Tommorrow I get to take Miss Lily to Dr. Pew for a check up. For those of you who don't know, Lily is not well. But I will back up, and tell the entire story....
After Rosie's death I began my search for a new bulldog puppy. I asked Dr. Pew's office for references. I checked KSL , craigs list, and a bunch of other online sources. I interviewed dog handlers, vets, breeders and owners. I spent close to 3 weeks searching and searching for a new dog. I wanted a dog that could help fill the giant hole that Rosie left in our hearts. I had a pretty specific criteria. Must be female. Must not be white or tiger striped (memories of past dogs are hard to contain) must have a lose cork or spiked tail. Must have 1 or more parents under 50 lbs. Must have large nares (nose holes) ... the list goes on. Anyway after interviewing 8 professionals, narrowing it down to 3 breeders, visit 2 litters of pups, I choose Lily. We are excited to bring her home. The night that I get her home, I notice that she is not breathing very well. She sounds stuffy and congested. I wonder if she has a cold. I already have a well puppy visit scheduled with a vet for the morning, so I don't worry too much about it, we'll figure it out tomorrow. We play together, she snuggles with all of us, and works her way DEEPLY into our hearts. I pray for some healing for our little family and hope this pup can bring us some happier times. Puppies have to go out a lot, so I put my sleeping bag in the kitchen and make myself comfortable. I do not like how this puppy is breathing, and I get very concerned. Yet another night of no sleep listening to the raspy breathing of a dog...not a good thing. Throughout the night, she coughs often. A gagging choking cough. I feel more dementors. We make it through the night, and head to the vets office. After a thorough exam, the vet declares that Lily has way too long of a soft palette, that it is constricting her airway, and she could very easily pass out and die on the spot. That I should take this dog back as soon as possible, and if it were her we should get our money back. POP!
Burst the excitement bubble. I cannot deal with another dog dying so soon. I just can't. I seriously do not know what to do.Somehow I maintain my composure long enough to make it outside where I full on lose it. In hysterics I call Clint. He agrees to meet me at home. I can barely drive. I am physically shaking, and as soon as I get home I have to throw up. Clint decides we should quickly get another opinion. So I get another appointment, and we gather up Lily's things. I pack her red blankie that I made for her, her green alligator, and the nylabone she loves to chew. I pack up, so we can take her back to the breeder if we need too. I am hysterical. We see another vet who tells us she agrees with the first vet, but only partially. She agrees this dog is broken. Her soft palette is too large. She could choke, BUT in her opinion, the dog will pass out, the airway will relax, and the dog will wake up. She most likely will not die. Soft palettes can be removed. If it were her she would keep the dog, have the surgery done when the time comes, and learn to love this sweet little thing. She basically said we bought a bulldog. They all have problems. So, we can keep this one and deal with her problems, or get another one, and deal with their problems. She also mentioned that we take Lily to Dr. Pew for a professional opinion. Dr. Pew is a vet in Orem. he is not just any vet. He is THE VET when it comes to bulldogs and other bully breeds. He is on the National Board of Directors for the Bulldog Association, and in short he is the sought out professional, the expert that teaches the experts, and he lives in our backyard. So to Dr. Pew we go. The breeder joins us. At his visit he sedates Miss Lily so he can really get a view of her soft palette and throat structure. He takes x rays. He comes back with a diagnosis. He comes back with a few answers. She is called a brachiocephalic breed (which means her face is squished so she has a short airway). Yes. She has too long of a soft palette and it is constricting her airway. No. it is not the worst he's ever seen. It is however a bit deformed, which is causing most of her breathing troubles.Yes it can be repaired. Yes, her nose holes are a little small. Yes, they can be repaired. She also has an extremely narrow trachea. it is at about 50% of the size it should be, one of the smallest he has ever seen.no, it cannot be surgically repaired. So now imagine sucking all your air through a straw. Then throw a ballon (soft palette) over it. That leads to gasping for air and choking. Will she drop dead...probably not. We must be careful to not let her get over heated. Will she pass out...maybe. Let's not let her get to that point. She can choke when she eats so I need to feed her one kibble at a time. He taught me how to do the doggie heimlich so I can help her when she chokes. She can't play too hard or get too hot. She will require surgery when she gets older. So. Where does that leave us now? Well, obviously we kept her.This dog is broken. This dog requires a lot of attention. This dog will be expensive. In reality, this dog should be put down. Her medical needs are going to be way too much effort. But we kept her. Why?
Clint said to me
"You don't always get what you want, but you get what you need."
I asked him how he could say that? We need a dog to be healthy, to bring us healing, something to bring us happiness, and I searched and searched, interviewed all those people and was lead to a broken dog that scares the crap out me in the middle of the night when she gags and chokes, how can this be what I need? His reply?
"Yup. She needed someone who can take care of her, and she got us."
Monday, April 18, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Dogs, Death, and Dementors
It is the night of December 6, 2010. I jerk awake. I am cold, and shivering, despite wearing my warmest sweatpants, hat and sweatshirt. Despite being huddled in my warmest sleeping bag, I am cold. Ice cold. The room is dark. The light in the neighboring bathroom casts and eery glow, but provides no comfort. Darkness, black, and thick, makes me feel as if I am drowning in a river of dark icy water. I panick. I cannot hear Rosie snoring, and worse, I can't find her. Where is she? She had been lying in the sleeping bag next to me, but now I can't see her. Fervently scanning the room, I see her outline siloutted against the light of the bathroom, as she lay near the door. Cautiously I creep to her, expecting to find her dead.
Earlier today we returned from a vacation, to discover that while we were gone, Rosie suffered a heart attack. Fortunately my cousin Dallin was dog sitting, saw her go into cardiac arrest, and rushed her to the vet. They were able to give her some medication, pump fluid out of her lungs, and buy us some extra time. They sent her home with Dallin, but the prognosis is not good. She is in the final stages of congestive heart failure, and honestly she is not expected to survive the night. The vet also gave Dallin her home phone number, so we can call in the middle of the night, if we need the vet to make a house call in order to put Rosie down. I thank God that Dallin was here, and took action. I am so sorry to put him into that position. Can you imagine? He is dog sitting the world's most pampered pet, and he has to tell us that she almost died, is currently actively dying, and probably won't last the night? Words will never express the gratefulness and love I have for him. I wish I could take back the stress and anxiety that he must have endured. I cannot imagine the horror of being in his place, but I am so so thankful he was here.
As I approach, Rosie lifts her head to look at me with those big brown trusting eyes, then turns her head away, and refuses to look at me any more. She doesn't move, and her breathing is labored. I sit next to her, and rub her belly. I talk to her of all the great memories we have, and that I am glad she didn't leave while I was on vacation. I am cold, afraid, and trembling. I wonder if "this is it" for her. There is a dark and icy feel to the room, that comes and goes with Rosie's breathing. I am reminded of Harry Potter, and know exactly what J.K. Rowling describes as the dementors making you feel as if "you will never be happy again." After about 5 minutes, Rosie stands up, still refuses to look at me and wanders to the other side of the room, where she gives a cough, then seems to collapse. The feeling of dementors is strong as I rush to her, and rub her belly in the cold darkness. She refuses to look at me, and gets up to move again. Again, I sit next to her.The process repeats for over 3 hours. I tell her that I will NOT let her die alone, and that she can try to hide from me, but I am not going anywhere. Finally, she sleeps, and the icy cold feelings of dementors slip away as the sun rises.
Miraculously, Rosie survives two small heart attacks in the night, and we wake together Tuesday morning. She is tired, but appears to be happy. I stay with her all day Tuesday. We watch a lot of t.v. and take a nap in the sun. I take her to Petsmart to let her pick out a new toy, knowing it will be the last time we get to shop together. She chooses a new "chicken" and tries to kill it in the store. She even carries it to the front counter so I can pay for it. Tuesday night comes, and along with it, more darkness, the swirling chill of cold, cold, dementors. I speak to the darkness, boldly telling the dementors to go away, that they are not welcome here tonight, and the feeling of doom dissapates. Rosie has one small heart attack, but yet again survives.
For the next few days, she begins to perk up. She acts like her old self. Kills her chicken, plays outside, and even went to work with Clint for a few minutes. The nights were relaxing, and I didn't hear anymore outward threats from the dementors, but I could always feel them lingering nearby.
Friday, we decide to take her to Island Park. Clint wants her to see the cabin. She loves it. She pees in the snow, she lays on the couch, she even musters the energy to climb into the loft and gaze over the railing. I let her sleep on the bed with me, we have a good time. Friday night when we went to bed, I kiss her and tell her how glad I am she is here, and ask her to please stay the night with me. We sleep without incident.
Saturday we wake, have breakfast, and head into Westy for some shopping. Rosie loves the drive into town, and I hold her in my lap so she can see out of the window. I notice that her tongue is not a bright pink, but a darker purple, and I worry about her oxygen levels. I know she is dying. I know I am not yet ready to accept it. That night as Rosie sleeps on the couch watching a movie with JB, I have an enormous anxiety attack. I KNOW without a doubt that Rosie is leaving soon. I talk to Clint about a plan. What happens if....we formulate a plan, praying that we don't have to carry it out, and I sob in the shower like I have never sobbed before. I Thank God that Rosie gave us that extra week, and I pray that I have the strength to do what needs to be done, that I make good decisions, and that Rosie doesn't suffer when the time comes for her to leave. Together Rosie and I lie on the bed to rest. I am afraid to sleep. Every little movement might be her last. I wait. I rub her tummy. I wait for the dementors. I wait for death.
Sunday, December 12, at 5:30 am, Rosie coughs. HARD. I bolt upright and hold her in my arms, She coughs again, and a yellow foam begins to pour from her nose. I know without a doubt that this is it. I call Clint, he joins us. I look into her eyes, her big brown eyes, expecting to see fear, or anxiety about not being able to breath, I am prepared to calm her, but instead, I see peace. She is not afraid. She is not anxious. She is calm, and very peaceful, and that calms me. She coughs again. I hold her, I rub her tummy, and tell her we will miss her. I kiss her one last time. I ask God to not let her suffer, to take her quickly, and within seconds, she is gone. Less than 2 minutes passed from when she first coughed, to when she was gone. Quick. Peaceful, and no dementors. Death came for her, and I was warm. I was calm. Sad, but calm.The room was bright, even thought the lights were dim, and there was no fear, or anxiety. Just gratefulness that I was allowed to be a part of something so beautiful.
Clint went upstairs to tell Jenna that Rosie was gone, but when he got there, she was awake and already knew. She says Rosie came to her and said good bye. I am thankful for that. Rosie is the only pet that Jenna has really known, and I am glad that Rosie left behind such wonderful memories.
I don't know how to put into words what I learned that morning. I could sense that even though I have no idea what types of spirits those "dementors" are, they are not what I would call "the angel of death." The dementors are dark, cold and scary. When death came it was bright, warm, and peaceful. Knowing this has made a difference in my opinion of end of life circumstances.
I have learned that:
1. I must have a plan. When death comes it is a very emotional time. It was helpful to have a plan, and lessened the anxiety because I knew what would happen next. It is my goal to by the end of the year have my will, and desired outcomes completed and easy to find. Jenna is only 11, but I will go over the plan with her...just in case. I feel a strong plan is the best end of life gift I can give her.
2. I am afraid of dying. I never thought I would be. My fear of death stems more from fear of the unknown, and fear of the dementors, and less from the fear of actually being dead. I guess I am more worried about "getting dead", than I actually am of "being dead."
3. I believe there is something else out there. Some claim it is an after life, that we are surrounded by family and friends that go before us. Some claim we turn back into balls of energy that float around providing life to the inhabitants of earth. I don't know for sure whats going on, but I believe there is SOMETHING. I will just have to wait (hopefully a LONG time) before I know for certain what that something is. :-)
Until that time, I pray I die well. I pray that my plan will be in place, and that my passing will not be difficult for those I love. I will cherish the friendships I have NOW, and the memories I have of those who have gone on before me. I hope they ALL come for me when it is my time, because I am expecting one helluva party!
Earlier today we returned from a vacation, to discover that while we were gone, Rosie suffered a heart attack. Fortunately my cousin Dallin was dog sitting, saw her go into cardiac arrest, and rushed her to the vet. They were able to give her some medication, pump fluid out of her lungs, and buy us some extra time. They sent her home with Dallin, but the prognosis is not good. She is in the final stages of congestive heart failure, and honestly she is not expected to survive the night. The vet also gave Dallin her home phone number, so we can call in the middle of the night, if we need the vet to make a house call in order to put Rosie down. I thank God that Dallin was here, and took action. I am so sorry to put him into that position. Can you imagine? He is dog sitting the world's most pampered pet, and he has to tell us that she almost died, is currently actively dying, and probably won't last the night? Words will never express the gratefulness and love I have for him. I wish I could take back the stress and anxiety that he must have endured. I cannot imagine the horror of being in his place, but I am so so thankful he was here.
As I approach, Rosie lifts her head to look at me with those big brown trusting eyes, then turns her head away, and refuses to look at me any more. She doesn't move, and her breathing is labored. I sit next to her, and rub her belly. I talk to her of all the great memories we have, and that I am glad she didn't leave while I was on vacation. I am cold, afraid, and trembling. I wonder if "this is it" for her. There is a dark and icy feel to the room, that comes and goes with Rosie's breathing. I am reminded of Harry Potter, and know exactly what J.K. Rowling describes as the dementors making you feel as if "you will never be happy again." After about 5 minutes, Rosie stands up, still refuses to look at me and wanders to the other side of the room, where she gives a cough, then seems to collapse. The feeling of dementors is strong as I rush to her, and rub her belly in the cold darkness. She refuses to look at me, and gets up to move again. Again, I sit next to her.The process repeats for over 3 hours. I tell her that I will NOT let her die alone, and that she can try to hide from me, but I am not going anywhere. Finally, she sleeps, and the icy cold feelings of dementors slip away as the sun rises.
Miraculously, Rosie survives two small heart attacks in the night, and we wake together Tuesday morning. She is tired, but appears to be happy. I stay with her all day Tuesday. We watch a lot of t.v. and take a nap in the sun. I take her to Petsmart to let her pick out a new toy, knowing it will be the last time we get to shop together. She chooses a new "chicken" and tries to kill it in the store. She even carries it to the front counter so I can pay for it. Tuesday night comes, and along with it, more darkness, the swirling chill of cold, cold, dementors. I speak to the darkness, boldly telling the dementors to go away, that they are not welcome here tonight, and the feeling of doom dissapates. Rosie has one small heart attack, but yet again survives.
For the next few days, she begins to perk up. She acts like her old self. Kills her chicken, plays outside, and even went to work with Clint for a few minutes. The nights were relaxing, and I didn't hear anymore outward threats from the dementors, but I could always feel them lingering nearby.
Friday, we decide to take her to Island Park. Clint wants her to see the cabin. She loves it. She pees in the snow, she lays on the couch, she even musters the energy to climb into the loft and gaze over the railing. I let her sleep on the bed with me, we have a good time. Friday night when we went to bed, I kiss her and tell her how glad I am she is here, and ask her to please stay the night with me. We sleep without incident.
Saturday we wake, have breakfast, and head into Westy for some shopping. Rosie loves the drive into town, and I hold her in my lap so she can see out of the window. I notice that her tongue is not a bright pink, but a darker purple, and I worry about her oxygen levels. I know she is dying. I know I am not yet ready to accept it. That night as Rosie sleeps on the couch watching a movie with JB, I have an enormous anxiety attack. I KNOW without a doubt that Rosie is leaving soon. I talk to Clint about a plan. What happens if....we formulate a plan, praying that we don't have to carry it out, and I sob in the shower like I have never sobbed before. I Thank God that Rosie gave us that extra week, and I pray that I have the strength to do what needs to be done, that I make good decisions, and that Rosie doesn't suffer when the time comes for her to leave. Together Rosie and I lie on the bed to rest. I am afraid to sleep. Every little movement might be her last. I wait. I rub her tummy. I wait for the dementors. I wait for death.
Sunday, December 12, at 5:30 am, Rosie coughs. HARD. I bolt upright and hold her in my arms, She coughs again, and a yellow foam begins to pour from her nose. I know without a doubt that this is it. I call Clint, he joins us. I look into her eyes, her big brown eyes, expecting to see fear, or anxiety about not being able to breath, I am prepared to calm her, but instead, I see peace. She is not afraid. She is not anxious. She is calm, and very peaceful, and that calms me. She coughs again. I hold her, I rub her tummy, and tell her we will miss her. I kiss her one last time. I ask God to not let her suffer, to take her quickly, and within seconds, she is gone. Less than 2 minutes passed from when she first coughed, to when she was gone. Quick. Peaceful, and no dementors. Death came for her, and I was warm. I was calm. Sad, but calm.The room was bright, even thought the lights were dim, and there was no fear, or anxiety. Just gratefulness that I was allowed to be a part of something so beautiful.
Clint went upstairs to tell Jenna that Rosie was gone, but when he got there, she was awake and already knew. She says Rosie came to her and said good bye. I am thankful for that. Rosie is the only pet that Jenna has really known, and I am glad that Rosie left behind such wonderful memories.
I don't know how to put into words what I learned that morning. I could sense that even though I have no idea what types of spirits those "dementors" are, they are not what I would call "the angel of death." The dementors are dark, cold and scary. When death came it was bright, warm, and peaceful. Knowing this has made a difference in my opinion of end of life circumstances.
I have learned that:
1. I must have a plan. When death comes it is a very emotional time. It was helpful to have a plan, and lessened the anxiety because I knew what would happen next. It is my goal to by the end of the year have my will, and desired outcomes completed and easy to find. Jenna is only 11, but I will go over the plan with her...just in case. I feel a strong plan is the best end of life gift I can give her.
2. I am afraid of dying. I never thought I would be. My fear of death stems more from fear of the unknown, and fear of the dementors, and less from the fear of actually being dead. I guess I am more worried about "getting dead", than I actually am of "being dead."
3. I believe there is something else out there. Some claim it is an after life, that we are surrounded by family and friends that go before us. Some claim we turn back into balls of energy that float around providing life to the inhabitants of earth. I don't know for sure whats going on, but I believe there is SOMETHING. I will just have to wait (hopefully a LONG time) before I know for certain what that something is. :-)
Until that time, I pray I die well. I pray that my plan will be in place, and that my passing will not be difficult for those I love. I will cherish the friendships I have NOW, and the memories I have of those who have gone on before me. I hope they ALL come for me when it is my time, because I am expecting one helluva party!
Sunday, April 3, 2011
Making it real
Ok, here's the deal. The last year has been one of extreme alterations for my family. We have seen many hardships. Things like illnesses, friends move, or friends die, to the point where it has almost become a ridiculous joke, resulting in some life changes around our house. Just when we are getting back on our feet, it seems like some new devastating thing will come and push us off the precipice. It has gotten to where the events are even getting smaller, but it doesn't take much to knock us down. I can't really explain, but it is true that things are DIFFERENT. All this drama has left my little family broken. We are all damaged, fragile and weak, each in our own little way. I have realized that as the "mom", I am the one who is going to have to instigate the positive changes that need to be made in order for my family to heal. So, to do this I need to clean house. I don't mean wash down the walls (though that needs to be done too), but I mean more figuratively. In order for me to be able to take on the load that I am going to have to carry to heal my family, I must first unload some of what I already have. The fears, sorrows, etc. that I carry around cannot be placed on my family, they have enough, so I need a quiet place where I can put my stressors, free from judgement, free from guilt, and where I can just say what I need to say, when need to say it. I have seriously debated erasing this blog, and never typing again, but have decided I am going to use this blog for that place where I can "dump" when I need to. Now, please understand that 95% of what will be written here will be the weird jibberish of the daily life of a 40 something housewife. But for the other 5% there are some things that I need you, the reader, to understand.
1. I am an extremely spiritual person. Some of what may be dumped here could be very spiritual in nature. I am a very private person when it comes to my spiritual life. I make it a point to not share my spirituality with people because frankly it's none of your damn business. However, if you are going to be reading this, please note that to me spirituality and religion are 2 completely different things. I DO NOT CARE what religion you say you are. If you are LDS, Buddhist, Catholic, Episcoplian, Druid, or like to go out naked and beat a drum in the woods, I do not care. If that is where your worship leads you, then go for it. I will never tell you you are wrong to worship in the way you do, and I expect the same respect. I WILL NOT argue, or debate religion in any way shape or form. If however, you would like to discuss (as a rational person) elements of spirituality, I will be more than happy to talk with you.
2. Perception vs Intent: Recently in the news there has been a story of a kid wearing a white sheet or blanket over his head to look like the KKK, and offending a black student at his school. The sheet wearer says it was a joke, and he never INTENDED it to be offensive. The black student says he PERCEIVED it to be a threat on his heritage. Which is correct? In my view, they both are. Though it was never intended to be a threat, it was perceived as such. Same with this blog, I may get a little riled at times, and may say something that you perceive to be about you or someone you know. Please note that whatever I say, I do with the intention of clearing out some of my baggage, and in no way intend on on it hurting or damaging anyone else. There is enough pain in this world already, and I will try to tread softly and have no intention of hurting anyone. But if you perceive my words as a threat, or I damage you in someway, I am truly, truly sorry, and I would like to know about it so I can make amends.
3. This is not a contest: If you have known me for long, you will know that I am TOTALLY in awe of Natalie Norton and her awesome self. You can check out the incredibleness here: http://www.natalienortonblog.com/
Miss Natalie lives in Hawaii, has 4 children, all boys, the youngest of which recently died from Whooping Cough. I "blog stalked" her long before her son was born, and followed her through his tragic death and now her spiritual and physical renewal. She is my idol. I look at her, (she lost her son, for crying out loud!) and in the last year has managed to learn to run, increase the prosperity of her photography business, and soar to the sky. And me...well...I am stuck in a quagmire of depression and darkness that I can't find my way out of. I watch her and I see albatross wings, and I wonder why I can't soar, too. Then I read what she says, and she says you've got to find what you want out of life. You need something to shoot for, and I realize right now I don't know. I don't know what I want. I want my family to be healthy, happy. I want to feel JOY again. How to get there? I don't know yet. This is part of the journey. But I must remember this is not a contest. It is not my goal to be more happy than Natalie, or more happy than you, or more happy than anyone. It is my goal to be the most happy that I can be. ME. So I don't need to hear from you that I shouldn't feel sad, I have all these great things, I live in a great house with a great guy, and a great kid, we take great vacations, my life is great. Yes, I know how great my life is. I also know that for me it can be better. It is not a contest.
So there you have it. Making it real. More real than I want, but it needs to be done. If you are brave enough to journey with me, then welcome. I have no idea where I am going, but am willing to take one step at a time. If you would rather not listen to the crazy lady rant, then I can respect that too, thanks for stopping by.
1. I am an extremely spiritual person. Some of what may be dumped here could be very spiritual in nature. I am a very private person when it comes to my spiritual life. I make it a point to not share my spirituality with people because frankly it's none of your damn business. However, if you are going to be reading this, please note that to me spirituality and religion are 2 completely different things. I DO NOT CARE what religion you say you are. If you are LDS, Buddhist, Catholic, Episcoplian, Druid, or like to go out naked and beat a drum in the woods, I do not care. If that is where your worship leads you, then go for it. I will never tell you you are wrong to worship in the way you do, and I expect the same respect. I WILL NOT argue, or debate religion in any way shape or form. If however, you would like to discuss (as a rational person) elements of spirituality, I will be more than happy to talk with you.
2. Perception vs Intent: Recently in the news there has been a story of a kid wearing a white sheet or blanket over his head to look like the KKK, and offending a black student at his school. The sheet wearer says it was a joke, and he never INTENDED it to be offensive. The black student says he PERCEIVED it to be a threat on his heritage. Which is correct? In my view, they both are. Though it was never intended to be a threat, it was perceived as such. Same with this blog, I may get a little riled at times, and may say something that you perceive to be about you or someone you know. Please note that whatever I say, I do with the intention of clearing out some of my baggage, and in no way intend on on it hurting or damaging anyone else. There is enough pain in this world already, and I will try to tread softly and have no intention of hurting anyone. But if you perceive my words as a threat, or I damage you in someway, I am truly, truly sorry, and I would like to know about it so I can make amends.
3. This is not a contest: If you have known me for long, you will know that I am TOTALLY in awe of Natalie Norton and her awesome self. You can check out the incredibleness here: http://www.natalienortonblog.com/
Miss Natalie lives in Hawaii, has 4 children, all boys, the youngest of which recently died from Whooping Cough. I "blog stalked" her long before her son was born, and followed her through his tragic death and now her spiritual and physical renewal. She is my idol. I look at her, (she lost her son, for crying out loud!) and in the last year has managed to learn to run, increase the prosperity of her photography business, and soar to the sky. And me...well...I am stuck in a quagmire of depression and darkness that I can't find my way out of. I watch her and I see albatross wings, and I wonder why I can't soar, too. Then I read what she says, and she says you've got to find what you want out of life. You need something to shoot for, and I realize right now I don't know. I don't know what I want. I want my family to be healthy, happy. I want to feel JOY again. How to get there? I don't know yet. This is part of the journey. But I must remember this is not a contest. It is not my goal to be more happy than Natalie, or more happy than you, or more happy than anyone. It is my goal to be the most happy that I can be. ME. So I don't need to hear from you that I shouldn't feel sad, I have all these great things, I live in a great house with a great guy, and a great kid, we take great vacations, my life is great. Yes, I know how great my life is. I also know that for me it can be better. It is not a contest.
So there you have it. Making it real. More real than I want, but it needs to be done. If you are brave enough to journey with me, then welcome. I have no idea where I am going, but am willing to take one step at a time. If you would rather not listen to the crazy lady rant, then I can respect that too, thanks for stopping by.
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