half the person I’ve become. One of those friends became a sister-in-love when she married my husband’s next oldest brother 11 months after my wedding. I am not proud to say that I let her down, but am beyond grateful that she forgives me for such. We are reforging the bonds of love, family and forgiveness as we walk out our grief together. I know she knows that I love her. So much. Life seems to have brought us full circle and though we both wish our husbands could be with us to share in the journey we’re on, we know that they had their own journey together. Their journey was complex, as is ours, and we know our husbands made true amends at before the end for both of them. My heart aches so much for her loss, and though my husband still lives, the man I married all those years ago is gone as well. We feel our husband’s walking beside us in spirit, and for now, that has to be enough.

If there hadn’t been my husband, there wouldn’t be the gift of our youngest daughter. She is an amazing woman, a great mom and a compassionate person. She is as moms want their daughters to be. Strong, fierce and brave. Tender, loving and kind. She has given us the son we never had when she married her husband and he is the answer to prayer. Many prayers. As girl parents we prayed often for the men that would one day join our family and our prayers were answered. Without my husband, we would not have our oldest child. And though she is lost to us, we prayed for her mate as well. We miss him very much, as well as our beloved oldest grandchild. I now pray for our son-in-love and grandson to be safe, and that’s all I can do. Love will break your heart, and love is worth the pain, even when the brokenness is more than you can comprehend.

If there hadn’t been our youngest grandson I believe my husband would have died from pneumonia in November of 2019. Sometimes you just have to let go and that night was such a night. My husband was so sick and his doctor said I should call family since he believed my husband would die in the night. I did. I whispered to him it was okay to go, our daughter did the same. Sometime during that dark and scary night my husband dreamed of our youngest grandson. He swears that little boy is the reason he lived. I am beyond grateful.

If it hadn’t been for our youngest granddaughter, I wouldn’t know what joy really looks like. She is fearless and stubborn and so much fun to be with. She loves with her whole heart and has had it broken, even at her tender age, and she still loves with all she has. She will be a world changer someday. And the world will be a better place for all because of the fire that lives in her heart. She believes in fairness, and she knows that people are not always kind. She keeps going with a determination that most adults would love to have. It’s true, she gives her parents a run for their money, and she can be as sassy as any 5 year old, but she is light and happiness and joy also. She is my heart beating outside my chest X2.

If it hadn’t been for the pain brought into my life because of the events of May 2018 and the ensuing months of turmoil, this blog would have never come to life. My heartbreak has found an outlet to ease the pain and I am so thankful that people read what I have to say. After my husband’s stroke I thought I might not be able to write again, but I was wrong. His stroke has changed the course of both of our lives and the lives of our entire family as well. It has become my priority to keep him safe, let him know that he is loved and to appreciate whatever time we have left together. My blog gives me a way to share and hopefully communicate that we don’t have to be alone. I feel bereft much of the time, but I know I am not alone. My most sincere wish for people all over the world is that they know they matter, and that they are not alone. Being lonely happens to each and every one of us throughout our lifetime, but there is always light at the end of any tunnel. Walk towards it. Crawl if you have to, you are worthy and loved and no one should live compltetly in the dark.

Until next time…

Photo by Barb Enos

8 Days Later…

Hi All,

It’s been 8 days since my beloved dog, Morgan, died. Why does it seem like 8 years? Life without him is sadder and less fun, but I’m doing okay. I find my self listening for the click of nails on the hardwood floors just a little less with each day that passes. I find that the first thing I do in the morning is NOT look over the edge of the bed to look for him. After 8 days I find that I am not looking down from the dinner table as much to see that goofy Boston Terrier smile. He didn’t beg at the table, just sat with a certain expectation that he never lost. He was always hopeful that someone would drop something for him to scoop up and feel like he got away with something. He was a happy dog, he made my life a sunnier place to be and I will always miss him.

Eight days later and I am still waiting on heartbreak to take a rest and not plague me with the pain of losing so much. I am learning to accept that I will never be as I was before, and that I don’t have to be. Change is hard, and it hurts, but we can all benefit from it personally if we allow ourselves to. Not all change is self-created, and changes thrust upon us by someone else are probably the hardest to accept. And to adapt to. It takes a great deal of personal strength and more determination than we think we possess to adapt to unwelcomed changes. It takes giving yourself grace. It takes a certain amount of faith in yourself and it takes time. Time. More than 8 days…

Eight days. What can happen in 8 short days? Well, with the Coronavirus raging, hundreds of thousands of people have become infected. Thousands more have died. Many thousands of people have recovered. The virus has touched me personally more than once, and I am shocked at the lack of concern in my home country for our fellow human beings. I don’t debate with others about wearing a mask, I just wear one. I am living in one of only four states not experiencing some type of surge of the virus, but Massachusetts was raging with the virus just a few short months ago. I’d like to go to SC and NC to see family and friends, but will stay here in New England until I feel I can safely travel and not become infected. and to not bring that infection home to my housemates. Eight days in a different environment could potentially cause a world of havoc. I’m unwilling to open that door…

Eight days from now I have no idea where my head will be, but I imagine that I will still be trying to cope with the loss of my pup and missing my husband. The missing my husband will always be, and I know that as time passes, I’ll be able to better handle the loss of my dog. Grief is the price I willingly pay for having loved him as I did. I’ve learned to accept that love is not always the best feeling in the world, but living without it is so not an option. I am more cautious than ever about opening myself up to pain, but I am not ever going to stop loving because it hurts. Life without love seems like a very dark way to live to me, and I don’t want to live in a world made darker because I am afraid to love. I’m not. I just realize now that the price paid can be quite high.

I know this blog post is shorter than most, but it’s really all I have to say right now. Be well, stay safe, and remember always to be kind. Shine your light into the world’s darkness, love your neighbor and love yourself.

Until next time…

Photo by Barb Enos

Dog is love…

Hi All,

Yesterday, July 2, 2020, will be another one of those dates we all have. You know, anniversaries for a special (or not so special) event. My beloved Morgan, my 9.5 year old Boston Terrier, crossed the Rainbow Bridge. He is running without pain and illness, I am, however a wreck. My experiences dealing with crushing loss will see me through. I’ve learned over these past three years that I can withstand heavy losses, both emotional and physical. I’ll be okay, some day… I know the decision to have my beloved dog euthanized was the right one, but it doesn’t make the loss any less greivous. Even when we decide a loss needs to happen, it doesn’t diminish the pain. At. All.

Almost a year ago I had to let go of my Dexter kitty, Morgan’s kitty mate. The two boys loved each other… after Dexter decided this small, smelly, beastly puppy was no threat to himself or his domain. Morgan came home on March 17, 2011 at the age of 8 weeks and was as cute as could be. (Yes, they were named Dexter and Morgan for the series on TV called Dexter.) And, the best part of bringing him home was the puppy breath!!! He was small and warm and happy, and we all loved him so much. He had his challenges as he was born with a mega-esophagus, and had also suffered a stroke at birth, but he was ours and he became my constant companion. We had intended to make him our grandson’s dog, but dogs choose their people, it seems, and he chose me. I am so glad he did because after my husband’s stroke, the dog became the driving force in moving forward in my life. Once my husband was moved to Richmond, VA for long-term treatment, I lived for getting Morgan back. He spent 6 months with his foster Momma in NC while I was dealing with my husband and his decline. We were reunited in April and now he’s gone. To say I am sad is putting it mildly, but I am so grateful I had these past 3 months with him… Thank you KP, for all you did for MoMo (a nickname) and for me.

Morgan had a plethora of health issues throughout his life, but we managed them and he flourished. We went on hikes together in the Blue Ridge and Smokey Mountains when we lived in Western NC, he played with our daughter’s Dutch Shepherd whenever we took him there to visit. He would jump in the car, as excited as he could be, until you turned the key and started the car. Then he had a split personality… he would never look out the window, wouldn’t lie down, and prefered to ride behind the driver’s seat on the floor. Weird. He barked aggresively at gun shots, thunder and fireworks, but was afraid of the bing of my phone telling me I had a text. Weird. He loved to play tug of war, and would growl incessantly while doing so. Weird. Eating was his favorite thing, next to farting (ugh) and he would eat until he puked if I let him. I didn’t let him. He was fed twice a day, loved to play, hated the bath and having his nails trimmed. He loved his D, his Daddy R and Momma D, and me. Our youngest grandson was so in love with him. He loved so many people in his own goofy way. He loved me through the crushing grief of losing our oldest daughter. He loved me through leaving NC for SC. He loved me through my husband’s stroke and craniotomy. He went to his foster Momma the night of the craniotomy, and he loved me through the move from Richmond to Boston. Four weeks to the day after we moved to Boston, he was gone.

I am thoroughly convinced that grief is the price we pay for love and I can also tell you that I am no longer willing to pay such an exacting price again. I am done being a dog owner; I can’t bring myself to step over the threshold of loving a dog again. At this point in my life I am learning that inviting pain is unwise. I’ve learned that sometimes the choices we have to make are not at all the ones we want to make. Not even close. The choice to put Morgan down was made a tiny bit easier because I had taken him to his vet just a few days ago and his health was failing. He was showing signs of increasing neurological damage. He was losing muscle mass. He was falling. A lot. He was in pain. His liver was failing. He went to his vet on Sunday past because he had fallen down the stairs late last week and I wanted to make sure he was okay. No broken bones, but lots of soft tissue damage. Lots of pain. Then he fell between our stone wall and our neighbor’s privacy fence and I knew then I had to make the choice I did. It wasn’t a matter of being strong, it was a matter of doing what’s right. It killed me inside, and it will for a long time, but it was right.

Morgan had a good life and he gave so much more than he was given. He was many things and had many names. MoMo, Puppa, Dews, Beast, CC (constant companion), stink-pot/stink/stink-butt. For anyone that has owned a flat faced breed, you know this to be true… He loved to sleep in the bed with his humans, he loved stretching out in the sunshine and he hated going out in the rain. A well lived life for a well loved dog. What more could we ask for?

Morgan, wherever you are, know that I loved you so much… So did everyone who met you. Run free, sweet boy, and give Dexter hell!!! I hope you found Zoe and Gozi and that the three of you play without ceasing… Goodbye, MoMo… You will be missed.

Morgan in Virginia. Photo by his Momma, Barb Enos