Faith, Ya Gotta Have Faith

The new blogger template's time stamp shows time of publication, not original writing time stamp.  I wrote this one yesterday and walked off with it still unpublished.

We ARE a dog loving bunch, there's no doubt about it.  I love my Riley the Chihuahua Cat, Shatter, Lizzie, Tia, Princess, Pudding, Rosie and Amelia.

We're all kinda crushed over losing Ella, Chuck and Yolie's incredibly sweet-natured mastiff.  For Yolie it brings up all of her loss issues, she's truly going to need to cry for a week, she must let the tears flow, or risk serious emotional damage from holding it all inside.  It's heartbreaking to watch as her mom, and she's just as heartsick to watch her own two children deeply grieve.

Gina'd brought all her compost stuff over as she does, not just on Earth Day, but almost every week, too environmentally minded to toss it into the landfill, and I love that about her.  I knew then about Ella,  knew she'd be heading to the vet, but I was still hopeful about a better outcome.  I didn't wanna be the one to tell Gina, nor Daniel, who I'd been texting during the Braves game.  Yolie needed to do that.

My dad, Grandpa, was most decidedly not a dog lover, not at all.  We're feeding all the kids the party line about Ella, and our other dogs Ty and Babe, Max and Lucky, Sarah's dog Roscoe, even my brother Gary's dog Savannah, that Grandpa's taking care of them in Heaven.

My sister's 16th anniversary of being gone from this earth just passed the other day.  I was teetering on the edge all week, sad and blue, easily moved to tears over nothing, still missing her like crazy, and my very logical mom expressed the very deep anger she still feels over not being allowed in Ellen's hospital room at the time of her death.

"We're doing procedures," they dismissively told my mom, and Ellen died alone.  Mom's still furious.

Dad's death, in contrast, was a beautiful event, as he quietly and peacefully died with all of us hovering on his bed, telling him good-bye, and that we loved him.

"Don't worry about me, Cindy," he whispered, before falling into unconsciousness, "I know where I'm going."  Yeah, me too, you get to go see Ellen.  I'm stuck here without him to emotionally support and guide me. I'm almost 58 years old and I still need my dad.

That's how it should be though when one has lived a long, happy life.  Parents leave their kids.  We'll be along soon enough.

Sarah's now the age Ellen was when she died in 1996, Daniel's the age of Ellen's first husband, Alan who passed away at 26 in 1983.  I was only 28 then, shocked and blown away by the loss.

All this stuff?  All our earthly irritations, celebrations, joy and sadness?  Our striving, our families, our careers, our pets?

Honestly, without a deep, unbudging, soul-strengthening, cavernous, and abiding faith, I'd just put my head down on my desk and cry all day long.

I'd tried to explain to CW yesterday why I believe as I do, he's almost 16, kinda clueless as he's been sheltered, nurtured, encouraged, protected and loved every minute of his life.  "Honey, it's my faith," I'd stressed.  He's seen me get up every single challenging day and walk it out to the best of my ability, making mistakes, blundering, floundering, and/or succeeding and moving forward.

Instead of wallowing, I'm gonna clean the house, blast praise and worship music through my ear buds, sing loudly and off key, and be grateful for all my family members who've somehow molded me into who I am now.

Thanks y'all.  No sarcasm, no veiled references, no inferences, no nothing.