Cash

I apologize in advance, this might be all over the place, and may not make sense. It also may be hard for some to read, because I am going to be describing traumatic details of the accident, and Cash's death. I'm going to start from the beginning, in hopes that this will help me sort some of this out, as well as not have this post be more rambly than necessary.

Friday morning was like any other morning. Rob left for work at 6, and around 6:30 I got up to get the kids ready for school. Friday is garbage day here. Rob and I had started not letting Cash out until after 8 on Friday mornings, so we knew for sure the garbage truck had gone. Cash loved garbage, not unlike any dog. But, we had noticed lately that what we thought was a wild animal going through our garbage across the street in the morning, was actually Cash. And since we knew he would risk life and limb for garbage, we thought that making sure the temptation wasn't there was for the best.

The only thing is, for some reason, this Friday, I didn't even think about it. It was around 7am, and Cash was whining at the door, and without even thinking, I opened the door, and let him out. A decision I will regret for the rest of my life. He wasn't even outside for 5 minutes, when I heard the most horrible, awful sound I've ever heard. Screaming. Screaming so loud, and so horrifying that it is forever burned into my brain. I knew, I knew right away. I threw open the door, and bolted to the end of my driveway, through 2 feet of snow, in my socks. He was howling at the end of the driveway. There was no car, but I knew what had happened. I didn't see the car hit him, but, I could tell that it was his back end. All of a sudden, a car appeared. A man and a woman bounded out. Both extremely distraught, and apologetic. "He popped up out of the garbage at the last second. I'm so sorry, I didn't even see him!" I didn't feel anger at the driver. I didn't blame him....I blamed myself. I let him out, knowing it was garbage day. It was dark, and Cash was black, I knew that it wasn't the drivers fault. It was at this time, that I was trying to assess Cash's injuries, and figure out whether or not I could get him into the house. The couple offered to help, but Cash didn't want them anywhere near him. He hated strangers, and he was in a lot of pain. I told them to just go. And I started gently leading Cash by his collar into the house. He was in pain, but I honestly thought he would be fine. He was limping, but he was able to walk, with me leading him. We made it the 50ft to the porch, and then he refused to move. He has a fear of steps on a good day, and now, with his back half not working properly, he wasn't having any of it. I walked up the steps to open the door, and Cash climbed up on his own, and into the house, where he immediately laid down. He wouldn't let me check out his back legs, but I could only assume that's where he was hit. But, I still didn't think he wouldn't make it through this. I even told Ciena that Cash wouldn't die. Why would I say that?

Cash was whining, but he was coherent, and didn't seem to be in shock, so I was hopeful. I called my mom right away to come get the kids on the bus, so I could get him to the vet. But, when I called the emergency line, they said they closed at 8, so my best bet would be to just take Cash to the vet's office for 8am. After we got the kids on the bus, I got ready to load Cash into the van. But, when I tried to get him up, he screamed and screamed. Now, Cash is 130lbs. He is big, and in pain. There was no way that I, or my mother, or both of us, would be able to get him into the vehicle. I needed my husband. When I finally got a hold of him, he left work right away, and rushed home. I had called the vet's office, so they were expecting us.

When Rob showed up, we worked fast. We slid a blanket under him, as gently as possible. He howled in pain the entire time, but once we lifted him, he relaxed. Maybe he knew that we wouldn't d anything to intentionally hurt him. We got to the office, and got a muzzle on him, since he wasn't to keen on strangers touching him, especially in the kind of pain he was in.

The first thing the vet did was take his vitals. She said his temp was good, his lungs sounded clear, his gums, and his colour looked good. She said his heart was a little fast, but not fast enough to be worrisome, and it was probably associated with the pain. She felt his legs, and said nothing felt broken, so she was mainly worried about his hips, but since he had a lot of padding, she was hopeful. So, they sent us off for coffee so they could do x-rays. I felt sick. I just wanted her to say he was just banged and bruised. And, honestly, I thought that was what she would say. There was no way anything really could be wrong. Cash was stubborn, and sweet, and protective, and healthy! He would be fine. He had to be.

When we got back to the office, they weren't quite finished, so we had to wait another 15 minutes, which was torture. But, they finally called us back. As soon as the vet came in, I knew it wasn't good. She showed us x-ray after x-ray. Each one worse than the one before it. Cash's right hip was completely out of joint. The vet explained that when that happens, not only does the hip pop out, but it tears the muscles, and everything with it. She also pointed out that Cash's tailbone was crushed. And, he was actually peeing involuntarily while they were x-raying him. So, there was concern that Cash's nerves were damaged. While they were moving him, he was almost oblivious, so there was a good chance that he had nerve damage that resulted in loss of feeling. The vet told us that the nerve damage aside, she could try and pop his hip back into joint, but he would then need to have his leg in a sling for 2 weeks, and he would not be able to move, which would mean being carried outside for bathroom breaks. Now, like I said, Cash is 130lbs, I am a stay at home mom, it would be up to me to get him outside, and there would be no way. Not only that, he would have to not move, and we would hope that scar tissue would form to hold his hip in place, which we were told very rarely works.

She also told us that we were free to have a consult with an orthopaedic surgeon, to discuss whether or not there was anything that could be done surgically. But, she warned us that the starting costs for something like that were around $3000, and she was pretty sure Cash's nerve damage was the larger issue, and that would prevent him from having a normal, or decent quality of life. So she left us alone to discuss our options. I already knew what was going to happen. Even if we did have $3000(at least) to spend, we had no idea if this would give him a life quality that we knew he deserved. We cried, and hugged. I said I was sorry over and over. I let Cash out, I felt to blame for this. Rob told me repeatedly that it was NOT my fault. We both knew that this was a danger as far as Cash was concerned. We both failed. We knew that Cash wandered to the road, we failed him. Rob was convinced that I hated him, because he was the one saying that we couldn't put out the money. But, we both knew that wasn't an option. We had 3 kids, and we had a doctor telling us that she thought the nerve damage was too extensive for him to make a recovery. We made the most humane decision for him.

Talking about making the decision to euthanize, and actually doing it create such different emotions. This was a situation where we had a dog that couldn't move. He was big, and in pain. It wasn't like we could take him home, and have some time with him. It had to be done now. Thinking about my kids made my stomach ache. I had told my daughter that her dog would not die. And I didn't think I was just saying that. I truly believed it. And now, here we were. Thinking about how I would tell them was making me physically ill.

We asked if Cash was still sedated, or if he was awake. We wanted to spend some time with him before we let him go. She led us through the doors, it wasn't a peaceful environment. They had him on a blanket on the floor, with all of the animal cages around him. Obviously this wasn't where any of us wanted to do this, but like I said. He's a big dog that's hard to move, and even harder when he's in pain. He was awake, but he was really groggy. We both sat down, with his head in my lap, we told him how much he was loved. We told him how proud we were to be a part of his life. We told him what an amazing protector he was for our family. We rubbed his head, and his paws, and his belly, and just loved him. We looked into his eyes, and knew that he knew what was happening, and that made it even worse. We told the vet we were ready, and she warned us that it would take a few minutes, and we might notice some twitching, and funny movements. I remembered how quick it was with Max 4 years earlier, so the second she started to inject him, I held him and just repeated to him over and over "We love you, you are so loved, we love you, you are so loved." And his breathing got more rapid, and it sounded like he was snoring, and then he seemed still. She checked his heart, and said he was just sleeping, that he needed a little more. Like I said, big dog. After she gave him the second injection, I knew he was gone. I felt it. I felt empty. He was gone. Just like that.

We left immediately, and went to the kids' school to pick them up. We wanted to be together as a family, and we wanted to tell them right away. As I was signing the kids out, I heard Ciena talking to Rob. "Daddy, sis you hear about Cash?" "Is he at the vet?" "Are we going to get him?" I could hear Rob skirting around every question, wanting to not be in the school when we discussed this. As soon as everyone was buckled, I told them that Cash wasn't coming home. We explained what happened, and tried our best to answer their questions. I sat in the back holding my daughter as she sobbed. Joel, being 5 was slightly upset, but he was thinking of other things almost instantly. Logan obviously didn't understand anything beyond "Cash dead"

Our home was anything but a safe haven. Rob immediately got to work busying himself with housework to keep his mind occupied. I just layed on the couch and cried. But, little did I know, the worst was yet to come. Every day I wake up feeling worse than the one before. I can't even explain the level of grief I'm feeling. I have lost many beloved people in my life, relatives that I was extremely close to, and the grief I felt then, doesn't even touch the way I'm feeling now. Every detail of my day involved my dog. He slept at the foot of out bed, and after Rob would leave for work, he would lay down on the floor by my side of the bed. He would go outside with the kids and I, and wait for the bus with us, then he would bark at me constantly after they drive off, waiting for me to let him into the house. He was my shadow, he was my protector. If someone pulled into our driveway that Cash didn't know, he would stand in between me, and them, and not let them get anywhere near me. During naptime, he would lay on my lap while I read on the couch. He made my days better, he made my days so full of love and companionship. Now, I have never felt so lonely. Walking back up to the house today after the kids got o the bus, was the loneliest walk I've ever taken. It was so debilitating, that I had Rob get them off the bus this afternoon, because I just couldn't handle it. I don't know how to cope with this feeling. I can't sleep, because every time I close my eyes, I can hear his screaming. I flutter between wanting to adopt another dog right away, to never wanting another one again, every 10 minutes. The loneliness is almost crippling. I couldn't wait for Logan to take his nap, so that I could cry. And that's what I did. For the entirety of his 2 hour nap, I sobbed, I called my dog, I screamed to my dog like a complete lunatic. I counted down the minutes until Rob got home, so that I had someone to talk to, someone who understood how I felt.

Not knowing if my dog is safe, or happy, or missing me, or surrounded by love, makes my heart break. I'm so desperate for answers that I have been reading up on pets in the afterlife, and desperately grasping for anything to let me know that he's alright. I just need a sign, a small one, a large one, I don't care. I miss my friend. I miss the way he used to stop before taking a step because he had the biggest problem getting up and down them. The way he used to wait until Rob would get off the couch, and immediately take his spot. The way he would come into the bathroom while I was taking a bath, and lick the water off the edge of the tub, it seemed so gross at the time, but now I just miss it so much. He loved us, he loved us all so deeply that it hurts to think about it. He loved my kids, and would do anything to protect them. He was the greatest friend I've ever had, and now he's gone. I can't make sense of any of this. I just want to feel this less. I want to feel one second of happiness that isn't followed by 20 minutes of complete devastation. I've just never felt so alone in my life. Sometimes my sadness feels so deep that it terrifies me, and makes me think I'll never feel better. I have no desire to leave my house, or to be around people. I can't sleep, I can't eat without feeling sick, and throwing up. And as much as people keep telling me that it will get easier and easier to cope, I just don't believe that right now. All I can see right now, is darkness.

I just pray that my friend is safe and happy, and knows how much he is loved. I hope he can still feel that, wherever he is.

New Years resolutions!

So, I know you were all on the edge of your seat waiting for this. Haha!

Every year, I make resolutions, that are somewhat unnatainable. I mean, who doesn't, right? But this year? This year I plan on keeping them all. So, in order to hold myself accountable, I'm sharing them with you!

• Get this weight off, once and for all! I lost 30lbs in 2014, which doesn't seem like much when your goal is 80lbs. But, it gave me room to breathe. I finally felt curvy, instead of just "fat" God, I hate that word. I felt happier, I had energy, I just felt more amazing than I had in years. I had a setback, and while I haven't gained any weight back....I am definitely fluffier. And, my thoughts had always been that as soon as we were for sure finished having babies, I would get serious. Well, here we are! And this is my year!
• Get more organized. Clutter. Clutter everywhere! I want it gone. I will be no longer hoarding every single sheet of paper my kids colour on. Some of it has to go! Clothing that no longer fits will be going to goodwill, and my cupboards will lose the expired green beans. 
• Have more sex. I know that as a mother with small children, it's very easy to get into a routine. Trust me, I've been there. You are exhausted because your kids don't sleep. You are overwhelmed with everything that needs to be done. At the end of the day you just want some time where nobody touches you. But, suddenly you realize that you and your husband have turned into roommates. And even though there are many nights when I would rather be doing anything else, I know that it's important for my marriage. 
• Run, run, run. I love running. I honestly never ever thought I would like it, let alone love it this much. It's therapeutic, it's exhausting, it's liberating....it's just everything. I have realized that lately I just haven't been doing enough of it. And with a half marathon coming up in June, I really need to put the time in. 
• Spend more one on one time with my kids. With 3 kids, you find out very quickly that there isn't always enough time to go around. And then, you get kids who act out for attention. Which is something we're dealing with right now. And I know that it's important for my kids to feel like they don't have to compete for my undivided attention. So, some alone time for each of them separately is in order for 2015.
• Read more! Another thing that suffers when you are busy with life is hobbies. I love to read, always have. But lately, I have noticed that I cannot remember the last time I read a book. Not a self help book, or a comic book, but an actual novel. So, I plan on making that a priority this year!
• Be kind to myself. This needs no explanation. 

I am really set on 2015 being one of the best years yet. :)

Have a safe and happy New Year all of my wonderful friends and family!

11 years later

So, you guys are super lucky tonight. You will be getting a two for the price of one! Two blog posts! So, here's number one.

11 years ago, I was invited to a New Years Eve party. The word was that someone wanted to meet me. I wasn't really the partying type, but, it was a night out with family, and friends. I didn't really know this guy who wanted to meet me at all. I had seen him at a few family functions, he happened to be my cousin's best friend. So, he wasn't a complete stranger to me. But, I had never spoken to him at all. I remembered the previous summer when he and I had both attended another cousin's BBQ. At one point, he and my cousin strolled over to my mom and I, and he literally just stared at me the entire time my cousin talked to us. So, at that point, my thoughts were: Creepy. I mean, who would have been endeared by that?

Fast forward to New Years. The party was at my cousin's house, and my dad, Aunt, and Uncle were going too. So, we all rode together. Well, the evening felt somewhat like a bust. I mean, I had a good time, but Rob never spoke a single word to me at all. I wasn't interested in drinking, but he drank enough for the both of us. And finally I looked at the clock, and it was 2am. I was expecting to head home, when I heard a voice say "So, do you maybe wanna take a walk?" Um, huh?? It's 2am, I've been here since 7, and this is the first words you've spoken to me. We're in the middle of a wrecking yard, where there are ample places to hide a body. A walk? I looked at my dad, and he didn't look jazzed about Rob's new found courage. But, I am unable to say no....so outside I go. Now, let me say, I honestly cannot remember what we talked about. I remember that Rob rambled a lot, and he was severely inebriated, so most of it made absolutely no sense. And just when I thought he couldn't have blown his chance any harder than he did, his parting words to me as I was leaving the party...with my DAD, were "Hey, if you wanna stay, you can share the pullout couch with me." Cue my dad shoving me out the door as quickly as possible. And also, cue me, wondering why I wasted 7 hours of my life here.

I had given Rob my number, mostly because I didn't want to be rude, and also, because I was sure that he would never call me. Well, I was wrong. He called a few days later, and I put him off by telling him that I had exams coming up, and I needed to be studying. But, relentless as he was, I agreed to him coming out to my house so that we could get to know each other better. I had no idea that I would be so thankful that I agreed to that "date"

I like this guy. I liked him quite a bit. He was kind of shy, but he was funny, and he actually wanted to know about me, and my life. So, after that first date, that was it. I had to see this guy again. We really jumped into things, And less than a month later, Rob was staying at my place almost every night, and commuting 40 minutes to work everyday, a drive that would be a short 10 minutes from his own house. 6 months into our relationship, we were living together, and we set out to prove everyone who was saying that we were moving way too fast, wrong.

And now, here we are. 11 years, 3 children, and everything that goes along with that. Has it been easy? Hell no! I can very clearly, and concisely say, it has been anything but easy. We have had to fight, and fight, and fight some more, just to get to the place we are at today. And in fact, we almost didn't make it this far. There was a very horrible time, where our future together was not looking so great. But, the one thing we both knew for certain was this: We love each other more than anything. We are committed to each other, and this life that we have created together. And with a lot of work, and a lot of love, we have come through to the other side. Happier than ever.

I still think back to that night, and laugh. It was a disaster. I never in a million years would have ever believed anyone who told me that 11 years later, this would be where I was. But, I cannot imagine my life any other way. And every day I am so thankful for this wonderful man who took me completely by surprise.

Ramblings

So,  I apologize in advance.  This might be long,  it might be short.  It will probably be all over the place,  and not make sense, either.  And,  I'm posting it from my phone.  Wheeeeeee!

I'm not even sure why I'm writing this? Maybe to help myself understand my emotions better? I am overweight.  Anyone who knows me,  is aware of this.  Last summer I got fed up with my fat ass,  and started busting it.  I was working out and running consistently,  and I lost 30 lbs!  An amazing accomplishment.  I was proud of myself.  Then,  Winter came....and everything went to shit.  I am now in a slump.  I still weigh the exact same as I did at the end of the summer.  But, I feel I different.  I feel....fluffier.  my bra feels tighter,  my shirts don't fit the same way,  I'm depressed. 

I don't need anyone telling me "You still look great!" Or "Don't do forget how far you've come!" I am the one responsible for the way things are.  And I'm just,  sad. I have never been thin.  I haven't always been overweight,  but even at my smallest,  I've never been thin.  Which isn't such a big deal,  and I can even live with that. 

The thing that bothers me is this: I think about my weight constantly.  And that is not an exaggeration.  When I wake up in the morning,  I tell myself that today will be different.  I will eat sensibly,  and get back on track. Then I get the kids off to school,  and I feel hungry.  Then I feel guilty.  I feel guilty before I've even eaten anything.  Why?  I have no idea.  I'm worried that I'll sabbatoge myself before I even eat.  I'm sad that I can't just eat what I want, without worrying. I wonder what that must be like.  So,  I don't eat at all. Which is a mistake.  I know this,  but I'm trying to prove to myself that I have control.  Although,  I don't.  Because when lunchtime comes,  I either eat way too much, or not at all.  I'm afraid of food.  I hate food.  I hate that I cannot just eat a sandwich without feeling guilty,  and like I'm failing.  And on the days that I overdo it, I destroy the entire day because I'm trying to punish myself.  For what?  I'm not sure. Then after dinner I sit on the couch with my husband,  and I curl up under a blanket,  and sweat,  because I need the blanket to cover my stomach, so nobody  (including me) can see how big it is.  Then at night I lay on my side and suck my stomach in if my husband touches me. Who am I?  This man loves me.  He doesn't care about any of that stuff.  Why do I do this to myself? 

I am active.  I run almost everyday,  I work out a few times a week. But,  I just don't feel good about myself.  I had big plans to be past my first big weight milestone,  and into the next by christmas.  And now I feel like a joke.  It's the holidays.  I so desperately want to be able to enjoy myself, and eat without worry.  But I feel scared.  I'm scared that I won't be able to workout and I'll overeat,  because....Christmas,  and I'll be back at square one. 

Like I said,  I'm not sure why I'm writing this? Maybe other women will be able to identify?  It would be nice to feel not so alone.  I know I'll get my mojo back,  and I'll kick ass again.  I just hope that happens soon. 

What it feels like for a girl...

Are you singing that song in your head now? You're welcome.

I decided to write this post, one that I have had floating in my head for a while, but haven't been able to articulate in words....and I possibly still can't, so bear with me.

I read an article tonight about "sluts" and why that term isn't relevant. And then I read the comments. Now, everyone knows that the number one rule of the Internet is "Never read the comments!" But I did, and now I'm raging, and a little sad.

I have an 8 year old daughter. She is spirited, and wilful, and independent, and everything that I want her to be in this life. In short, she takes no shit from anyone. She knows what she likes, she doesn't stand for unkindness, and she is the first person to call someone out for being an asshole, albeit, not in those exact words. I am so proud of her, and can't wait to see where she takes herself in this life. But, I'm also terrified. Because, as much as we don't want it to be, and as much as we fight against it. It is still very much, a man's world. And, I'm not saying that in a derogatory sense, especially because I am very hopeful that by the time my daughter is a grown woman, things are different. I'm going to list some things that bother me about the world we live in today, when it comes to living in said world, as a woman.

The word slut. Well, this is taken from the dictionary.

Definition of SLUT

1

chiefly British :  a slovenly woman

2

a :  a promiscuous woman; especially :  prostitute

b :  a saucy girl :  minx

So, as you can see, the definitions are kind of all over the place. But, if you hear the word slut in conversation, it's usually used to put women down. "She is dressed like a slut." "You are acting like a slut" You get the point. So, I'm going to ask...how does a slut dress? How does a slut act? Basically what a great number of the population is saying is that if you dress a certain way, or act on desires that you have (as a grown woman) this is the label that you get pinned with. I mean, seriously. I bet you can go through your high school yearbook, and every single one of you can point out a girl that had a "slutty" reputation around school. Right? Maybe she dressed a certain way, to entice the guys around school....or maybe, just maybe she was comfortable in those clothes. Maybe she liked expressing herself through fashion, and didn't give a shit about what the guys would think. She possibly dated a lot of guys, maybe she even slept with all of them? She probably craved that male attention, right? She probably had issues with her dad, and she was looking for love in all the wrong ways? Or, maybe, just maybe, she just liked to get out of the house on the weekends. Maybe she didn't sleep with any of the guys. Or, maybe she did. But not because she had some deep rooted daddy issues, but simply because women like sex too. Oh, what's that? You weren't aware of that? 

It's just not fair to be a grown woman, who is confident with her body, and sexuality, to act on her desires, and then be labelled for her actions. Especially by other women! Seriously girls, stop cutting other women down, we get enough of that from men. Don't do it to each other. The slut shaming has to stop. 

The fear. Okay. This isn't something that I have really thought about, or experienced until very recently. In April of this year, I started running. I wanted to up my workouts, and I also needed an outlet for all of my stress, so running made sense. Well, one thing that I didn't expect? The fear. I live on a country road, pretty much in the middle of nowhere. I have neighbours, but they certainly aren't as close as you would have in a city, or a small town. The area I live in has crime, obviously much like most areas, but I have never ever felt unsafe. Well, one thing I noticed every time I ran alone, I was scared. Not even sure of what. One time a man on a bicycle rode past me, and I literally had to stop running because I was having a panic attack, thinking about him hurting me. Irrational I know. But this stuff happens. I finally stopped running alone after several runners were either followed by men, or approached by men. This isn't right. Everyone should be able to run down their road/street/trail/track, without being terrified that someone is wanting to do them harm. This isn't how I want my daughter to feel any time she goes out anywhere by herself. And that's not to say that men aren't the victims of crimes like these, too. They absolutely are. But not in the same magnitude as women. And chances are, the men that I see running alone down the road, probably aren't thinking that they could be assaulted, or worse, while on their morning run. That fear is like nothing I've ever felt before.

My last subject is a big one. A controversial one, but one that I need to talk about. Abortion. I am a 31 year old, married woman with 3 children. My husband and I have taken permanent steps to ensure we will not have any additional children. But, this Spring, I had a scare. I won't go into details, but I thought I might be pregnant. I was terrified. I felt sick at the prospect of more children. I love my kids to death. I would die for them. But, I do not want any more kids. I know in my heart and soul that 3 is my limit. A point of contention between my husband and I. He would have gladly added more chaos to this household. I was the one who had to firmly say. I can't. I can't do it again, I won't do it again. So, we did what we had to do, and had a permanent procedure. But, then I was late. Discussing this with my husband, we had very different ideas. He obviously thought, well, what's one more? It'll be fun to have another little baby again. I felt the exact opposite. We were on completely different sides. But, the difference between us was, I was the only one who could truly decide. After all, it's my body. And yes, he's my husband, and I take his feelings very seriously, and I love him more than anything. But, ultimately I knew I was not having any more children. I told him this, and he really didn't understand what I was saying. He thought I was talking about adoption, but I'll never forget the look on his face when he realized that I was talking about abortion. He and I have very different opinions on the subject, and I knew that a decision like that could have a detrimental effect on my marriage. But, I also knew that bringing another child into this situation would have been extremely irresponsible. Now, luckily we didn't have to get that far, because I was NOT pregnant. But, the point I'm trying to make is. I, a 31 year old, married woman, would have chosen abortion. It would have been my right to make that choice. After all, nobody else is going to help me buy diapers, nobody else is going to get up in the night with it, nobody else is going to go through the PPD for me. But, just as a 31 year old woman should be free to make that choice so should a 16 year old, and so should a 45 year old. It is nobody Else's choice. And when I see people trying to take that choice away from women, I just get sad. Everyone is free to believe what they want to about abortion, but the simple thing is, if you don't agree with abortions....don't have one. 

This world is changing everyday. Some things for the better, and some worse. I have so many wishes for my little girl. I want her to get a good education, I want her to always be kind, and make friends wherever she goes. I wish for her to find true love from someone that is good to her, a person who respects her, and loves her for who she is. But, I also want her to be able to wear anything she wants to wear, without being judged for it. I want her to never be ashamed of her sexuality. I want her to be able to go out alone, and not be plagued by fear, and uncertainty. I don't want her to be immediately distrustful of any man who she encounters. I want her to walk with purpose. And, I want her to be free to be the judge over her own body. Her body is her own, and I want her to feel that always. And most of all, I want her to know just how much hope I have for her future, and how much love that I have for her. 

10 Years...

So, here we are. Halloween again.

I have kids, so obviously, I have a lot going on every Halloween. But, if I'm being completely honest, I'd like to sleep through the entire fucking day, and night.

10 years ago, on Halloween night, my world changed forever. The ground was swept out from under me, and nothing has been the same since. Last year, I shared the story of the events that played out on Halloween night, so I'm not going to tell that story again. I'm just going to lay some word vomit on you all, mainly because it helps me to cope, and also because....well, I do what I want.

My Grandma Sharon was one of my favourite people in the world. She was warm, she was caring, and she gave absolutely zero fucks about what anyone else thought about her. She was my babysitter, she was my Grandmother, she was my friend. As a child, I don't think we truly grasp just how precious our people are to us. We don't understand that someday they will be gone, and we will wish we asked them all the things we just can't ask them now. Like, my Grandma's lasagna recipe. What is it? I have no idea. And as a child of 13, watching a roomful of grown men devour a huge roasting pan of lasagna, I had no idea how much I would long to know that recipe as an adult. Although, my mom's recipe is pretty kick ass.

I wonder what my Grandma was like as a child. That's another thing. When you are a kid, these things aren't important to you. But, it seemed like, the second she was gone....I wanted to know everything. I wish I had really talked to her, like an adult. Sometimes I do talk to her, and I swear I can hear her voice, and I know exactly what she'd say to me in most situations. But, it's just not enough. She's gone, and it still sucks.

My kids. It kills me, like literally tears my heart to shreds to know that she wasn't around to see my kids. And, I guess depending on what you believe in, you might say "Well, she sees them now. She's so proud!" And that is a perfectly acceptable opinion to have on the subject. Truth is, I don't really know what I believe. I mean, I like to believe that she is in Heaven, with all of the people that left before her, and have left since. Thinking like that makes my heat happy, to know that they're not alone, and she can see the life that I've made for myself, and my beautiful kids. And, it really makes me happy to think that someday, I will be with her, able to hug her, and talk to her, and talk, and talk, and talk. But, I don't know if that's what happens. Maybe you die, and that's it. You rot in the cold, cold ground forever and ever. Which, I guess won't matter once you're dead.

Thinking about my Grandma makes me smile, every time. But, it also takes the breath from my lungs, and makes me sob. And I'm not talking about softly sobbing into your pillow, I mean full on, gut wrenching, body wracking sobs. The kind that drain you of all of your energy, and make you think that you will dehydrate from all the crying. There is just no way for me to think of her, whether it's a good memory, or a sad one, without sobbing uncontrollably. 10 years later, and I still feel the same way I did back then. Grief really never leaves you. You pretty much just carry it around forever. It doesn't get easier living without a loved one, you just learn a better way to manage your pain.

Sometimes I think about how different things would have been, if Grandma hadn't passed away. Maybe things wouldn't be different at all? Maybe they would be exactly the same, except she'd be here? Obviously, I'll never know, but I do think about it a lot. I play a lot of different scenarios in my head when it comes to loved ones that have passed away (I'm not crazy, I swear!) As painful as it is, one thing that is sure to calm me down, and make me feel peaceful, is to think about people that I've lost. It's sad, and it's hard, but thinking about them and the impact they've had on my life, lifts my spirits. Blah! I told you thins would be word vomit.

My Grandma was so fun to be around. She made us all laugh constantly. And she had the best laugh. I miss it. She also said the most inappropriate things at times. But, that always made me laugh, too. Must be where I get it from. ;) I remember after I had broken up with my first serious boyfriend, I was trying to give her reasons that she thought were good enough as to why we broke up. I started first with the long distance, which she just assured me didn't matter if we loved each other, I then went on to my age (16) Well, age is only a number, you are old enough to know if you're in love. So then, I told her, we just didn't have any chemistry. OMG. Seriously, talking to my Grandmother about physical attraction, and chemistry. And then she said "Well, I thought he was sexy!" I died. What?!  I fell onto the floor laughing, all the while with my Grandma saying over and over "Yes. He is sexy!" I still to this day, have no idea if she was being serious or not. But that is one of my best memories of her. Another time, my Grandma, my brother and I were in my mom's car waiting for her to come out of the grocery store, and a very old man walked past the car. My Grandma watched him walk by, and said under her breath "Lordy, Lordy, look who's past 40" My brother and I couldn't breathe we were laughing so hard, and we still laugh just as hard when we think about it now.

I love the good memories, because there are enough of them to push back the bad ones. The day I found out she was gone, going to her house to pick out something for her to be buried in, seeing how lost my Papa was. Then, seeing her for the last time. I know a lot of people say that their family member didn't look like themselves at the funeral. This wasn't the case with my Grandma. She looked just like she had when I had seen her a week earlier at my birthday party. She just looked like she was sleeping, so peaceful. She looked so much like herself that I held her hand. I had never ever considered holding a dead person's hand before, the idea completely freaked me out at my Great Grandpa's funeral when I saw my Great Grandma holding his hand. I kept thinking, who does that? That is beyond weird. But, in that moment, when I saw her, I couldn't not hold her hand. I just needed to. It wasn't weird, or strange at all.
But, by far the worst memory? Leaving the cemetery. It was cold, and raining, and there she was. All alone. It was like I was leaving a piece of myself there with her. Nothing about that moment felt right.

Every Halloween since that horrible one, 10 years ago, has been somewhat forced on my part. And now that I have kids, I have to put on a happy face, and do the Halloween thing for my kids. And I do. I do because I love them, I do because even though I would rather be at home in bed, sleeping until November 1st, Halloween makes them happy. I do because seeing them happy makes me happy, and most of all, I do because I can hear my Grandma's voice in my head saying "For Christ's sake, Tricia! This isn't about you! Get your ass out there, and get my Grandkids some candy!"
See, I told you inappropriate!

Depression. My Story

My hands are shaking right now typing this out.

I'm sure everyone has heard about the absolutely tragic, and horrifying news of Robin Williams' passing due to suicide. This death has hit me hard. Not only because he is such a beloved actor/comedian, that I grew up watching, and loving. But also because depression has played a major role in my life for as long as I can remember. So, I decided that I would share my story. A story that only those very close to me know the details of, a story that could have ended in a very different way. So, I apologize in advance if this gets long, and winded.

I was 12 I had my first panic attack. I thought I was dying. I have always been a very dramatic person, and a slight...alright, a HUGE hypochondriac. At first, it was a feeling like I couldn't swallow. Now that sensation alone is hard to describe. My mouth was completely dry, and trying to swallow, which always seemed like a natural reflex, suddenly got really difficult. My reflexes would kick in, and I would be able to swallow, but, the panic that had already set in at the thought that I couldn't swallow did a number on me. My heart started racing, I started sweating, and my throat felt like it was closing in. I remember telling my mom I couldn't swallow, and she didn't get it. Nobody in our immediate family had ever had a panic attack, so my parents truly had no idea what was going on. I went to the hospital, and they focused on the swallowing. I immediately felt better when we got to the hospital, the fact that there were doctors everywhere to "save" me, made me feel 100x better. Well, they found no reason for my swallowing issues, and sent me home.

These panic attacks continued. It got to the point that I carried a bottle of water everywhere I went, and if I didn't have my water, it would send me into an intense panic. I remember forgetting to bring it along one time on the way to a shopping trip with my mom. I freaked out so badly that she frantically raced to the nearest drive thru to get me a drink. My panic attacks came to a head one weekend at my Grandma's house. I had a very intense panic attack that had me confined to my bed. I was completely immobilized. I didn't recognize at the time that my anxiety had sent me into a deep state of depression. I only left the bed every morning when my mom drew me a bath, then I would crawl back into bed. I was anxious, scared, sad, and unbearably lonely. I was surrounded by people, but nobody understood what was happening. My lowest moment at that time was begging my mom to take me to the hospital. I remember yelling in her face "You'll be sorry. When I die, you'll wish you took me to the hospital." That was all it took. My mom took me in. The only instructions my father gave my mother before we left was to not let them medicate me. My dad didn't believe in that.

They did medicate me. They had to. I think even they were surprised at the level of my anxiety...I mean for a 13 year old. And just like that, after a weekend trip to my Grandma's that was supposed to last only 2 days, but had lasted a week, I was well enough to make the car ride home.

The next few years were miserable. We moved from Hamilton, to the middle of nowhere. The adjustment was more than I had ever anticipated. And I had my first real boyfriend, which as any teenage girl knows, can destroy your life in a million different ways. I was depressed. I had no idea why, I had no idea  how to deal with any of the feelings that I was having. I was lost. So, I started cutting.

Now, I've never been able to explain cutting to anyone. Why I did it? Why it made me feel better, and worse all at the same time? Why I couldn't stop? I just don't know. I remember the first time I did it. I was having a breakdown, and felt so full. Full of emotions, full of sadness, full of loneliness, full of hopelessness. Si, I grabbed the closest thing in my reach (a push pin) and started cutting. Instantly I felt a release. An unexplainable feeling, that calmed me down. After that day, I was in a constant battle with myself. I knew that what I was doing was dangerous, and not normal coping behaviour, but I also knew I couldn't stop.

After a few long months, my brother realized what I was doing. I made him promise to keep it to himself, and I think I really did expect him not to tell our parents. But, he was 12, and he was scared. My parents confronted me, and I broke down. I started counselling right away. My counsellor implemented a "number system" My parents were to periodically ask me throughout the day what number I was at. Any number below a 5 or 6 was concerning, and meant I shouldn't be left alone. I started to dread the question "What number are you?" It meant I needed to talk about how I was feeling. I hated that. I hated how sad it made my mom. I hated how crazy it made me feel. I hated it all. I had been missing a lot of school, I was still horribly depressed, and now the principal was telling my parents that there was no conceivable way I could make up my credits, and have a successful school year. They wanted me to drop out, take some time off, figure my shit out. Whatever way you want to put it, they wanted me out.

I felt worthless, I was an embarrassment, I was a burden......I was nothing. For the first time in this entire ordeal, I wanted to die. I had never felt like that before. In fact, I had always felt the exact opposite. I had been through enough panic attacks to know what dying felt like (or so I thought) and I had actively tried to avoid that feeling. But, over a very short period of time, my despair, and heartache had turned into thoughts of suicide. The thought of dying consumed my thoughts. I thought about how, I thought about when, I wrote several drafts of a suicide note. I just wanted out. I felt like my parents had suffered enough grief on my behalf. I thought they'd be much better off without me. They would be happier. I even imagined them being relieved that they wouldn't have to deal with my shenanigans anymore. They would be free. And so would I. I wouldn't have to pretend to be happy. I wouldn't have to smile, when I felt like crying. I wouldn't have to lie, and say that I was fine, when I wasn't. I was exhausted, nothing made sense, and I felt more lost and lonely than I ever had before.

Everything came to a head one afternoon. It had been a rough day. I was fighting with my dad. He wasn't too happy about me laying around the house when I should be in school. I was horribly hurt and ashamed, but I agreed with him. I was a lazy, freeloading, sad sack. What was I doing here? I didn't belong here. My parents didn't deserve this, they didn't deserve to be burdened with this. I had had enough. I had a small pocketknife, I had locked myself in the bathroom, and started cutting. Well, thank God the knife was a million years old and super dull, and thank God my dad wasn't done fighting with me, and busted the door open. I was a mess. I couldn't even stand up straight. I was broken.

That was almost 15 years ago...wow. It doesn't seem like that long ago. I can still remember how I felt. Explaining depression to someone that has never experienced these feelings, is difficult. They just won't understand. Not because they are a horrible person, or they don't love you, but simply because, there is no way to describe these feelings. Such a deep despair that you are simply exhausted just existing. Such a strong loneliness, that you always feel alone, even when you're around people. You feel lost, like you just can't find your way home, and you keep walking in circles. That's depression. Not necessarily wanting to take your own life, but not wanting to live. Because the pain is so deep, it physically hurts you to talk, move, smile....

I know that I will always struggle with depression. Yes, I'm on medication. Yes, I have been through counselling. But, depression is forever. You can treat it, and most of the time, you will feel like yourself. But, I still have periods where I look around and have no idea who I am. I am urging anyone who is struggling, to please, please get help. Trust me when I tell you, you are not alone. This isn't about anyone but you. You are important, you are an important piece to the world's puzzle. You are loved. You are worth it. And, if you have friends or family that are struggling, do your best to help them. Don't tell them to "snap out of it" Don't expect them to get better on their own. Be there, listen, save your judgements, and love them. Nobody deserves to feel this way. Nobody wants to feel this way. Watch for the signs here: http://www.health.gov.sk.ca/suicide-common-warning-signs If you see any of these, act fast. Don't brush it under the rug, don't assume the person is bluffing. Get them help.

These are the Canadian suicide hotlines: http://www.suicide.org/hotlines/international/canada-suicide-hotlines.html

This is the info for the suicide prevention lifeline: http://www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org/