Quacker Jack

A year ago my dog died. He followed a boy into the kitchen, twitched and fell down dead. There was nothing we could do. It wasn't our fault. He just died.  His name was Quacker Jack and he was 6 years old.

I wasn't there when it happened. I got the call while I was having lunch with a friend. I pretended that I was okay but I wasnt. I cried the whole way home. "Not my Jack."

I got home to find him lying in a puddle of his own urine on my kitchen floor. I laid down beside him and sobbed. I hugged him and petted him, crying and keening, "Not my Jack."

Eventually I picked him up and carried him to the car. I held him on my lap all the way to the vets. They asked if I was ready to let him go. "No, never, not my Jack." We paid crazy amounts of money so I could have his ashes back. And then I drove away with empty arms and a broken heart, to a silent house.

Eating toast for breakfast was impossible without my best friend to sit beside me and eat the crusts. I couldn't go for a walk without him to walk with. Surrounded with people I was so desperately lonely.

I immediately got a new dog. A girl dog, a black dog. But she wasn't my dog and I didn't like her. She was a good dog,  but she wasn't my dog. She knew it too. I didn't share my toast with her. I just stopped eating toast. I didn't take her for walks, I just stayed home. She didn't crawl under my bed during storms. She didn't sleep with my boy. She didn't fit because she wasn't my Jack.

Last week I sent her away. She deserves a family that loves her and that will never be me because she isn't Jack. I cried when she left not because I miss her, but because she wasn't Jack and I miss my dog so much.

It's been a year. Today I took a little wooden box out of a cardboard box and put it on the shelf. Today I unplugged the invisible fence. Today I cried. My house is empty without a dog. But not just any dog will do.

Love comes in all different shapes and sizes as does grief. I thought I could just put a new dog in my house and go on like it never happened. I know that I have been depressed this past year. I couldn't find joy in anything. My life was gray. I didn't realize how bad it was. I really don't know how to heal from this but pretending that everything is okay isn't working. So today I am sitting with grief.  Today I am remembering.

Someday there will be another dog that I fall in love with but there will never be another Quacker Jack.

Coming Out of the Closet

I feel more than I want to feel. I see more than I want to see. This is my super power and also my curse.

I am an Empath, a highly sensitive person. I do not feel blessed by this. In fact when I wrote about facing my demons, this is what I was talking about.

I didn't know anything about being an empath. I thought everyone could feel what other people feel. I thought everyone could see beyond the surface of why people do what they do.  I thought everyone could read other people's body language. Can't they?

Apparently not.

I thought there was something wrong with me. I cry all the time, books and movies of course but also when I hear people's stories or see someone's pain or their joy.

I can't watch "bad" TV - it makes me sick to my stomach.  The news disturbs me so I don't watch it or listen to it on the radio. I never read the newspaper.

I make decisions about people because they shine or because they just feel bad. Try explaining that to people.

Even worse, I remember people.  Not just from this life time but from previous ones. I know who I've known before.  It hurts sometimes when other people don't recognize me back. Contrarily, it scares me when they do.

I'm learning to accept all of these strange and wonderful things about myself. But I still struggle everyday. I feel too much. I don't mind sharing your joy or your sorrows.

My problem is your anger. It comes off you in waves. It abrades me, rubbing me raw. It makes me sick to my stomach and makes me cry. No matter how much I love you it hurts me.

I want to be a turtle and hide in my shell. I stop talking and laughing.  Every nerve ending is jangling in pain.

The longer I spend with you the worse it gets.

I don't know how to protect myself so I shut off and tune out. I reject people.  Some people say I'm shy, some say I'm a snob. No, I'm just in pain with no way out.

I'm making friends with this demon that lives inside me. It's not so bad. I understand me so much better now. Because I understand, I can allow myself to cry, to turn off the tv, to avoid those people that hurt me.

Finally, I'm coming out of the closet. This is me and I'm okay just the way I am.

Acceptable Sins

I may drink coffee but at least I don't smoke.

I smoke but at least it isn't pot.

Hey I smoke pot but at least I'm not a crack addict.

I know I'm a crack addict but at least I've never had a crack baby.

We rationalize our sins, constantly judging and comparing so we can elevate ourselves above others.

I lose my temper but at least I don't kick the dog.

I kick the dog when I'm mad but I've never beat my kids.

I smack my kids around sometimes but I'm not some sicko pedophile.

I diddle little kids but I've never killed anyone.

Yea, I killed that guy but at least I didn't lie about it.

As humans we qualify and quantify and label everything.  Our ego plays this constant game of judging and comparing.

I did this myself lately.

I may be addicted to sugar but at least I'm not addicted to alcohol.

This is me telling myself I'm better than someone else. Am I a better person than you because my addiction is sugar and yours is caffeine, or cigarettes or beer or weed? Am I a better person than you because my house isn't as messy or because I'm thinner or because I don't sleep around? Am I a better person because I have yet to be put in a situation where I found it necessary to kill someone?

Every single one of us is doing the best we can with what we've got.

If I had the life experiences and personality you do, I'd make the same choices and have the same addictions.

But really, what we're talking about is judgement. No matter how low we sink we find it necessary to elevate ourselves higher than someone else. It is what we do. Every single one of us.

This is really hard for me to wrap my mind around. I have to be a better person than a rapist, a pedophile, a murderer, an addict, a homeless person, a liar, a thief, a gambler, a prostitute and you. Aren't I?

This is the common delusion we all share. Some of us are better than others. Some of us are more worthy than others.  It isn't true. We are all exactly the same divine beings under our wounds and our pains and our human frailties.

By believing we are better than, we can sit in judgement on others. We can withdraw our love and compassion and turn our backs on those who are less than. This is really what we are doing and perhaps it is the greatest of all sins.

I do not suggest we condone the actions of ourselves or others, but rather look beyond those actions to see the soul within each of us and the fear that makes us act in these ways. We can extend compassion, kindness, loving and peaceful thoughts to all, regardless of what external choices and behaviors we witness.

I challenge you, next time the thought crosses your mind that you are better than someone else because at least you didn't do THAT, take a moment to recognize your judgement and instead offer compassion.

The Monkey on my Back

There is a monkey on my back and his name is Should.

He sits with me constantly, and has a monologue going all day long.

You should do the laundry.

You should clean the house.

You should think about what's for dinner.

You should pay the bills.

You should eat more vegetables. 

You should exercise more.

You should lose weight.

You should walk the dog.

You should read the kids a bedtime story.

You should turn off the tv.

For variety Should adds a not now and then.

You shouldn't eat that ice cream.

You shouldn't drive so fast.

You shouldn't say that just cause you're mad.

With every should he utters he gets heavier and heavier for me to carry.  My shoulders hunch. My head bows.

Should makes me feel like a failure. Should drags me down.

But there is a spark of rebellion inside me. It is called resistance and it says I don't have to listen to Should. I can do what I want, when I want.

So when Should tells me to pay the bills, I go shopping for a new pair of shoes. And when Should tells me to eat more vegetables I pick up another cookie. When Should tells me to turn off the TV, I pick up the remote and turn it up a little louder to drown him out.

Resistance to Should is an every day battle and it's exhausting.  It drains my energy. I spend so much time battling the Should that I don't have time for fun things. And because I resist Should with all my might it takes forever to get anything done.

I'm contemplating sending Should off to the zoo and inviting his brother Could to come and live with me instead.

It's a novel idea.

I could fold the laundry or I could read a book.

I could think about what's for supper or I could feed the kids cereal for dinner again.

I could read the kids a bedtime story or we could all watch Family Feud together.

Hmmm... with Could I feel all the rebellion and resistance drain out of me. There is no battle to fight.

I feel so much more peaceful living with Could.

I think Should needs to stay at the zoo. I'm enjoying Could much more.